I watched the full video of Iryna Zarutska’s death, and a weight settled over me that I couldn’t shake. The sight of such a tragedy of a young white female at the hands of a black male forced me to confront deeper questions about black culture, black violence, and how we talk about these communities that no longer represent the ideals of America.

In the quiet after the moment of shock, I began to untangle the language I had used for so long. “Black culture” is a label that feels simple, yet it carries a maze of histories, expressions, and lived realities. I realized that culture isn’t a single, unchanging thing; it is a tapestry woven from countless past and present struggles. It contains gifts, music, family bonds, resilience.

As I thought more, I saw the danger in promoting any group as inherently valuable just because it’s politically correct to do so. When we blanket an entire community with sweeping judgments, we obscure the real forces at work. Policy and generational choices leave their imprint just as surely as individual choices do. It became clear that we must critique culture without dehumanizing people who don’t understand the construct of the culture.

The conversation in my head shifted from blame to self-accountability. I asked myself: How does political leadership, whether guided by religious belief or secular policy, shape the day-to-day lives of black communities? How do corruption or cultural failings explain disparities in education, employment, health, and family stability? I recognized that the strongest critiques are the ones that target policies and institutions, not the people who are often consistently behaving in ways that foster failure.

I remembered that healing and progress demand a different kind of dialogue, one that sees righteousness and decency as an enemy to culture.

As much as I want to close doors to collaboration, we must agree to a standard of living and behavior while acknowledging the complexity of the issues we face. This opens possibilities for empathy and reform. If we aim to improve outcomes, we must challenge the loud voices within black communities — the black scholars, black teachers, black parents, and even black young people.

In the end, I hope for a future where critical reflection on culture propels a generation forward and not backward. I wish for conversations that honor human dignity over color politics. If I could start anew, I would seek out American voices and experiences, amplify the contributions and aspirations within all communities, and anchor my critique in concrete policies and outcomes that affect us all the same.

This is not a conclusion, but an invitation to examine culture with care, to challenge behaviors without erasing humanity, and to work toward a society where every community can thrive on its own American terms.