BRIC’s Long Game: Surviving Was the Start. Staying Is the Work.

And before you picture a dramatic movie scene with wind blowing my hair, let me clarify: this is not the kind of crossroads where you accidentally miss your turn because Google Maps rerouted you through a neighborhood with no street signs and a loose chicken. This is the kind that asks real questions. Big ones. The kind that doesn’t let you keep moving on vibes alone.

The BRIC Fund was born in a moment of crisis. A global one. A racial reckoning one. A systems-failing-Black-communities-again one. Juneteenth 2020 energy. Sirens blaring. Doors closing. Needs piling up faster than funding applications. We were created because the moment demanded it. Because Black communities have always had to build what the system refuses to maintain.

But here’s the thing nobody tells you when you start something in crisis mode: urgency is a powerful fuel, but it’s a terrible long-term business plan.

Crisis money moves fast. Crisis attention is loud. Crisis commitments are passionate… and often short. Everybody wants to help right now. Fewer folks are ready to stay when the headlines fade, the hashtags slow down, and the work gets quieter, harder, and dare I say, less sexy.

This is the crossroads.

Do we remain a “break glass in case of emergency” fund? Or do we become something sturdier? Something permanent? Something our communities can count on before, during, and after the next crisis? Because let’s be honest: the crisis is not coming. It’s already here. It just changes outfits.

What Black-led organizations need isn’t just rescue funding. They need reliability. They need infrastructure. They need to know that support won’t disappear because the news cycle moved on or because a foundation decided to “pivot” (which is philanthropic code for we got distracted).

Becoming a perpetual resource means resisting the nonprofit hamster wheel. You know the one—always sprinting, never arriving, exhausted but somehow still expected to smile nicely in a progress report. It means shifting from survival to sustainability. From reacting to building. From “please fund us this year” to “we’re still going to be here in ten.”

It also means telling some uncomfortable truths. Perpetuity doesn’t come from vibes.

 It doesn’t come from one-time gifts. And it definitely doesn’t come from performative commitments that evaporate the moment accountability shows up.

Perpetuity comes from long-term thinking. From endowments. From reserves. From treating Black-led infrastructure as essential, not experimental. From funders and partners deciding that trust isn’t temporary and justice isn’t seasonal.

And yes, it means BRIC, making tough decisions. Saying no sometimes. Pacing the work to build strong systems. Thinking beyond the next grant cycle. Playing the long game while the world keeps demanding quick wins.

This crossroads asks us: Are we here to respond to moments, or to reshape the landscape?

What’s next for BRIC is about independence, continuity, and depth. It’s about strengthening our ability to continue moving resources through grants, expanding capacity-building programs and initiatives that support Black-led organizations beyond survival, and deepening coalition efforts that push for real systemic change. This next chapter is focused on building durable infrastructure so Black communities are not just responding to harm—but shaping their own futures with power, stability, and self-determination.

Because becoming a perpetual resource isn’t about surviving the next crisis. It’s about making sure our communities aren’t left scrambling when the next one inevitably arrives. It’s about building something so rooted, so steady, so community-held that it doesn’t disappear when attention does.

BRIC wasn’t created to be a trend. We were created to be a turning point.

And at this crossroads, we’re choosing the road that leads to permanence, power, and possibility, BRIC by BRIC.