Black Americans often describe "the cookout" in metaphorical terms. Of course, they host many real-world backyard BBQs complete with soulful music and rich side items like potato salad and mac n cheese. Friends, family members, co-workers, and neighbors are generally received with open arms. But, outside of the literal meaning of "cookout," this metaphor refers to an inclusive space. One that is welcoming to all members of the black community. However, not everyone is offered an invitation. Black people have to be selective about who they welcome into the fold. Nothing ruins a gathering more than guests who don't respect the hosts.
An "invite to the cookout" has come to represent the black community's approval. Or lack thereof. Black people often debate who should receive an invite to the cookout. Those who consider themselves allies frequently seek this level of access. Some hand out invites to anyone who wants one, like free coupons for a new laundry mat. At the same time, others make the case for limited admission. They point out that outsiders are not entitled to access Black people's spaces. The racism they've collectively endured in American society makes this hypothetical exclusivity appealing. KJ Kearney wrote in Ebony in defense of gatekeeping the cookout. She asked what hope we have to find peace "if we aren't allowed to find rest from the White gaze, even in a fictional sense."
Of course, the irony isn't lost on the Black community that white people often exclude them. During Jim Crow, Black people could not eat at the same restaurants as white people or live in the same communities. As a result, it would have been rare to see a Black person invited to a white version of the cookout. Even today, over sixty years after the Civil Rights Act passed, racism persists. Resistance to diversity, equity, and inclusion programs has become a popular political position. This speaks to the general exclusion Black people have and continue to endure. It wasn't until 1992 that New Orleans required its secret societies to desegregate. Both the Krewe of Comus and the Krewe of Momus had all-white membership. They chose "not to parade rather than integrate."
Generally, to attend a cookout, you must know someone hosting or attending. And in general, have a good relationship with them. But, a 2014 study found that "three-quarters of whites don't have any non-white friends." Racial redlining segregated American neighborhoods. Many white people fled urban areas to the suburbs rather than integrate. This estrangement between groups makes it more likely for a cookout to be primarily Black or white. Despite the diversity of America, our society has never been fully socially integrated. So, it’s rare for a Black person to extend an invite or an olive branch to an in-person cookout. And it comes with its share of risks. Such as a white person granted a level of access caught espousing anti-blackness.
Consider, for instance, "Bette Midler had her cookout invite revoked." This was after she posted that "women are the n-words of the world" in 2018. Women endure discrimination. That much is true. But comparing the general struggle of women to Black people's is a bridge too far. Writer Rebecca Stoner described White women as "segregation's constant gardeners," in Pacific Standard. She noted that "white mothers, PTA members, and columnists" were not innocent bystanders of Jim Crow. But, rather, many were" committed white supremacists." Thus, it's inaccurate to portray them as equally marginalized. After all, Black women endure racism and misogyny. This is a phenomenon writer and activist Moya Bailey referred to as "misogynoir." Also, using a racial slur undermined her original point. Midler lost credibility by calling out sexism while espousing racism. As well as her invite to the cookout.
Some argue that the black community shouldn't extend invites so freely or maybe at all. In 2017, Isis Miller wrote in the Huff Post, "invitations to the cookout have now been rescinded." She suggested this open-door policy caused more harm than good. And pointed out that this tradition often rewards those who do not deserve inclusion. And that, as a whole, we should "reevaluate how we protect our magic and our spaces." Last fall, Garrick McFadden wrote in LEVEL, "We need a moratorium on all invites to the cookout." He found it "disconcerting" that "we do not know the equivalent of an invite to the cookout for any other group." He pointed out the lack of reciprocity in this exchange, stating that some Black people were handing out invites but received none in return. "We never get invited to the Seder by our Jewish friends," McFadden pointed out as an example. In January, Ty Alexander posted on Threads, "The cookout is at capacity. And y'all's access to invites have been revoked 'cause you lack discernment after all we've been through."
Their comments are less directed at white people. And more so inward toward the black community. As the gatekeepers of the invites, they decide who, if anyone, can attend as a plus one. Radio personality Daisy Rosario and journalist Rachel Hampton discussed the topic for Slate. In a 2022 conversation entitled "Who's Invited to the Cookout?" they discussed two main questions. What were the qualifications for "getting into the cookout." And "what these requirements should be." Of course, those are not easy questions to answer. Hampton argued it's too difficult to determine who should receive an invite. And that maybe it should be "capped or abolished" as a result. She pointed out the inconsistent reasons for granting invites to white people. Is standing in solidarity with Black people the standard? Or does joining a one-day rally grant you access? What about saying you support Black people without follow-up? There is no one right answer because Black people are not a monolith. This discourse reveals that the cookout exists as a metaphor for collective comfort. One we must shape together.
Daisy Rosario responded, "I don't think we want to get into the habit of destroying the things that we love because other people are ruining them." She suggested that some misguided invites don't discredit the idea. This metaphorical safe space for the black community is still needed. This debate is reminiscent of the discussion about the term "woke." Some White people misappropriated the term and used it out of context. As a result, some argue we should abandon the word, saying that it's too damaged to salvage. Of course, many of us refuse to concede the meaning of our terms to bad-faith actors. Similarly, some Black people feel inviting white people to the cookout who are not real allies undermines it as it ceases to be a place where Black people feel safe and welcome. Hampton noted it's unclear when the phrase "invited to the cookout" originated regarding how it's used today. However, it's rooted in AAVE or African American Vernacular English and is often used in discussions among Black people.
The cookout takes a special place of significance in black culture. On Juneteenth, for instance, Black people celebrate the abolition of chattel slavery. Many do so by cooking and inviting family, friends, and neighbors. It represents collective comfort — a space to enjoy food, music, and a sense of community. Whether in real life or metaphorically, this shared space brings a sense of solace. That's why some Black people hold invites close to their chests. They're attempting to keep this space safe by being critical of who is invited. Thus, this is a case where gatekeeping is not an effort to cause harm. But instead, to protect those who endure racism among white people by creating a standard for acceptance. One that requires outsiders to treat Black people as valued members of society to enter. Some believe that having different standards for who gains an invite means we should cancel the cookout. But, perhaps it’s good that Black people continue to evaluate who is aligned with the black community. This helps to filter out those who, typically through espousing racism, disrupt the collective comfort.