Anneshia Hardy | The Hardy Exchange
Dear America,
This is a letter I never imagined I’d have to write. But here we are, and it’s time for me to speak my truth. It’s time for me to say goodbye.
You and I, we’ve been in a toxic relationship for far too long. I’ve tried, oh, how I’ve tried, to love you despite the harm you’ve inflicted. I’ve given you patience, hope, and relentless labor. I’ve stitched myself back together every time you tried to tear me apart. I stood tall, even as you pushed me down with policies drenched in the stench of white supremacy, with systems that refused to see my worth, and with a history so deeply rooted in anti-Blackness that you can barely see past it. But I see you clearly now. Your mask of greatness is slipping, revealing all the insecurities you try so desperately to hide.
America, you were never great. You were never dreamy. That lie has been whispered and shouted too many times. Greatness does not rest on stolen land, built with stolen bodies, and sustained through the oppression of the descendants of formerly enslaved people. You rose to power on the backs of those you enslaved, tortured, and stripped of their humanity. Every brick of your towering monuments and institutions was laid by those you tried to erase. You never thanked us for our blood, our sweat, or our brilliance, because your power was built on pretending we were not human. But we are. We always were. And now, as I walk away, it’s your turn to reckon with your emptiness.
I am done giving you my energy. I am done sacrificing my spirit just to exist in your shadow. I have tried to make you better. I have fought in your courts and marched in your streets. I have taught you truth in classrooms and whispered dreams of liberation in quiet spaces. Yet your ears remain deaf, your heart stone-cold. You are afraid of what you might become if you truly confronted who you are, and so you project your insecurities onto those of us you fear.
To those who believe you’ve changed, who excuse your ugliness and pretend the scars you inflicted have healed, their willful ignorance is deafening. America, you don’t even bother to hide your true colors anymore. You wear your hate, your racism, and your venom proudly. Every law, every dog whistle, every attack on justice reveals your true self for all to see. People want to believe the myth of progress while the rot festers at the core, but they cannot turn away from the truth forever. Your systems of oppression are crumbling, not because of us, but because of your own doing. The hate and division you’ve cultivated are tearing you apart from within. Over the next four years, you will unravel under the weight of the seeds you’ve sown.
So I am leaving. You never loved me. You have always reserved a special kind of oppression for Black women. We are your unyielding backbone, your eternal scapegoat, and your source of exploited labor. We show up and show out for you, often at the cost of our own safety, health, and peace, only to be dehumanized, disrespected, and disregarded. You uphold the patriarchy that seeks to silence our voices and diminish our strength, but know that we are beyond your control. You wanted us silent, but we became loud. You wanted us obedient, but we became unbreakable. Your patriarchy could never eva eva hold us back.
You are also real messy. You thrive on pitting minorities against each other, playing divide-and-conquer games to keep us fighting for scraps while you sit comfortably atop the power you refuse to share. You fan the flames of insecurity and scarcity, making us believe liberation is only for a chosen few while keeping us chained to systems that deny true equality. I see your tricks for what they are, and I refuse to be your pawn any longer.
And let me not forget your besties and BFFs, the performative allies. You know who you are.The ones who stand beside me, fists raised in protest, only to retreat when it’s no longer convenient. The ones who post a black square on Instagram and call it revolution. The ones who show up for the photo-op but ghost us when the work gets hard. You perform allyship like it’s community theater, clapping for yourselves after each act. Bravo! Encore! But when the curtain falls, I see through the empty gestures and self-congratulatory applause. Liberation was never meant to be a performance, and your act has grown tired.
Then there’s your investment project, the nonprofit industrial complex. It’s where my oppression becomes your commodity. White funders hold the reins of movements they are not directly impacted by, dictating the terms of “progress” while never paying the price of my pain. You turn my suffering into grants and reports, extracting my stories and trauma without ever truly investing in my liberation. I see it now. I know who holds the power and who remains untouched by these systems, even as they claim to “help.”
Goodbye, America. You will miss me when I’m gone. You will miss my voice, my vision, and my power to create change where there is only decay. You will miss the wisdom and strength of my ancestors, those you tried to bury but who live on in me. You will miss the fire I lit in your darkness and the resistance I cultivated in every community that dared to dream of a better tomorrow. I leave, not with bitterness, but with the deep knowledge that you will watch in envy as I walk toward liberation, unshackled from your grasp.
I will build and rebuild in spaces of my own choosing. I will draw strength from the stories, lessons, and spirits of those who came before me. They endured so that I might rise. I will fight not just for survival but for liberation, mine and that of my people. And in that fight, there will be joy, love, and a freedom you could never give me.
Goodbye, America. I release myself from your toxicity. And in that release, I find liberation. While you stew in your fear and insecurity, me and my people, we, the unbreakable descendants of the enslaved, will thrive. We will build new worlds. We will love fiercely. We will continue to change the very fabric of existence without you weighing us down.
It’s time to let go, America. Don’t call me when you realize you’ve lost a good thing. Because you’ve been blocked. You had centuries to get it right. Now, I’m reclaiming my time, my power, and my joy. Stay pressed. And miss me with all that you’ve got going.
Yours no more,
Anneshia (on my way to liberation) Hardy
This piece is part of a 10-part series title, "Letters from a Black Woman to America", by Anneshia Hardy
About "A Break Up Letter to My Toxic EX: America"
What happens when the love of a Black woman for America finally reaches its breaking point? In A Breakup Letter to My Toxic Ex: America, I unpack the painful contradictions of loving a nation built on the oppression of Black and Brown people, a nation that continues to demand our labor, strength, and brilliance while dehumanizing us at every turn.
This letter is raw, unapologetic, and deeply personal. It’s a reckoning with America’s history of anti-Blackness and its refusal to confront its own toxicity. I explore themes of systemic oppression, performative allyship, and the exploitation of Black women as the backbone of movements that are too often co-opted and controlled by those in with privilege and power.
This isn’t just a letter; it’s a call to action for those ready to use their radical black imagination to build a world where liberation isn’t just a dream, but a reality we create for ourselves.