Blackbird: Anchored in Legacy
Leadership Is Not Accidental
It Is Ancestral
And it is embedded within us. It is grounded in our lived experience of watching women carry systems on their backs while still managing to lift others as they climb.
I think of my own story, my lineage. My mother did not hand me a baton of leadership in the traditional sense. She passed her strength, grit, and the belief that having an education would be a lifeline for me. She worked as a housekeeper and, at times, as a nanny, serving affluent families who had access to resources and education at their fingertips. In those homes, she saw what was possible, and she made sure I saw it too. She never let me forget that the future was not out of reach. In our Jamaican way, she reminded me:
"You can. No, you must become.Go farther than I have gone."
A Jamaican woman, daughter of a farmer, and mother to a first-generation child, she knew the path forward would never be offered freely. It had to be created, and done so strategically.
Grounded by Story
My dear friend, Mrs. Airall, is also a grandmother to me. She is a former educator and my savior in so many ways. She keeps me grounded and humble, often telling me stories from my childhood that I sometimes wish I could forget. She reminds me of the time immigration took my mother, and I lived with strangers for months until her return. Then, I had looked like what I was going through, and there was great concern. I learned strength at a young age. I learned early what it meant to survive and to be steadfast. I also learned how to make a lot out of what was available to me at the time. It was in those moments that I began to understand the weight of my mother's words:
Not only can I, but I must become.
Mrs. Airall and my mother helped to shape my path and also my understanding of what it means to lead with purpose. They taught me to see leadership and legacy not as positions or titles, but as responsibility and as acts of love. Progression is the expectation. Mrs. Airall’s ancestral wisdom has taught me the importance of remembering and sharing our inherited truths. She also saved my life.
My mother's words continue to serve as a reminder to go further.
United, that is their charge.
The Weight of Legacy
Legacy may be portrayed as a smooth exchange, with one hand passing the baton cleanly to the next. A simple transfer, uninterrupted, steady. That is the story we want to believe. The truth is much more complicated. The baton is not always placed in your hand. Sometimes it is dropped. Sometimes it is snatched away or handed clumsily. Sometimes it is never extended at all.
Nevertheless, the race continues. We run and grow anyway. The path is rarely straight, and the rhythm is never perfect, but determination holds us steady. Along the way, some choose to run with intention, carrying the baton even when it is heavy. They clear paths and set the pace for those who follow. They are the baton passers, and because of them, the race does not end.
The Baton Passers
Some baton passers left legacies so powerful they could not be ignored. Their experiences reflect their professional achievements, including the courage to lead and resist systems that deny dignity while creating space for others to thrive. Lucy Craft Laney carried this vision when she founded the Haines Normal and Industrial Institute in Georgia. She helped carve out a future for Black girls who had been told that education was not for them (Watson & Gregory, 2005). She faced white supremacy, underfunding, and threats to her safety. Despite this, she never stopped fighting for her students' right to learn. Laney knew better, and that teaching young women was not solely about reading and writing.
It was also about power and freedom.
Charlotte Grimké is another baton passer who understood what it meant to be the "first." She was the first Black woman hired to teach freedpeople during the Civil War (Sterling, 1997). The title carried honor, but it also carried weight; Grimké experienced the burdens of representation and the isolation that comes with opening doors. Despite this, she chose to run her race anyway, knowing that her steps would make the way easier for those who followed.
Nannie Helen Burroughs added her own chapter to this legacy. As an educator, a religious leader, and activist, she founded the National Training School for Women and Girls in Washington, D.C. She opened doors that society had previously closed to young Black girls, which included lessons and job training for working-class Black women (Higginbotham, 1993). Her school gave students opportunities for independence, respect, and dignity.
Burroughs understood that legacy is not just about what you leave behind; it is also about what you leave within. It is about how you raise others up while you are still here. She gave women the tools to move beyond survival, to rise, to flourish, and to take their rightful place in the world.
A Call to Black Women Leaders
These women show us that leadership is never easy. Laney poured herself into opening doors of strength and possibility for young girls who had been told they had none. Grimké carried the heavy weight of being the first, a weight familiar to many of us, as we walk into places where no path has been laid and choose to keep moving forward so others can follow. Burroughs devoted herself to equipping women with more than the idea of survival; instead, she offered them the means to grow, be successful, and take their rightful place in the world. The women shouldered part of the responsibility, and together they redefined what could be achieved, therefore passing the baton.
That is the true measure of legacy. It is not only what is passed forward, but what is made possible because we chose to lead. It calls us to remember the power we hold, the freedom we must protect, and the paths we are charged to carve for those yet to come. To lead is to carry that weight with poise and to let it refine rather than crush us, and to know that how we move determines how the next generation begins.
As Black women, our legacy serves as a reminder that our leadership is needed. To lead as Black women is to honor the ones who cleared the way, while also daring to dream bigger for those who will come after us. When Black women are labeled misfits, it means we cannot be controlled. When they say Black women are too much, it means our presence threatens comfort. When they prefer Black women to be quiet, continue being the roar that shakes the room. Our legacy means walking into rooms with confidence and choosing to keep moving, even when the road is uneven. Chisholm, Abram, Crockett, Hook, Bethune, Ladson-Billings, and many more are examples of who we are and aspire to become as baton passers.
Leadership is not accidental. It is ancestral. It is the calling to become, and in becoming, to make room for others to do the same.
Remember, you must.
Let's Reflect: Who are the women who taught you how to lead before you ever had a title? In what ways does your story shape the way you show up? Where in your own leadership are you picking up a dropped baton and running anyway?
ReferencesBlair, T. D. (2015). Building Within Our Borders: Black Women Reformers in the South from 1890 to 1920.
Higginbotham, E. B. (1993). Righteous Discontent: The Women’s Movement in the Black Baptist Church, 1880–1920.
Sterling, D. (1997). We Are Your Sisters: Black Women in the Nineteenth Century.
Watson, S. & Gregory, M. (2005). Black Women in Leadership: Lessons from Lucy Craft Laney
