DEAR MILWAUKEE, THE MATRIARCH

What happened to the Black matriarch?

When I say "matriarch," I'm not talking about a woman who rules over everyone. I'm talking about the keeper of wisdom, the protector of culture, the nurturer of children, the teacher of young women, and the steady presence that helps hold a family together.

Somewhere along the way, many of us stopped treating those responsibilities as sacred.

We've become consumed by endless social media debates, celebrity culture, and distractions that rarely improve our homes or our communities. Meanwhile, fewer people are passing down wisdom. The conversations that once happened on front porches, around dinner tables, and in our grandmothers' kitchens have been replaced with algorithms.

Our ancestors understood rites of passage. They knew that becoming a woman wasn't simply about age—it was about responsibility, character, discipline, and service to the next generation. Wisdom wasn't learned through viral videos. It was earned through experience and shared intentionally.

In many African-centered traditions, family was never meant to be a competition between men and women. It wasn't about who had more power. It was about balance.

The man was needed.

The woman was needed.

Neither was complete without the other.

Today, we've increasingly adopted a culture of individualism that tells us we don't need anyone. I believe that mindset has weakened many of our families. Independence has value, but community has always been our strength.

I also think we've begun to undervalue the work that happens inside the home.

Some women were made to feel that nurturing children, building a peaceful household, and caring for family were somehow "less than" paid work outside the home. Yet raising emotionally healthy children, preserving culture, and creating stability are among the most important jobs any society has.

This isn't about saying women shouldn't pursue careers or education. Many women have always worked, often because they had to. It's about recognizing that if we neglect our homes while chasing every other achievement, our communities pay the price.

We sometimes criticize celebrities for sacrificing their families in pursuit of fame. But perhaps we should also ask ourselves difficult questions.

What are we sacrificing?

How much time are we spending with our children?

Who is teaching them our values?

Who is showing our daughters what womanhood looks like?

Who is showing our sons what healthy families look like?

Wisdom should increase as we age. Every season of life should make us gentler, stronger, and more discerning. We should be sitting with our mothers, grandmothers, great-grandmothers, and respected women in our communities, listening to their stories and learning from both their victories and their mistakes.

Instead, our culture often glorifies staying forever young. We celebrate immaturity instead of mentorship. We chase relevance instead of legacy.

A matriarch isn't remembered because she was the loudest person in the room.

She's remembered because generations are stronger because she lived.

If we're serious about rebuilding the village, then rebuilding the matriarch must be part of that work. Not by returning to the past exactly as it was, but by reclaiming what our ancestors understood: wisdom must be passed down, families require intentional care, and communities flourish when every generation prepares the next.

I hate that society has made so many of us ashamed of how we were raised.

There was a time when Black women could stay home, cook, clean, teach their children, and still find ways to make money and contribute to the household.

Don't you remember the women who baked a pie for Sister So-and-So and came back with a white envelope of money?

"Give this to your mama."

Don't you remember the women who did hair out of their homes? The women who watched neighborhood children when their parents needed help? The women who sold food, sewed, cleaned, or found other ways to make money while still being present in their homes?

We always had our own money.

Did we need the most money?

Did we need the biggest bag?

No.

But having something put away for an emergency mattered. Having that white envelope tucked away was a form of security.

And many of our men trusted their paychecks to the women in their homes. Not because the women were incapable of making their own money, but because managing a household was work. Groceries needed to be bought. Household supplies were needed. Children needed clothes and personal items. Bills needed to be paid.

The woman often knew what the household needed, and she managed what was given to her.

So please, don't disrespect the work our mothers and grandmothers did.

They were not "just sitting at home."

They were managing homes.

Raising children.

Building community.

Making money.

Creating security.

Preserving culture.

Their work may not have always come with a corporate title or a paycheck every two weeks, but that does not mean it wasn't valuable.

We have to stop allowing society to convince us that the only work that matters is work that takes us away from our homes.