It's Not Blue or Red. It's Black.

Beyond the Ballot: Our Wealth, Our Power, Our Future

By LaDawn Sullivan

Well, the midterm elections have come and gone. Some folks are celebrating, others are disappointed, and political analysts are already explaining what happened, what it means, and who's positioning themselves for the next election.

Meanwhile, I've got a different question: What does any of this mean for Black people, our communities, our wealth, and our future?

Elections matter. Leadership matters. Public policy matters. But whether the political map is blue, red, or some shade of purple, my focus remains unapologetically Black.

Black survival. Black resilience. Black ownership. Black wealth. And, heaven forbid, Black people doing more than just surviving.

For generations, we've been told we must be twice as good to get half as much. Twice the education, twice the credentials, twice the creativity, and three times the patience. And after all that, somebody still wants to question whether we're qualified.

Well, apparently, even that math isn't working anymore.

According to the Center for Economic and Policy Research's October 13, 2026, analysis of Federal Reserve data, median Black family wealth declined 25% between 2022 and 2025, falling from $49,100 to $36,800. Meanwhile, median white family wealth reached $332,100, approximately nine times that of Black families.

The October 14 article in The Grio, As Black Wealth Drops 25%, Critics Say Trump's Agenda Is Making the Squeeze Worse, raises concerns about how economic conditions and federal policies are affecting Black households.

These numbers span multiple administrations, but the message is clear: Our economic vulnerability didn't begin with one election, and it won't disappear with another.

I'm tired of celebrating our resilience while watching the economic foundation beneath our feet erode. Resilience is necessary, but resilience without wealth-building can become an exhausting cycle of surviving what we should be changing.

The boot on our neck may change shoes, but the pressure remains familiar.

We cannot keep being the labor that builds everybody else's wealth while remaining renters, borrowers, consumers, and occasional guests at the ownership table.

Our interdependence must fuel our independence. Not isolation or exclusion, but ownership, opportunity, creativity, and collective power.

So, what's our strategic roadmap? And please, not another beautifully designed document that gets applauded at a conference and then disappears into somebody's Google Drive. I mean a plan with money, measurable commitments, and accountability.

First, know what we have. Map our community assets: businesses, nonprofits, property, artists, professionals, institutions, and financial resources. We are not starting from nothing. We need to connect and leverage what already exists.

Second, move our money with intention. Support Black-owned businesses, invest in community funds, expand access to capital, and create shared ownership opportunities. And not just during Black History Month when everybody suddenly remembers our economic importance.

Third, build institutions that outlive us. Our nonprofits, foundations, businesses, and cultural institutions need endowments, infrastructure, succession plans, and long-term investment. We need assets that appreciate, not just programs dependent on another annual grant.

Fourth, develop and share power. Mentor emerging leaders, transfer knowledge, and open doors. We cannot criticize gatekeeping in traditional institutions while installing velvet ropes around our own tables. There's enough room for more than one Black person to be brilliant!

Fifth, stay politically engaged beyond Election Day. Voting matters, but so do advocacy, public accountability, and demanding equitable investment of public resources. Our political influence should produce measurable community benefit.

Finally, measure what matters. Are more Black families building wealth? Are we owning more businesses, homes, and community assets? Are our institutions stronger? Are our children inheriting opportunities instead of obstacles?

If not, we've got more work to do.

This is the vision and calling behind the BRIC Fund: building a perpetual resource for Black communities, strengthening Black-led institutions, and leveraging our collective time, talent, treasure, testimony, and ties.

And nobody needs permission to begin.

Individuals can invest, mentor, organize, and redirect resources. Organizations can collaborate rather than compete. Institutions can align investments around shared community priorities.

Imagine what happens when those actions become a coordinated movement.

We cannot keep confusing political participation with a comprehensive strategy for Black liberation.

November 3 mattered. November 4 matters, too. And so does every day afterward.

Administrations change. Political promises come and go. But our commitment to Black communities cannot be seasonal, conditional, or dependent on who's holding the political microphone.

Our future cannot depend entirely on who occupies the White House. It must also depend on what WE are willing to build, finance, protect, and own together.

It's not blue or red.

It's Black. And our future is too important to leave on somebody else's political agenda.

I especially like keeping the humor about the Google Drive strategic plan, the sudden Black History Month economic enthusiasm, and the velvet ropes around our own tables. Those moments sound like you: a little wit, a little side-eye, and a serious message underneath.

The piece also keeps the important distinction that BRIC's focus on Black communities is not a reaction to an election outcome. It is an enduring commitment to building community wealth, power, and opportunity.