“I don’t please invisible people.”
It’s a simple phrase, but it carries the weight of a spiritual declaration—and a cultural warning. In today’s society, especially within the Black community, the most dangerous forces aren’t always the ones we see. They don’t wear hoods or badges. They don’t always sit in government seats. Some appear on our screens, fund our influencers, shape our politics, and direct our narratives. They move quietly behind institutions and ideas, but their impact is anything but silent. These are the invisible people—the architects of dysfunction—who have reshaped Black identity from the shadows.
They promote the unraveling of the Black family as if it’s progress. They have convinced generations that masculinity is toxic, that femininity is weakness, and that faith is foolishness. They elevate voices who celebrate brokenness and sideline those who speak of divine order, personal accountability, or traditional family. These people know exactly what they’re doing. This isn’t confusion—it’s strategy.
This didn’t begin yesterday. In the 1960s, Black families were statistically more intact than even white families. Only 25 percent of Black children were born out of wedlock at that time—and it was rightly called a crisis. But when that concern was raised, it was rebuked by many Black leaders as racist, even though the warning was accurate. Fast forward to today: over 80 percent of Black children are born outside of marriage. And now, the silence is deafening. What was once alarming has become the norm. Black leaders who once defended the family now defend dysfunction. Now our eyes are wide shut to the crisis, and the community pays the price while the invisible people applaud from behind the curtain.
They reward the artists who glorify violence and sexual degradation. They fund the organizations that divide rather than unite. They elevate the influencers who promote narratives of victimhood over responsibility. And they punish anyone—especially Black people, particularly Black men—who dare to speak against it. Those who talk about family, about God, about the need for spiritual accountability and moral clarity are quickly labeled as “backward,” “misogynist,” “oppressive,” or worse—a “sellout” or an “Uncle Tom.” But the truth is simple: the Black community cannot be healed by those who profit from its dysfunction.
This is not a political critique—it is a spiritual reckoning. The war on the Black family is not just cultural; it is deeply spiritual. Scripture tells us exactly what we’re up against:
“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.” — Ephesians 6:12 (KJV)
When you dismantle the structure God intended—when you remove the father, distort the mother, and confuse the children—you don’t need laws or chains to oppress a people. They will do it to themselves, unknowingly. And the invisible people will call it empowerment.
But not everyone is fooled. A quiet but growing remnant refuses to bow to these unseen manipulators. They walk with God. They speak uncomfortable truths. They do not perform for applause. They understand that true liberation isn’t about escaping the past—it’s about aligning with the divine.
The silence of our faith community is deafening. We must walk from beyond the pulpit, which means raising our children with intention, honoring marriage, and embracing true divine masculinity and femininity—not the distorted versions that are now teaching our children in this world of dysfunction. It means spiritual discipline, accountability, and discernment in a world that sells imitation for truth.
To say “I don’t please invisible people,” is to choose that alignment. It’s to reject the lies dressed as light. It’s to remember who we are before we were broken, before our families were torn apart, before our culture was co-opted, and before dysfunction was rebranded as freedom and Democracy.
The restoration of Black dignity, identity, and family will not come through assimilation into brokenness. It will come through truth. Through God. Through the courage to say: I know what you’re doing. And I will not play along.
I do not please invisible people.