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The Illusion of Freedom: A Nation of Spectators
- Lady Ray
- Jun 19
- 12 min read
So I made a post about a day ago on my Facebook that said this:
And so here, I will expound.
I will preclude this by saying, this is a very raw thought. I have brought this to my space, on my own platform for that very reason. This is not about numbers, but intentional expression of my thoughts; I call it a thought knot, and this particular one I’ve been chewing on for some time. Maybe by the end of this, I will have worked something out.
I believe deep in my soul that I am a revolutionary in this 2nd African American Civil Rights movement. It burns in my soul but I also want to make sure that you know that I, like so many, don’t really know what to do either. I want to create a space where not only I can free think but more importantly, you, the reader can too. Together, we can do this. Through art and expression, we can do this. We have a responsibility to. If you have a skill or artform of any kind, please contribute to this renaissance and help us complete this wealth transfer.
My soap boxes are not meant to be a commercialized version of me. It is me choosing to take a stand. Deciding that my name will have a resounding impact with a certain type of character. It will never be questioned where I stood in history. I am a black woman who was born to a white mother and raised by a white mother. I did not have the pleasure of growing up with my black side but I was able to witness the transgressions of my mother due to the black conditions of society. If we did a comparison it would seem like my mom was raised by different parents than her siblings. The difference? She married a black man, had 2 black daughters, and raised those daughters alone, and still does. My white mother, maybe at one point unintentionally, made a sacrifice for my blackness to be here. To be loud and proud. She still makes sacrifices to this day, now for my black babies too. The whiteness I contain aids as an ally, just as those who came before me.
Although, I am a biracial woman, I will frame this particular entry from a black American perspective because I have only ever experienced life as being black. I also want to be clear that this is a human issue and so I may touch on my own humanity, when I feel the reader may need something to grasp onto. I am not a barren tree in this fight. I have committed to this work and through my studies and looking into my own history, I've realized why the pull for justice is so strong in me: it is part of my purpose. This reflection can be done by us all. Everyone is being affected. The pilot may already be on in you too, just waiting to be ignited. Let this essay act as a spark of a flame looking for a chance to thrive.
While living in the most interconnected era in human history, we have become so far from each other. Information travels across continents in seconds. Educational resources that previous generations could only dream of are available in our pockets and at our fingertips. Opportunities for entrepreneurship, communication, and self-expression have never been more accessible. Yet despite these advancements, many people report feeling increasingly isolated, anxious, distrustful, and disempowered.
Every society teaches its citizens how to survive within the systems it inherits. Over time, adaptation can become so normalized that we stop asking whether the system itself deserves examination. Compliance begins to masquerade as security, and familiarity begins to masquerade as freedom. How much of what we believe about ourselves, our community, and our neighbors is the product of our own experience? And how much has been inherited through the illusion of frequency? In an era where information is more accessible than ever before, why have we stopped the hunger for knowledge? Why have our brains become more dense with more access?
This contradiction deserves examination.
The phenomenon I am describing is not unique to black Americans, although I am intentionally viewing it through that lens because it is the community I know most intimately. Rather, it appears to be a broader societal condition, no one is more at risk than the black race in America.
And so this contradiction deserves examination by us, the vulnerable, because the answers lie right in front of us.
If access to information is a form of power, why do so many people feel powerless? If communication is easier than ever, why do so many communities, our community, struggle to understand one another? If representation is more attainable than at any point in history, why do stereotypes continue to dominate public perception?
One possible explanation lies in the relationship between attention and influence. Human beings have always been storytellers. The stories a society chooses to elevate often become the foundation of its collective beliefs. Historically, those stories are controlled by a relatively small number of institutions. Today, technology has democratized the ability to create and distribute information. However, the incentives surrounding visibility have not necessarily changed. Content that evokes outrage, fear, conflict, or controversy often travels farther than content that highlights cooperation, discipline, or ordinary achievement.
As a result, many people are repeatedly exposed to the most extreme examples of human behavior while the experiences of everyday citizens remain largely invisible. Over time, this can distort perception. We begin to believe that what is most visible is also what is most common. We mistake amplification for prevalence. And it's an easy mistake to make when everywhere you turn, there is a screen. Some of us have multiple in front of us, right now.
This is particularly concerning when discussing race, class, and culture.
In my own experience, the black community is filled with examples of innovation, resilience, education, entrepreneurship, creativity, and service. These stories exist in abundance. Yet they frequently compete for attention against narratives that are more sensational and strategically more profitable. This imbalance does not merely affect how others view black communities, it also influences how members of those communities view themselves.
The consequences of this dynamic extend beyond reputation. Narratives shape aspirations. They influence what young people believe is possible. They affect civic participation, economic development, educational outcomes, and community cohesion. In other words, the stories we consistently consume do not simply reflect culture; they help create it. They inspire the fruit. And right now the fruit is of death and despair. Right now the fruit is of the nature of keeping us down and trodden.
This realization leads me to a series of questions that has occupied much of my thinking lately: What does freedom truly mean? Is it attainable? Where must we go and how must we go about it to obtain it? Should we be able to obtain it, could we retain it? Even I suffer symptoms of the fear that comes along with trying. Should I be made an example of for stepping and standing up, what would happen to my black babies, to which, I am the only one facilitating their blackness in a positive manner.
Many people define freedom as the absence of external restrictions. While that definition has merit, I believe it is incomplete. If an individual's fears, aspirations, opinions, and priorities can be continuously influenced by forces they neither recognize nor question, can they genuinely be considered free? If public attention is constantly directed toward division rather than construction, conflict rather than cooperation, and consumption rather than contribution, then perhaps the challenge facing modern society is not simply one of rights, but of awareness.
Perhaps freedom is not only about what we are allowed to do, but also about our ability to independently determine what deserves our attention, our energy, and our allegiance.
If that is true, then the responsibility belongs to all of us. We cannot merely criticize the narratives we dislike while continuing to reinforce them through our participation. We must become intentional about the stories we choose to amplify. We must highlight achievement alongside adversity, possibility alongside struggle, and community alongside conflict.
Ultimately, the question is not whether narratives shape society. History has already answered that question. The question is whether we are actively participating in the creation of those narratives or passively accepting those created for us. And perhaps an even more important question follows: if someone else determines what we fear, what we celebrate, what we value, and what we believe, are we truly free at all?
The consequences of this dynamic extend far beyond reputation. As we continue, I want you to consider who currently controls and dominates many of our largest spheres of influence, and how that affects not only how other communities perceive us, but how we perceive ourselves.
Every society develops systems, incentives, and institutions that encourage certain behaviors while discouraging others. The question is not whether those systems exist, we know they do. I fear we have become so accustomed to navigating them that we rarely stop to ask who benefits from the narratives they reward.
Why are we so heavily consumed by negativity, trauma, and self-destruction?
Why do ordinary people often feel they must compromise themselves to gain visibility, while conflict, controversy, and spectacle are rewarded with attention? Why do we invest so much energy promoting what happened in the club this weekend, debating strangers online, or measuring our worth by engagement, while the quiet victories happening in our own neighborhoods pass by almost unnoticed?
I ask these questions not from a place of superiority, but from self-examination.
I participate in the very culture I'm questioning as a creator. I’ve chased attention. I’ve celebrated things that, in hindsight, probably deserved no attention at all. I've allowed myself to become distracted by conversations that only produced more destructive wild fires than those that cleanse. That realization isn't something I'm ashamed to admit, if anything, it is precisely why I feel compelled to ask these questions publicly. Growth begins with accountability.
If I expect our communities to evolve, I have to be willing to evolve first. I don't believe change begins with everyone. I believe it begins with someone. Someone deciding to think differently. Someone deciding to amplify different stories; their own messy story. Someone deciding that building is more fulfilling than tearing down. My hope is simply that more of us become that someone. If I am meant to be the catalyst, I choose to answer the call but I don’t believe I’m the only one whose instinctual phone is ringing. We are so good at checking notifications, until we get to this one.
That is why I share my journey, life, and thoughts publicly. It's not easy being vulnerable, but I have this burning urge to find more of my people or people like me; to spark thought and challenge intention. As many thoughts and opinions as I have, I’ve always had many more questions in comparison.
Media does not consume us by force. It consumes us because we continually surrender our attention to it. There is an important distinction. Attention is one of the few resources every human being possesses equally. Whether rich or poor, educated or not, each of us chooses, consciously or unconsciously, where we direct it. And wherever our attention goes, our culture eventually follows.
That is why I believe we have more agency than we often acknowledge.
We, black Americans, have become some of the most influential contributors to modern culture. Our music, language, fashion, humor, creativity, and resilience shape conversations around the world. Yet too often, the version of ourselves that receives the most attention is the one rooted in conflict, trauma, and survival.
Imagine if we became just as intentional about amplifying our curiosity as our controversy. Our discipline, as our drama, our builders as our celebrities, our communities as much as our conflicts. The world is already watching us. The better question is: What are we choosing to show it? And perhaps an even harder concept is this: What are we choosing to show ourselves? What are we comfortable with becoming? Because if we spend enough time looking down, at headlines, comment sections, arguments, and the next outrage, we begin to believe that the morsels they offer us on the ground is all there is.
My people… LOOK UP! Lift your chin. Look beyond what demands your attention and begin investing your attention in what deserves it. Look at the child building something, the neighbor creating something, the family healing something, the entrepreneur risking something, the teacher inspiring someone, the ordinary people quietly becoming extraordinary because they chose to build instead of merely reacting. The world will always offer us reasons to keep our heads down. Freedom may begin the moment we decide to raise them.
Just imagine what the world would look like if we poured the same effort we spend deconstructing and discrediting one another into celebrating the simple stories. Creating a new popularity for the celebration of the young woman who just graduated at the top of her law school class and is fielding offers from prestigious firms. The family whose son became the first electrician, teacher, or engineer in generations. A black film about children playing in the street, competing for the best lemonade stand, riding bikes until the streetlights came on, or gathering for an impromptu game because someone knocked on the front door instead of sending a notification.
What happened to block parties that existed simply because people wanted to know one another? Neighborhood cookouts that weren't sponsored, branded, or monetized? Community events whose only purpose was to remind us that we belonged to something larger than ourselves?
Somewhere along the way, we became convinced that everything must generate revenue, attention, or influence to be valuable. We have learned to measure success by engagement instead of enrichment, visibility instead of virtue, followers instead of fellowship. America is capitalist, so I want to be clear that I am not suggesting that ambition is wrong. I am a business owner. I believe in building, creating, and pursuing excellence, but I also believe there is a difference between building a platform and building a community. One can make you visible. The other can make you valuable.
Perhaps that is where my frustration truly lies.
I do not believe our greatest deficit is intelligence. Nor do I believe it is talent. We have no shortage of innovators, artists, entrepreneurs, educators, laborers, and leaders. What we often lack is a shared commitment to intentionally elevating one another with the same consistency that we critique one another.
Every day we make decisions about what and who deserves our attention. Those decisions, repeated over time, become culture. Culture is not created solely by governments, corporations, or media outlets. It is also created around dinner tables, in barber shops, at church functions, in neighborhood parks, in classrooms, and increasingly, on our social media feeds. Every post, every conversation, every share contributes to a story about who we are and what we will accept.
The question, then, is not whether narratives exist; they always will. The question is whether we are consciously participating in writing a narrative that reflects the best of us, or unconsciously reinforcing one that profits from our division. Perhaps freedom is not simply the absence of physical chains. Perhaps freedom is the ability to think independently, to choose intentionally, and to build collectively.
If someone else can determine what captures your attention, what shapes your perception, what fuels your outrage, and ultimately what defines your understanding of an entire people, then I believe we owe it to ourselves to ask another difficult question: are we truly free, or have we simply become comfortable living inside a story someone else is writing? Again…
The greatest currency of the 21st century isn't money. It's attention. Every corporation wants it. Every politician needs it. Every media company profits from it. Every influencer builds a career on it. If attention is currency, then I dare to say that the most valuable thing any of us own isn't our paycheck, it's our ability to decide what deserves our focus.
If I can convince you who to hate, what to fear, what to admire, what success looks like, what beauty looks like, who your enemy is, then I don't have to control you. You'll begin doing it yourself.
I don't claim to have the answers.
But maybe that's why I refuse to separate my business from my beliefs. Every company I've built, every event I've produced, every speech I've given, every book I've written, every community I've joined has been an attempt, however imperfect, to contribute something constructive. Not because I think I've figured it out, but because I've decided that if I'm going to participate in shaping culture, I'd rather leave it better than I found it or die trying.
People have told me that politics shouldn't mix with entrepreneurship, that activism doesn't sell. Stay neutral, protect the brand. But what good is building a brand if I lose my voice? What good is influence if it isn't used intentionally? If my platform reaches one person or one million, I want it to contribute to the type of culture I hope exists long after I'm gone.
I only know that I want to spend less time reacting to the world I inherited and more time helping build the one I hope my children, and yours, will inherit. If enough of us make that decision together, the narrative changes. Not because someone gave us permission. Because we finally decided to pick up the pen ourselves.
If our attention can be directed, our perceptions shaped, and our stories chosen for us, what kind of freedom have we actually inherited and what kind of freedom are we willing to build? Lets start with something easy; posting more positive things. Lets saturate the internet with our wins instead of hiding our hands.
Let's consciously decide what deserves our attention because attention creates culture. Look up, my people. Lift your chin!
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