RYAN COOGLER'S 'SINNERS' HIDDEN MESSAGE: "BLACK WOMEN ARE GODDESSES"

We laughed when we saw that video on Instagram of the brother running from his white girlfriend after the voice of Malcolm X and the ancestors broke through the veil of his lust-filled haze — but we didn’t miss the message. Shoutout to Dr. Umar Johnson for putting that piece of comedic prophecy in our laps. It tickled our ribs, but it also touched our soul. Now, Ryan Coogler has done the same in his own way, delivering the truth not through viral skits or passionate rants, but through the silver screen — and the movie Sinners is laced with more than entertainment. It’s a love letter, a revelation, and a call to remembrance: Black women are the goddesses of this Earth.

Let’s get this clear from the jump — we are not here to deify in place of the Creator. We know that there is One Supreme, and nothing comes close. But just as the moon reflects the sun’s light with unmatched beauty, the Black woman reflects the divine essence in her earthly form. She is the mother of civilization — and that’s not opinion, that’s science. Genetic markers don’t lie. The rare Y chromosome recently discovered in an African-American man from the southern U.S. only strengthens what has long been known but often buried: Black people are the original people. And if that is true, then the Black woman is the original woman. The prototype. The blueprint. The first teacher and the last to give up.

Ryan Coogler doesn’t scream it — he doesn’t need to. Sinners speaks to the soul if you’re still connected. The character of Annie isn’t just a role; she’s a reminder. She’s beautiful, yes — in the way that real beauty breathes, without artifice, with soul. She’s intelligent, spiritual, grounded, graceful — and sexy as hell, but not in the shallow, overly sexualized way Western media loves to package us. She’s sexy because of her soul. That kind of depth makes her powerful, and that’s why she’s overlooked. The world fears powerful Black women. And sadly, so do many Black men who haven’t healed.

It’s time to acknowledge the wounds and the trauma Black women carry while being expected to “stay strong.” The world drains them. It exploits their labor, their nurturing, their strength, their sexuality, and gives them almost nothing in return. They carry the family on their backs, survive abuse and abandonment, and then are told they’re too loud, too angry, too bitter — when really, they’re just exhausted. They’re worn thin by a world that refuses to love them properly, yet demands everything from them. But we see you, sisters.

The sharing of my perspectives is not to elevate Black women above others, but to restore the image that was intentionally destroyed. We are saying: we see you. We know you. We hear your tears even when they’re silent. This is for the dark-skinned queens whose beauty is rarely validated, for the full-figured sisters overlooked by a society drunk on artificiality and Photoshopped illusions. This is for the Annie’s in our lives — the soulful sisters holding it down in every realm, from classrooms to courtrooms, kitchens to corporate suites. It’s time to put the crown back where it belongs.

The Original Woman: Mother of Civilization

Before they renamed our lands and erased our tongues, the original woman nurtured the earth and bore its first children. Black women are not a variation — they are the origin. This is not racial pride talking. This is anthropological fact, archeological truth, and ancestral memory. Yet the world has made the Black woman an afterthought, a punchline, a stereotype. She was never meant to be a caricature. She was created to be a compass.

When we speak of goddesses, we speak of a spirit in physical form that brings healing, insight, and balance. That’s what the Black woman brings. She has been abused, rejected, sexualized, and demonized. Her strength has been fetishized, her emotions dismissed, and her femininity questioned. Yet she still rises. Still births generations. Still gives the love that she rarely receives.

In Sinners, Coogler doesn’t spell it out. But Annie’s quiet power is unmistakable. She doesn’t have to shout to command respect. She walks in the fullness of herself — and that’s more intimidating to the world than any raised voice. We’ve been trained to ignore this kind of beauty. To chase after illusions while dismissing the substance. But Annie is substance. She’s rooted, real, raw, refined. She’s everything. And her existence in that film is proof that we need new templates of Black womanhood in media — not just as victims or vixens, but as visionaries.

To the Darker-Skinned, Thicker-Set Queens

You are not invisible.

You are not the “friend” while someone else plays the love interest.

You are not a joke or a trope or a “strong Black woman” that never gets to break down.

You are the pulse of our culture. The heartbeat of a people trying to find its way back home. You are soft when the world lets you be. You are tough because the world never gives you a choice. But inside you, there’s a brilliance and beauty that too few ever stop to recognize — and even fewer ever properly love.

To the sister whose curves tell stories of resilience, to the one whose rich, dark skin holds the sunlight in its pores like divine armor — you are not “less than.” You are more than. More than the lies the world told you, more than the standards you were forced to measure yourself against, more than the rejection you felt growing up, more than the invisibility you face in spaces that claim to celebrate Blackness but only uplift a certain look.

We see you. We love you. We desire you. We know you weren’t always told this, and that alone is a failure on our part. But that time is over. Today, right now, in this breath — feel your worth. You don’t need to shrink. You don’t need to lighten. You don’t need to hide. You are the beginning of everything.

The Essence of Our Survival

If Black men have made it through centuries of horror — the ships, the chains, the lash, the lynchings, the prisons, the poverty, the propaganda — then know this: we didn’t do it alone.

We did it because there was always a Black woman nearby, whispering hope when we were broken, carrying us when we couldn’t walk, feeding us when we had no food, and fighting for us even when we weren’t worth fighting for. She held the family together in the face of state-sanctioned genocide. She raised kings even when the fathers were snatched away. She gave love even when we gave her pain.

How can we not acknowledge her divinity?

How can we not see the goddess in that?

We need a worldwide movement to elevate Black women. And I don’t mean with hashtags or holidays. I mean in real life. In our homes, in our art, in our conversations, and in our hearts. Minister Farrakhan said it best: A nation can rise no higher than its woman. If that’s the case, we’ve been stagnant because we’ve stopped honoring our sisters. That ends now.

Final Thoughts: Rebuilding the Image, Restoring the Love

1. Black women deserve more than just survival. They deserve to thrive, to be adored, to be celebrated not just for what they endure but for who they are. We must raise them up emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and physically. That starts with Black men acknowledging their pain, protecting their peace, and matching their power.

2. We must detox from the Western beauty standard. Stop letting colonized minds define who and what is beautiful. Start seeing the divine in the features we’ve been taught to hate. Full lips, wide hips, thick thighs, kinky hair, deep skin — these are royal traits, not defects.

3. Art imitates life — so let’s push more ‘Annies’ to the forefront. Let’s support movies like Sinners, directors like Ryan Coogler, and demand images of our women that reflect their essence. No more side roles. No more ghetto stereotypes. Let our goddesses be seen.

4. Black unity starts with Black women being honored. No movement will succeed if we treat our sisters like afterthoughts. The revolution needs the goddess. Not just her body, but her spirit, her mind, her love. She’s not an accessory to your mission — she IS the mission.

5. To every Black woman reading this — we love you. Fully. Fiercely. Finally. Whether you’re slim or thick, light or deep in melanin, soft-spoken or fire-tongued, you are needed, wanted, and valued. You are not invisible. You are incredible. And we will protect your image like the sacred temple it is.

Let this be a renaissance — of love, respect, appreciation, and elevation.

From the streets to the screens, let the world know: Black women are goddesses.

Yours truly,

LanceScurv