The profound connection between humans and horses, built on trust and consistency, resonated deeply during a recent viewing of the docuseries High Horse: The Black Cowboy. This personal reflection began with the tactile experience of a riding lesson, focusing on the foundational elements of steady hands, a deep seat, and quiet legs during a loping gait—a brisk trot that demands unwavering balance and communication. These seemingly subtle techniques, however, are the bedrock of effective horsemanship, and a thousand-pound animal possesses an innate ability to discern genuine confidence from pretense. It is this inherent honesty and clarity in the human-equine relationship that lends such impact to High Horse, a series that meticulously revises our understanding of the American West. The documentary powerfully asserts that Black hands have perpetually been on the reins, actively shaping the West through breaking horses, herding cattle, patrolling vast ranches, competing in races, and dedicating their lives to the craft of horsemanship. The prevailing issue is not the belated inclusion of Black cowboys into the familiar tapestry of Western history, but rather the persistent, almost willful, surprise exhibited by society when confronted with their enduring presence.

Executive produced by Jordan Peele’s Monkeypaw Productions and directed by independent filmmaker Jason Perez, a protégé of Spike Lee, High Horse masterfully weaves together captivating archival footage and historical photographs with contemporary scenes of Black cowboy life. The series embarks on a journey through the annals of film, music, and marketing history, demonstrating how the popular narrative of the West has often been a carefully curated, rather than a wholly accurate, depiction of reality. This historical "airbrushing" is not always the result of a single, dramatic edit but rather a gradual, almost imperceptible narrowing of who is recognized and celebrated as authentically embodying the Western spirit.

High Horse resolutely rejects the notion of Black cowboys as a mere footnote to Western lore. Instead, it meticulously traces a continuous lineage, beginning with the skilled labor of formerly enslaved individuals who were instrumental in managing horses and cattle. It then highlights the pivotal role of Black jockeys who dominated early horse racing circuits, leading seamlessly into the present-day accomplishments of contemporary riders, ranchers, and entrepreneurs. The series skillfully keeps history alive and relevant without resorting to didactic pronouncements, allowing the visuals and personal stories to speak for themselves.

A particularly compelling aspect of the series is its deliberate focus on the physical realities of horsemanship. The camera lingers on the rider’s seat, the subtle movements of their hands, and the sheer dedication embodied by the countless hours invested in practice. For anyone who has experienced the discipline of riding, these details are instantly recognizable and deeply resonant. A horse, in its pure instinct, is indifferent to a rider’s personal narrative; it responds solely to consistency, fairness, and clear intent. This fundamental truth about working with horses illuminates how often the romanticized aesthetic of the cowboy is celebrated, while the demanding, unglamorous work at the core of the craft is frequently overlooked.

Throughout High Horse, the viewer is consistently drawn to images of Black riders, positioned with an air of quiet authority and steadiness, surveying vast open landscapes or navigating urban peripheries that bear the indelible imprint of the same historical forces. These seemingly simple, understated shots carry a powerful resonance. For Black Americans, land transcends mere scenery; it represents a complex legacy of inheritance and loss, of promises made and subsequently broken, and ultimately, the crucial distinction between being a temporary visitor and a dedicated steward.

This profound connection between Black identity and the land holds personal significance. My own father, a native Texan, grew up immersed in ranching culture before managing land and livestock in California, a legacy that inspired me to establish Outdoor Afro in 2009. Initially conceived as a blog and a tribute to his memory, Outdoor Afro has since evolved into a national organization dedicated to reconnecting Black communities with the outdoors. Today, it facilitates annual outdoor excursions for thousands of Black families, fostering a sense of reunion and belonging rather than merely participating in a fleeting trend.

In midlife, I have returned to the practice of horsemanship with an intensity that has even surprised myself. The experience of riding has cultivated greater patience and a heightened sense of personal honesty. It has also fostered a more nuanced perspective on land, instilling a deeper sense of responsibility for my own lifestyle choices and their broader implications for both my community and the natural world.

My current equine partner is a mustang, adopted from the Twin Peaks Herd Management Area nestled within the high desert along the California-Nevada border. I named her True Haven, a constant reminder of my faith and the peace that can be cultivated in all aspects of life. Horses, by their very nature, demand a commitment to fairness and consistency, and they possess an uncanny ability to immediately signal whether a rider is a trustworthy leader.

While owning a wild horse does not confer expertise in public lands and wildlife policy, it does foster an intimate engagement with critical questions of stewardship and deepen my resolve to protect America’s public lands and wild spaces. Abstract policy discussions often lose their relevance when one is holding a lead rope, acutely focused on the immediate needs of another living creature to ensure its safety and well-being.

High Horse astutely recognizes that the narrative of Black cowboys is inextricably linked to the broader story of Black land ownership and connection. This extends far beyond the romanticized imagery of wide-open spaces to encompass the pragmatic realities of acreage, access, property titles, taxation, and the pervasive influence of power structures in determining who can remain connected to the land. While the series refrains from getting lost in intricate policy details, it boldly articulates a truth too often sidestepped by many Westerners: the promise of freedom in the West was never equitably distributed, and the history of the region is undeniably marked by both overt and systemic violence.

However, High Horse is far from a somber lament; at its core, it is a vibrant celebration of freedom. The series showcases young riders engaged in training and competition, elders diligently passing down invaluable knowledge, and families maintaining traditions around horses with the same communal spirit found at church potlucks or family reunions. In a cultural landscape where Black history is frequently reduced to narratives of trauma, this documentary offers a refreshing counterpoint, highlighting excellence, craft, humor, pride, discipline, and an abundance of joy.

If there is a discernible weakness in the series, it lies in the inherent limitations of its scope. While three episodes can effectively raise a banner of awareness, they cannot possibly encompass the full spectrum of complexities. One might wish for more extensive coverage of Black women riders, a deeper exploration of the day-to-day economics of horse ownership, and a more profound acknowledgment of the intricate intersections between Black and Indigenous histories on Western lands.

Furthermore, there is a sense that the series could have placed greater trust in the voices of its working riders. Although the inclusion of well-known celebrities and scholars provides valuable reach and context, there is a risk that their interpretations might overshadow the authentic experiences of Black cowboys and ranchers, whose multi-generational stories of working the land and their horses possess an inherent power that could stand powerfully on its own.

Perhaps the most significant accomplishment of High Horse is its unwavering refusal to frame the Black cowboy as an anomaly. The series skillfully prompts viewers to broaden their perception of what constitutes "Western" by moving beyond the confines of conventional Hollywood portrayals. For anyone who cherishes the allure of the American West, this re-examination arrives at a profoundly opportune moment.

The documentary’s narrative resonates with the initial moments of meeting my own mare. Her quiet observation, her patient waiting, and her seemingly unspoken questions about my intentions mirrored my own introspection. Just as a horse responds to clarity, consistency, and compassionate guidance, so too should we approach our collective history. To foster an honest West with a resilient future, we must openly and fully recount its entire story and diligently protect the very ground upon which it is built.

High Horse: The Black Cowboy is not, and should not aspire to be, the definitive final word on the subject of Black cowboys. Nevertheless, it represents a significant stride toward a more inclusive vision of the West—one where Black riders are not viewed as transient visitors but are recognized as integral to the region’s foundational identity and its future in conservation.