Is Being a Hustler Healthy? Survival, Black Excellence and Fear

When using the term “hustle”, it is necessary to take a step back in time. In this regard, Lester K. Spence’s work, Knocking the Hustle[2], is particularly useful.

In it, Spence reconstructs how the meaning of “hustle” and the figure of the “hustler” have changed over time. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, a hustler was someone who tried to climb the ladder at any cost, attempting to rise to the top using any available means, whether legal or illegal. However, one central idea underpinned this figure: achieving one’s goal by moving as little as possible, namely by working as little as necessary to get what one wanted. With the advent of neoliberal turn, it gradually took hold the idea that society, and any institution within it, function better when aligned with market principles. This meant that the concept of hustling took on an almost opposite meaning to the original one: the key figure became that of someone who works incessantly. The market imposes constant labour: to have a value and be considered human capital, one must be constantly productive. Hustle and grind became synonymous: the gauge of a human being equaled how much they produce. Within this framework, each person is required to maximise their usefulness and value in terms of productivity and money. Consequently, the idea that those who don’t achieve certain levels simply don’t want it enough began to become acceptable in the dominant discourse.   

This is an extremely fertile ground for creating the myth of richness, which in the Black community is intertwined with a long-standing social struggle for visibility. Constant productivity and the pursuit of excellence can also be read as a survival strategy within a system that structurally associates Blackness with marginality. 

But what is the gaze before which Blackness seeks legitimacy?

You look in the mirror and responsibility overwhelms you. That feeling tries to make room in your chest, your spirit succumbs for a moment, and wants to surrender. But the truth is, you cannot be depressed: that’s a luxury. You have to earn a living. Get out there and do what you have to do. Let go of whatever is weighing on your soul. You have to work hard, clear your mind, block out distractions and achieve your goals. Second place is the first loser. While you’re complaining, there’s always someone who’s working harder than you. Losing is not an option, you must do everything in your power to win. You gotta be consistent. Focused on your goals. You can’t give up for a second, not even an inch; you cannot afford that. Can you really say that you have a plan B? You must convince yourself that you will succeed, regardless of what other people say or think about you. You cannot rely on other people. You’re alone. In fact, people around you depend on you. And that makes you even more alone. Simply, you cannot stop. You must have more. You must earn more. Be hungrier. Devour anyone who gets in your way, like in a game of Pac-Man. Do not ever think for a second that you’re full or that you can relax. You cannot run away anywhere, also because: who would you go to? the world owes you nothing - it’s all on your shoulders. You know that this world wants you on the margins, you’re there anyway, but things are even worse if you don’t have money.  That’s the one language everyone understands. Even those who pretend not to. They’ll still think badly of you, they’ll still speak ill of you, they’ll forget your story, they’ll twist it, they’ll claim your word is worthless, but, when figures come into play - everyone understands those. The filth they want to throw at you - they’ll have to keep to themselves.

Watch what you see in the mirror.
You see Back.
They see a minority.
Let them see your bank account. 

Keep those sorrows locked inside, never show them. Never. Scars are ugly to see only for those who don’t know how much wounds hurt. You cannot afford to go back to where you were. Hold on tight to that fear and use it as fuel.

I ain't even have a plan B, I made myself not have a plan B on purpose
Just so I can fulfill my plan A[4].

What does Black Excellence mean? Perhaps, first of all, it is worth asking another question: why does the concept of white excellence not exist? One hypothesis is that such an idea is simply superfluous: what use is excellence if the system is built to make your success significantly easier? The suit is tailor-made; you don't need to be excellent to wear a garment made exactly for you. So, perhaps, it becomes inevitable to return to the concept of whiteness as a social and cultural construct, and to the width—or narrowness—of the mesh that allows it to be crossed. It is important to mention this because, unfortunately, it remains central to this reflection: does Black excellence really speak to Black people and their excellence, or does it rather represent the most digestible and acceptable version of Blackness for a white audience? Walking with your center of gravity shifted is dangerous; you risk falling often. Being at the top of a social architecture centered on neoliberalism means playing by the same rules as those who created the game. This is how excellence very quickly turns into power. Are that power and those resources then shared? Or do they remain a badge of honor for those who decided to let the Black body into the room, specifying—quietly, but not too much—that it was the only chair available and that there would be no others?

Maybe two billionaires instead of one are not the best solution.

You are not free, what use are all these objects to you? Hoard, collect, gather, add. But if you look down, it is like leaning out from the top floor of those luxurious hotels you have always dreamed of. There is emptiness. Do you think there is someone below to catch you, to caress your face, to dry your tears, to look into that emptiness? You left your people behind. You wanted to be the good Black guy, the one who excels, to feel white hands applauding your deeds. But now what remains? What did you want them to say to you? You wanted to be worthy, but you confused doing with being. No one around you understood that hunger. Having was like pouring water into a glass with a hole in the bottom: you could go on forever, again and again and again. Then they crowned you Black excellence. They said that there were no others like you, that other Black people should learn from you. But in that room, you were alone. Where were your people? You wanted to be part of the elite within a movement, you wanted to be alone so you could prove your worth, you only had eyes for how many zeros you could put behind your name. Your Blackness once again sold to those who still hold the power to say whether you are valuable or not, whether you can enter that room or not. Do you remember when your chest swelled with pride because they gave you the medal for being the “first Black man” in that position? Perhaps exceptionalism was fine for both of you in order to keep the same rules of the game. Perhaps that is the pain you feel wedged between your atria and ventricles. Your mind is heavy, and in the end you are in front of this television which is bigger than the wall, but you still can't really smile. 

When was the last time you took a deep breath?
Lower those shoulders.

Let yourself be seen.
Be your own center.

I want to be able to speak in the plural. 

Perhaps now I can glimpse this gigantic web that unites me and connects me with everything around me. I thought about how much the myth of the self-made man rests on a huge fallacy: my very existence is possible thanks to two other people. And then with these two ears I listened, with these two eyes I saw, with these hands I touched, I encountered experiences close and far from me, I learned, I made mistakes, I corrected my aim. But in the end, what can I claim to be entirely and exclusively mine? If I do an honest job of vivisection, I can see that teaching, that word, that shared experience, that song I heard, that book I read, that hug I received. Maybe I'm alone in this room, but when I look behind me, I see so many people. I am not alone. My excellence is, perhaps, a plural excellence. 

We are still here, despite all the attempts made and being made to ensure the opposite happens.

We are still here. I am still here. We are still here.

Excellent.