Why We Need a Black Gilded Age Spinoff (and Other Stories of Black Prominence You’ve Never Seen)

I never knew a “Black elite” existed in the late 19th century.

I put Black elite in quotes because the Black elite would not have considered themselves the Black elite. Just as the robber barons of the time period of what we now know as the Gilded Age would not have referred to the era as the Gilded Age. We know these terms emerged decades later as authors and historians dissected the era in their research and work.

However, it is vital that we note why the Black elite would not have called themselves the “Black elite.” They did not see themselves as “Black versions” of the Vanderbilts, the Morgans, or the Astors. They were their own prominent group of people, cultivating a self-sustaining community filled with wealth, opulence, and excellence that was more than deserved after the centuries of chattel slavery had just ended. The rising upper, and upper-middle, class of Black people in cities such as New York, Newport, Philadelphia, and Washington, DC, did not desire to be compared to their white counterparts, nor emulate white wealth and culture. They simply desired to establish Black excellence and interdependence within their own community. And, that they did.

But, I never knew about it. Most of us didn’t. And that’s intentional.

My First Glimpse of Us Came From a Doll

My introduction to Black history as a little girl came from Addy, my American Girldoll, whose fictional, yet historically accurate story, vividly illustrated the realities of enslavement, escaping from enslavement, and the post-civil war era for a formerly enslaved family in the late 1860s in a way that my 9-year-old brain could understand it. Being that I was a Black girl growing up in a predominantly white environment who never saw herself or her history depicted in media, children’s entertainment, or school curriculum, I clung to Addy’s story dearly, as one does to something that provides a sense of identity and security. Addy became my best pal. We went everywhere together. She accompanied me on shopping trips to TJ Maxx while my mom spent hours browsing for clothes. She kept me busy during Jack and Jill meetings I tagged along with my mom to in the evenings. She was my companion on long car rides and my confidant under the covers each night. She was my hero, and her story is what ignited my passion for Black history that fuels my work today.

I am eternally grateful for the Black history I was exposed to as a child. My parents did a beautiful job filling my little world with Black children’s books, movies, and personal narratives that helped me mold an image of our rich history in my head. However, I have never, ever encountered a modicum of our history that even hints at the existence of a Black high society in the antebellum era. Ever.

And that breaks my heart.

I had the pleasure and the privilege of seeing Black wealth and a representation of Black high society as a child. My mother and I weren’t wealthy, but our involvement in organizations such as Jack and Jill put us in proximity with upper middle class Black folks in my hometown. When I wasn’t attending my predominantly white schools, I was often surrounded by prominent Black professionals in various activities and settings. Because of this, the reflection of Black America I witnessed was different than what was presented in the media. I knew better than to think that Black Americans only came in one brand and font that the media portrayed: uneducated, poor, and criminal.

However, when it came to our history, even with the concerted efforts of my parents, my view of us was very limited to enslavement and the Jim Crow South. I didn’t even know the history of how Black people got to the very white state of Minnesota I lived in. I assumed we were a recent addition to the state—completely unaware that Black people had both settled and been enslaved in Minnesota for generations. That was conveniently left out of every history class in school that was supposed to teach me the history of our state.

I never knew that Black wealth existed before the 20th century. My little childhood mind (let’s be real—my adult mind, too) probably thought it began during the era of Motown as a generation of Black superstars began to emerge. Black wealth and high society in the 1800s?! Seriously?! My mind still can’t get over it.

History Isn’t the Only Thing Erased. So Is Our Power.

We must reckon with the fact that my ignorance of Black high society is not happenstance. Our society and culture have intentionally curated an image of Blackness to justify our inferiority. Honestly, I shouldn’t have to mention this. It should be obvious, but it’s not, and we can thank white supremacy culture for that. Whiteness, and elite, upper to upper-middle class, educated whiteness, is not only portrayed as the norm in society, but as the standard. Media has always worked overtime to ensure this perpetuation remains true by leaving out characters of color in many of our most prominent TV shows and movies or writing in characters of color, especially Black characters, as socially, economically, and culturally inferior. Yes, there have been exceptions to this rule, especially with media that is created by Black creators, but those are exceptions. And, exceptions do not turn into rules unless they become the norm. Even with advancements in portrayals with shows like the Gilded Age, we still have a long way to go before we can remotely consider the norm challenged and changed.

And this is why this is so necessary.

When Black people and People of Color proclaim the importance of representation, it is because of moments like this one. The emotional response to seeing Black high society in Gilded Age has been vast. Black women everywhere have been weeping tears of joy as we watched Peggy Scott (Deneé Benton) be swept off her feet by a man who adores her after being told by her mother how worthy she was of such love. Black women ran to social media to express moments of healing they never knew they needed as they witnessed such a moment.

Imagine if this portrayal was our norm. Imagine the impact it would have on our community to be able to see that we have so much more richness to our history, and our present, than we ever knew. Imagine if we knew the truth about our self-sustaining Black communities, economic circulation, wealth, and education and what that would do for our young people who often grow up to believe they they are unwanted, unloved, and unseen by this society. I’m not saying that we don’t know, because many of us do. We have been the preservers of our own history since the beginning of time. However, there is still so much we do not know about how ancestors that goes beyond enslavement, sharecropping, Jim Crow, and mass incarceration. Not that our resistance stories aren’t important, because they are. They are the backbone of who we have become as a culture, ethnicity, and community. But they are just part of the story. Our whole history is filled with brilliance, beauty, elegance, wealth, and so much more. And if this was something that was not only portrayed as often in media as the white perfection story, but also taught accurately in history classes across the country, the marginalization, displacement, and racial gaps of our people would be in a very different place today.

And, again, that’s exactly the point.

They want us to believe that we are nothing but second class citizens, culturally inferior, and could never have access to, let alone deserve, the life that they worked so hard to keep for themselves.

We Deserve to See Our Royalty

It is imperative that we do not stop telling these stories. We mustn’t stop with the Gilded Age. The Gilded Age representation should be just the beginning. We deserve to know the stories of how free Blacks in the north created self-sustaining communities for themselves and how the formally enslaved began to build wealth in those same communities. We deserve to know the stories of how Black families migrated to states like Minnesota, North Dakota, and Oregon. We deserve to know exactly how the many Black Wall Streets were built before they were destroyed by white supremacy. We deserve to know the stories of the many Black inventors who never received credit for the inventions that shaped today’s society. We deserve to know the stories we do not know yet—examples I can’t even write here because I’m completely unaware of their existence.

We deserve to see ourselves as healed, whole, and multi-faceted beings.

We deserve to see our royalty.