Newsletter

BLSU’s Black Joy: Resilience and Resistance

By Eva Jo McIlraith

February 25, 2026

On February 2nd at 6pm, the DMC living room was anything but quiet. Music hummed softly in the background as friends gathered around charcuterie and cider to set a tone of joy and resistance in the first event of Black History Month (BHM). From the moment attendees walked in, the intention was clear, to understand the true importance Black joy as both a positive nourishment and a place of healing. Conversation, reflection, and powerful testimony unfolded as attendees reflected on their own experiences of black joy as a means of survival and defiance. 

“Black joy is something you choose every single day,” BLSU Fellow DanTe’ya Reedy ‘26 began, as attendees jumped into small group discussions on the practice of active resilience. In a world marked by pain, suffering, and brutality, choosing joy becomes radical. As attendee and DMC Fellow Jun Reiss ‘26 put it, “To prioritize joy is the most revolutionary thing you can do.” This joy is cultivated despite and because of hardship, a way to remain hopeful in the face of oppression.

“When we’re learning about Black history, we never learn about the Black joy, we only learn about the black struggle,” lamented BLSU Social Media Chair Regina Barnes ‘29. The focus on Black joy was a conscious choice, a reminder that in fighting for equality, one often sacrifices their own joy and rest. “Black joy is something you choose every single day,” DanTe’ya reminded the group. “Identifying and amplifying joy is the way to healing outside of the white gaze.” BLSU President Ja’Riah Lamons agreed, saying that Black joy included “not feeling like you’re excellent at everything.” Black joy offers freedom from the pressure to overperform, to prove worth, to constantly fight or fix something.

Others reflected on the ways joy lives in everyday moments. One attendee noted the importance of “finding Black joy in the mundane, in relaxation.” In a culture that constantly demands productivity and perfection, rest itself becomes resistance. Another participant described it as being “resistive and resilient as a practice.” Joy, in this framing, isn’t naïve or disconnected from reality. It is deeply aware. It makes long-term resistance possible.

Black joy has always existed in music, in art, in storytelling, in dance. These creative expressions have carried generations through unimaginable trials. They have preserved culture, built community, and reminded people of who they are. Existing authentically, not as a symbol, not as representation, but as a full, joyful person, is resistance. Joy and connection fuel activism, community, and belonging.