Telvin Osborne was a 27-year-old Black man. That fact alone should be enough to demand care, clarity, and justice in the face of his death. But lately, that has not been the case.
In recent weeks, social media has erupted with reactions to the news that Osborne was allegedly killed by his white girlfriend. Instead of mourning or mobilizing for answers, many online voices — particularly within Black spaces — have taken a different tone. Posts mocking his death. Memes celebrating karmic irony. Comments declaring that, because Osborne once disrespected Black women and uplifted white women, he doesn’t deserve justice. The sentiment is cold, biting, and unsettling — “That’s what he wanted. Let his white queen avenge him.”
This reaction is layered, and the pain fueling it is not without cause. But we must be clear: Telvin Osborne was a Black man whose life had value, even if his words failed to reflect it. If he was killed unjustly — and all indications suggest that possibility — then our duty to seek truth, accountability, and justice cannot be revoked based on his internalized racism. Black lives are not conditional. Our humanity is not earned. It is inherent. And justice is not a prize for those who perform their politics correctly — it’s a principle that must apply to all of us, or it applies to none of us.
His Words Hurt — And That Pain Is Real
Let’s not pretend otherwise: Telvin Osborne reportedly made disparaging remarks about Black women on social media. He allegedly praised white women as superior, and in doing so, participated in a long and ugly tradition of misogynoir — the intersectional hatred aimed specifically at Black women. These comments are not harmless. They reflect how deeply white supremacy poisons our sense of self and each other. And for Black women, who have long borne the brunt of racial, gendered, and emotional violence, these betrayals cut deep.
So yes, the pain is real. And yes, it’s frustrating — even enraging — to see a Black man speak poorly of the very women who most often stand at the frontlines defending Black life, only to then find himself at the center of a tragedy that demands collective solidarity. But grief and critique can coexist. What cannot happen — what we must resist — is the urge to let that pain justify abandonment.
Justice Isn’t Reserved for the “Likeable”
History is full of moments when Black victims have been denied justice not because they weren’t harmed, but because they weren’t considered “worthy” of empathy. The record is long: from police killings to suspicious deaths, we’ve seen time and again how the state and public opinion collude to rationalize Black death when the person had a criminal record, was “no angel,” or said or did something socially frowned upon.
When we turn around and do the same — when we decide that Telvin doesn’t deserve justice because his views were anti-Black — we risk replicating the very logic of white supremacy. We’re saying Black lives are only valuable when they behave, when they align with our standards, when they are safe and sympathetic.
But what happens to our politics when they’re only extended to the agreeable? What happens to the principle of justice when we carve out exceptions for the “wrong kind of Black”? We cannot claim to fight for Black liberation while narrowing the circle of who is worth fighting for.
This Is Bigger Than Telvin
Let’s remember the heart of the matter: a Black man is dead under suspicious circumstances. Reports suggest his white girlfriend killed him “accidentally.” Regardless of his past comments, this case deserves scrutiny. Why do we so often accept these kinds of explanations when the victim is Black? Why do stories involving white women and Black men so frequently go uninvestigated or unchallenged?
There is a long, painful history at play — of the racialized power dynamics between Black men and white women being ignored, of state and media failing to pursue accountability when a Black life is taken in private, intimate settings. This is not about Telvin being a hero. It’s about the reality that whiteness still protects — even in death — and Blackness still renders one disposable.
We Can Hold Contradiction — And Still Show Up
Solidarity does not mean silence. We can absolutely critique Telvin’s anti-Black views. We can center the harm such views cause — particularly toward Black women, who deserve so much more than apology-only politics after harm is done.
But we must also push ourselves to hold complexity. We must be mature and principled enough to say: This person harmed us — and still did not deserve to die unjustly. This person had twisted ideas — and still deserves dignity, investigation, and truth.
That is what justice looks like. It is not clean. It is not always comfortable. But it is right.
Conclusion: Bigger Than Our Pain
Grief is not always noble. Sometimes it’s angry, petty, even cruel. We are human — and our responses to pain are human, too. But the work of liberation is to rise above reaction. To stand in the full weight of contradiction and still choose care.
Telvin Osborne’s life — complicated as it was — still matters. His death deserves more than mockery. If it turns out that he was killed unjustly, that must matter. Not because he was perfect. But because he was ours.
And even when our people are confused, even when they’ve internalized lies, even when they fail to love us well — we can’t afford to stop fighting for them.
Because if we only protect the respectable, the pure, the affirming — we will leave too many behind.
Justice isn’t about worth. It’s about truth.
And the truth is, Telvin Osborne still deserved it.
