Safety DENIED: The Unchanging Reality FOR BLACK COMMUNITIES

In the midst of the election season, I’m sharing some reflections on the intersections of politics, nonprofit spaces, and the struggle for Black liberation.

This piece is a deep dive into the disillusionment, rage, and persistent call for freedom that many of us feel, especially during times when we’re asked to believe in systems that have historically failed us. The narratives of change and community empowerment often fade into rhetoric, leaving the status quo intact while our realities remain cyclical and unchanged. True liberation doesn’t come from promises; it comes from dismantling these very systems of oppression and demanding spaces where Black people can live fully and freely, without compromising their voices or experiences to make others comfortable.

As I write these thoughts, a simmering rage and deep dissatisfaction with the world surface. The current state of the election season has only heightened these feelings, revealing the many masks worn by those in power—masks that do not align with the vision of liberation I hold for Black people. It’s a constantly shifting landscape of emotions, leaving me to question what it truly means to engage in disruptive, transformative work when so much of what Black lives experience remains painfully cyclical.

A few days ago, I came across a post by a Black woman that struck a deep chord with me. She said, “Girl… the revolution will not have a 501(c)(3).” Reflecting on my own experiences within the nonprofit sector, I couldn’t help but nod in agreement. The nonprofit industrial complex, despite its claims of fostering positive social change, often ends up preserving the status quo rather than challenging the deeply entrenched systems of inequality and oppression it professes to address. My journey through this sector has been tumultuous, filled with disheartening revelations about the disconnect between theory and practice.

I’ve witnessed firsthand how those in positions of power within 501(c)(3) organizations often wield their authority to marginalize and harm the very communities they claim to uplift. In one nonprofit where I worked in my early twenties—ironically led by a Black woman who should have understood the weight of this harm—I was bluntly told that if I valued my livelihood, I should have thought twice before “pissing her off.” Shortly after, I was fired. The sheer audacity of someone using their social and economic status as a weapon against a young Black professional like myself was a jarring, deeply unsettling experience, underscoring how power can corrupt even those who share our struggles.

In another organization, I vividly remember the angry shouts of an Executive Director who made it clear that she was not running a “Black Nationalist organization” and that if we didn’t like it, we could “get the f*ck out.”

As I and others who had faced harm within the nonprofit sector set out to create our own organization, we were determined not to replicate the oppressive structures we had endured. Yet, that journey in my mid-twenties ultimately failed.

Unethical decisions by co-founders, a lack of genuine care, and the continued weaponization of power became our reality, further shattering the illusion that the nonprofit world was a true bastion of liberation. While the nonprofit sector often masks its shortcomings behind a mission of progress, the same cycles of complacency and performative allyship persist within the broader political landscape. The failures of nonprofits to challenge entrenched systems mirror the hollow promises of politicians during each election season, where rhetoric often outweighs meaningful change.

Despite their differences, nonprofit and government spaces share a troubling pattern: they are committed to maintaining the status quo rather than addressing the urgent needs of marginalized communities.

Nonprofits were envisioned as bridges between gaps in government services and the public's needs, particularly when government programs were underfunded or out of reach. In theory, they were meant to be pillars, stepping in to deliver essential services and advocate for the communities they served. Yet, reality often falls short of this ideal.

The reality of working within government spaces is strikingly similar. Throughout my twenties, I moved between the nonprofit and government sectors, and I quickly realized that the same oppressive forces that shape the outside world permeate these environments, no matter the intentions of those in leadership or an inked mission. Even in government roles—where change is supposedly meant to be the driving force—the same harmful dynamics and “-isms” that plague broader society remain deeply rooted inside.

This realization shattered the illusion that either space—nonprofit or government—could truly offer liberation. Despite their outward promises of change, both sectors are bound by institutional structures prioritizing compliance over transformation. The frameworks within these structures often maintain power imbalances and serve as gatekeepers, reinforcing the very hierarchies they claim to dismantle.

The rhetoric of progress and community-centered work becomes a mask, concealing how deeply these spaces are tied to the status quo. Liberation cannot thrive in environments where the rules and systems are designed to perpetuate existing power dynamics rather than challenge or disrupt them. Ultimately, both sectors, despite their different facades, become vehicles for managing rather than changing the conditions that harm marginalized communities.

Each election season brings the same tired pandering, where we are asked to engage in performative acts of democracy, only to be ridiculed when we demand real accountability or assurance that our needs will be met. This cycle adds to the mounting frustration. For many, it becomes increasingly difficult to muster the energy to participate in a system that has consistently failed us, especially when the threat of violence and systemic harm looms ever-present in our communities, both near and far.

The ideals we’ve been sold about what it means to live a fulfilling life are far removed from the harsh realities we face daily. The most valuable things in life—dignity, safety, and freedom—are not commodities that can be bought or sold; they are constrained by the limitations of those we believe can grant them to us.

How often do we forget Malcolm X’s message: “Any time you beg another man to set you free, you will never be free. Freedom is something that you have to do for yourselves.” His words remind us that true liberation cannot come from those in power—it must come from within us. The existing power dynamics will never prioritize us.

Meanwhile, others reflect on what’s truly at stake in this fraught political landscape. It’s absurd that a white supremacist and fascist who staged a coup to overturn the 2020 election—a 34-time felon—can still defy the norms of accountability, revealing how whiteness and maleness remain potent shields against consequences.

This stark reality highlights the inequities ingrained in the very fabric of our political system, where those who should be held to the highest standards seem to be held to none at all.

To be Black in these spaces often means being expected to make ourselves palatable—toning down our voices, our experiences, and our demands for change to fit within the comfort zones of those in power. It means being told to conform, to soften our critiques, and to perform respectability in exchange for access or the hope of incremental progress.

While we advocate for seats at the table and strive to build lasting Black legacies, the underlying hope is always the same: to create safe, authentic experiences within Blackhood. We envision spaces where we don’t just survive but thrive, free from the constant pressures to prove our worth or justify our presence.

Yet, despite these aspirations, the journey to achieving true safety and freedom within our communities remains fraught with challenges as we navigate the systems of a world that often fails to see our full humanity.

I don’t know what the future holds—none of us do—but I can see that the direction of this country remains unsafe for Black people, uncommitted to our needs, and unwilling to prioritize our well-being. The uncertainty of what lies ahead is clear, but so is the persistence of a system that continues to neglect the safety, dignity, and advancement of Black communities.

While the barriers within nonprofit and government spaces often feel insurmountable, small but meaningful victories are still possible. We can create change by building authentic, accountable relationships within our communities and demanding transparency from the organizations and leaders we support. When we prioritize honesty over palatability and uplift those who bring necessary critiques, we shift the norms of these spaces from within. Though systemic change is a long journey, each win builds resilience, reinforces our power, and moves us closer to a reality where true liberation isn’t just a vision—it’s a possibility within reach.