Negro: The word was once printed on Census records and in school textbooks, used to identify Black Americans from the 18th century through the mid-1960s.
But as the concept of identity evolved, so did the culture surrounding it.
What was once a label assigned during eras of segregation and restriction has since been reshaped and redefined by resilience.
For senior Chico State student-athlete Yanise Harris, that evolution of identity is deeply personal.
“Growing up in Oakland, it is all about the culture — the Blackness,” Harris said. “Whether you know Oakland for the good or the bad, I know it for being Black.
“Walking outside, I am able to see my people, hear my people and speak to my people without worrying about someone asking me if they can wear my hairstyle, if my grandparents were slaves or if they can say ‘nigga.’ ”
Harris’ experience reflects a larger truth. Black American identity today is not just inherited. It is actively shaped, protected and expressed.
What is Black culture and why is it sacred?
The National Museum of African American History and Culture notes that stereotypes surrounding Black Americans are deeply rooted in slavery. Generations later, many of those assumptions persist: Black Americans are still labeled aggressive, unintelligent, lazy, poor, athletic or loud.
But Black American culture is not a stereotype. It is music, fashion and history built from displacement, survival and reinvention. It is the ability to create beauty in an environment that was never designed for Black people to flourish.
Joshua Kearns, a paraeducator in the Fresno School District, said Black culture is impossible to confine to one definition.
“Art, music, dance, food — there’s a lot to Black culture,” Kearns said. “I can’t describe it because it’s not just one thing.”
Modern Black identity exists in duality. It is excellence and inequity. It is celebration and vigilance. It influences American life in ways that are often unacknowledged, shaping music, language, style and even culinary traditions.
“I love going around saying, ‘It’s Black History Month,’ ” said Jowanna Owens, a Stockton resident. “We are getting more opportunities to show how bright the light shines on us. Our culture and our stories serve as reminders to others that we were once displaced and now we are the blueprint for more.”
That pride is expressed in more than words or commemorations. Style and aesthetics are not surface-level choices; they are extensions of a lineage.
Braids, a protective hairstyle worn for generations, carry historical significance within the Black community. While braided styles exist across cultures, Harris emphasized the specific legacy tied to African ancestry.
“When it comes down to our braids, just like others, it comes with history and a story that can be told for generations,” Harris said. “Our ancestors who were forced here had to use braids to cornrow rice and grains for survival. Braids were used as a map of a plantation to escape for a better life. Our community has shaped a hairstyle that was needed for survival into something we can finally call professional in the workplace and stylish. We are decorating our crowns with styles that help protect our hair and give us a face in a world where people want to treat us poorly.”
For many, that is what makes the culture sacred. It survived.
How did Black American culture form?
Black American culture did not emerge in a single moment. Its foundation was laid in 1619, when the first enslaved Africans were brought to Virginia. Stripped of language, homeland and autonomy, enslaved Africans preserved fragments of their identity through spirituals, oral storytelling, foodways and hair traditions. Culture, at its earliest stage, was preservation.
Following emancipation in 1863, Black communities began forming institutions that would anchor cultural development. Churches, historically Black colleges and universities, and Black-owned businesses became centers of education, faith and economic progress. During Reconstruction and into the early 20th century, culture expanded through literature, music and migration.
The early 1900s marked a visible cultural shift. The Great Migration relocated millions of Black Americans from the rural South to urban centers in the North and West. With that movement, came a new sound, new style and new political awareness. Jazz and blues emerged as dominant art forms. Neighborhoods such as Harlem became cultural epicenters.
In 1926, historian Carter G. Woodson established Negro History Week to ensure Black contributions were formally acknowledged in American education. At a time when textbooks largely excluded Black achievements, Woodson argued that understanding history was essential to cultural survival. In 1976, the observance expanded into Black History Month.
By the 1950s and 1960s, culture became more visibly tied to activism. The Civil Rights Movement did not only fight for legal equality. It reshaped visual identity. Natural hair, dashikis and Afros became symbols of pride and resistance. Fashion was no longer only personal expression. It was political.
According to the National Museum of African American History and Culture, media representation during the 1960s often limited Black actors to stereotypical roles, reinforcing narrow narratives about Black life. The push for broader representation would take decades.
“I was born in 2002, and I can remember that there weren’t a lot of people who looked like me,” Owens said. “There was an ongoing joke that we would die first in movies, and it was true. Now we have Black directors and movies like “Us” and “Get Out,” where we are the main characters who are surviving.”
The late 20th century marked another cultural expansion. Hip-hop emerged in the 1970s in the Bronx, transforming storytelling into rhythm and protest into poetry. What began as block parties evolved into a global industry, shaping language, fashion and politics.
Development did not stop there.
In the 21st century, social media reshaped how culture circulates. What once traveled through neighborhoods, churches and radio stations now moves instantly across platforms.
“I’ve seen on social media people who make fun of us,” Owens said. “There’s people on Facebook who say the N-word just because they know they will gain clout. They will wear cornrows and locs just for entertainment, just to make us mad. The way I see it, we inspire people to do what comes to us naturally.”
Shaday Allen, a University of La Verne alumna, said the digital age has intensified both celebration and appropriation.
“Social media changed the way Black culture is shared, preserved or appropriated in the modern era because of its widespread viewability,” Allen said.
What began as survival evolved into influence. What formed in fields and churches now trends through algorithms.
That evolution is not accidental. It is generational.
Why it matters now
In 2026, Black culture is globally consumed. It influences music charts, fashion cycles and digital trends. Influence, however, does not always equal understanding.
Following the killing of George Floyd, Gen Z mobilized online and offline, demanding accountability from brands and institutions.
A 2023 report by The Campaign shows that 62% of Gen Z expressed a desire to create change on a global scale.
“Honestly, my generation is ready to stand up and speak,” Kearns said. “We have been underestimated for so long. This generation is about social media, and we know how to use it in order to make companies scared into recognizing us.”
“Identity is important for the African American community because it instills solidarity through familiarity,” Allen said.
Black American culture was not formed by accident. It was built through survival, innovation and collective memory. As it continues to shape global trends and conversations, understanding its roots is not optional. It is essential.
Robyn Jones was Stocktonia’s first intern when the site launched in 2022 and is a contributing photojournalist and reporter. A Stockton native, she attended Lincoln High School, San Joaquin Delta College and University of LaVerne.