Sometimes someone sends you something that makes you stop—not necessarily because the ideas are completely unfamiliar, but because suddenly you have language and a framework for something you have been seeing for years.

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My cousin, John Sykes, MSW, LCSW, a therapist, social worker, educator, and founder of According to Sykes, recently shared a video with me introducing the Liberation Health Model.

John’s sharing of this particular material caught my attention because his professional work sits at the intersection of mental health, trauma, identity, community, systems, and social justice.

Learn More About John Sykes and His Practice

According to Sykes⁠

http://www.accordingtosykes.com

His practice reflects an approach to healing that recognizes that people’s experiences cannot always be separated from their relationships, histories, communities, lived experiences, and the systems surrounding them.

Watch the Video John Shared

Introduction to the Liberation Health Model⁠

https://youtu.be/Fn5EnbeBIK0?is=bSfo_3RA3aEPz4G8

As President of National Action Network Indiana, I found myself looking at this framework not only through the lens of mental health, but through the lens of civil rights, community advocacy, crisis response, and institutional accountability.

It raises a question I believe deserves serious consideration:

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How many times have we tried to fix a person when part of what needed fixing was the system surrounding that person?

What Does the Liberation Health Model Surround?

The Liberation Health Model asks us to look beyond an individual’s symptoms, behavior, or crisis and examine the conditions shaping that person’s life.

That means asking questions such as:

• What has this person experienced?

• What relationships and institutions influence their daily life?

• What resources are available to them?

• What barriers prevent them from accessing help?

• What history has shaped the community around them?

• Who has power, and who is expected to carry the burden?

• What policies, economic conditions, or social attitudes are contributing to the crisis?

This framework does not deny personal responsibility. It does not suggest that individual choices, pain, or behavior do not matter. Instead, it reminds us that people make decisions within circumstances they did not always create.

A person may be struggling with depression, anxiety, grief, addiction, anger, or hopelessness. But those experiences may also be connected to unemployment, housing instability, violence, discrimination, untreated trauma, inadequate health care, environmental hazards, family stress, or the loss of community institutions.

If we focus only on the individual, we may treat the visible symptoms while leaving the conditions that produced or intensified the crisis untouched.

That is the central parallel I see between the Liberation Health Model and civil rights work: both require us to examine the larger conditions surrounding individual suffering.

What This Looks Like in a Community

A community can experience many of the same pressures that an individual experiences.

A person may feel isolated, powerless, unsafe, or unheard. A community can feel that way too.

A person may lose access to stable housing, employment, health care, education, and supportive relationships. A community can lose those same foundations through disinvestment, plant closures, population loss, neglected infrastructure, school closures, limited transportation, and the disappearance of local businesses.

A person may be told that their struggles are the result of poor choices. A community may be described as “blighted,” “dangerous,” or “failing” without serious attention to the policies and decisions that helped create those conditions.

This is where the Liberation Health Model gives civil rights advocates an important lens. It encourages us to ask not only, “What is wrong with this person?” or “What is wrong with this neighborhood?” but also:

What happened here? Who made the decisions? Who benefited? Who was left without support? What resources were removed? What systems are still producing harm?

Gary and the Consequences of Community Devastation

Gary, Indiana, provides a powerful example of why this broader analysis matters.

Gary has experienced decades of economic and social devastation connected to industrial decline, job loss, population loss, disinvestment, abandoned properties, environmental concerns, infrastructure challenges, and the erosion of institutions that once helped sustain families and neighborhoods.

For generations, steel and related industries provided employment, identity, and economic stability for many residents. When those opportunities declined, the effects reached far beyond the workplace.

The consequences appeared in:

• Families losing stable sources of income

• Young people seeing fewer pathways to remain and build a future

• Neighborhoods losing businesses and services

• Homes becoming vacant or deteriorated

• Schools and community institutions facing greater pressure

• Residents experiencing increased stress, grief, and uncertainty

• Public resources becoming more difficult to access

• Long-term residents feeling forgotten by government and industry

• Communities carrying the environmental and health consequences of industrial activity

These conditions can affect mental health, family stability, public safety, educational outcomes, and civic participation. They can shape how people see themselves and how others see them.

When a community has endured decades of loss, it is not enough to tell residents to be more resilient. Resilience is important, but it should not become an excuse for institutions to avoid responsibility.

We should not ask only why a resident is struggling. We should also ask what happens when a person lives in a community where opportunity has been repeatedly withdrawn, where basic services are inconsistent, where vacant properties communicate abandonment, and where residents have had to fight for attention that should have been guaranteed.

That is not an individual failure. It is a community condition.

From Individual Crisis to Structural Conditions

Consider a young person in Gary who is struggling in school, experiencing anxiety, or becoming involved in the justice system.

An individual-focused response might ask:

• Why is this young person acting out?

• Why are they not making better choices?

• Why are they not taking advantage of available opportunities?

A Liberation Health and civil rights response asks additional questions:

• Does the young person have access to safe transportation?

• Are schools adequately resourced?

• Are counselors and mental health professionals available?

• Does the family have stable housing and employment?

• Are there safe places for recreation and learning?

• Has the young person experienced violence, grief, or environmental stress?

• Are disciplinary practices fair and supportive?

• Are there meaningful jobs, internships, and educational pathways?

• Does the community have trusted adults and institutions that young people can rely on?

These questions do not remove personal agency. They place personal experience in context.

The same is true when we discuss violence. Violence must be addressed, and victims deserve protection and justice. But a serious response must also examine the conditions that allow violence to grow: trauma, poverty, hopelessness, lack of opportunity, untreated mental illness, substance use, family instability, easy access to weapons, and the absence of trusted community supports.

Public safety and social justice are not opposing goals. A community deserves both safety and the conditions that make safety possible.

The Civil Rights Parallel

Civil rights work has always required us to look beyond individual incidents and examine systems.

When a person is denied housing, we ask whether discrimination or policy is involved.

When a student is pushed out of school, we ask whether discipline is being applied fairly.

When a worker is denied opportunity, we ask whether race, disability, gender, age, or economic status is influencing the decision.

When a neighborhood lacks investment, we ask whether public and private resources are being distributed equitably.

When residents are exposed to environmental hazards, we ask who is being protected and who is being sacrificed.

This is the same movement encouraged by the Liberation Health Model: moving from the individual experience to the relationships, institutions, policies, history, and power structures surrounding it.

Civil rights advocacy is not simply about responding after harm occurs. It is also about identifying the conditions that make harm more likely and organizing to change them.

That may mean advocating for:

• Equitable economic development

• Affordable and stable housing

• Strong public schools

• Accessible mental health care

• Environmental justice

• Reliable transportation

• Workforce development

• Youth programs

• Fair policing and accountability

• Reentry support

• Protection from discrimination

• Investment in historically neglected neighborhoods

• Meaningful resident participation in public decisions

These are not separate from mental health. They are part of the environment in which mental health is either supported or undermined.

Healing Must Include Accountability

The Liberation Health Model also challenges us to think carefully about what healing means.

Healing is not only an individual learning to cope with difficult circumstances. Healing can also involve restoring relationships, rebuilding trust, strengthening community institutions, creating safety, and holding systems accountable.

For a community like Gary, healing cannot mean simply asking residents to move on from decades of loss. It must include truth-telling about what happened, recognition of the people who carried the burden, and investment in the future.

Healing requires listening to residents—not only during a crisis or election season, but as ongoing partners in determining what their communities need.

It requires recognizing that residents are not problems to be managed. They are people with knowledge, history, leadership, and solutions.

It also requires acknowledging that communities cannot be expected to recover without resources. A neighborhood cannot be told to heal while remaining without adequate housing, health care, employment, education, transportation, and public investment.

Changing the Questions We Ask

The questions we ask shape the solutions we pursue.

If we ask, “What is wrong with this person?” we may focus on punishment, diagnosis, or short-term intervention.

If we ask, “What is happening around this person?” we may identify trauma, discrimination, poverty, isolation, or institutional failure.

If we ask, “What is wrong with this community?” we may blame residents.

If we ask, “What happened to this community, and what conditions continue to shape it?” we may begin to identify responsibility and create a path toward repair.

The Liberation Health Model does not tell us to ignore individual needs. It tells us to understand those needs more fully.

A person may need therapy, medication, crisis intervention, or support. At the same time, that person may also need safe housing, employment, transportation, protection from violence, access to education, and a community that believes their life has value.

Both levels matter.

A Call to Civil Rights Leadership

For those of us engaged in civil rights work, this framework offers a reminder that advocacy must remain connected to the lived experiences of the people we serve.

We cannot separate mental health from housing justice.

We cannot separate public safety from economic opportunity.

We cannot separate educational outcomes from neighborhood conditions.

We cannot separate individual trauma from collective trauma.

We cannot separate community well-being from government accountability.

The work requires us to stand with individuals while also challenging the systems that continue to produce harm.

That means supporting people in crisis, but also asking why so many people are reaching crisis.

It means helping families navigate services, but also asking why those services are so difficult to access.

It means responding to violence, but also investing in the conditions that reduce violence.

It means honoring resilience, but refusing to use resilience as a reason to deny people the resources they deserve.

Conclusion

The Liberation Health Model gives us language for something many communities have known for a long time: people do not suffer in isolation from the world around them.

Their mental health is shaped by relationships, institutions, history, economics, public policy, discrimination, opportunity, and community conditions.

Gary’s experience makes that reality impossible to ignore. The devastation the city has encountered is not simply a collection of individual problems. It is a story of economic change, disinvestment, institutional strain, environmental concerns, lost opportunity, and residents who have continued to fight for dignity and a future.

The civil rights response must therefore be broader than telling individuals to overcome.

We must ask what needs to change around them.

We must examine who has power and how it is used.

We must listen to communities that have been overlooked.

We must connect mental health with housing, education, employment, safety, environmental justice, and democratic participation.

And we must remember that when the problem is bigger than the person, the solution must be bigger than the person too.

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If this article or the work of National Action Network Indiana has been meaningful to you, please consider making a contribution to support continued community education, advocacy, and civil rights work.

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Donation link: Support National Action Network Indiana⁠

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I didn’t experience climate change in a debate, a news segment, or a policy discussion.

I experienced it in my living room—without power.

When the storm hit Northwest Indiana, Chicago, and the south suburbs, the lights went out and stayed out. What followed wasn’t just an inconvenience. It was days of living differently, thinking differently, and worrying differently.

And now meteorologists have given what we experienced a name:

A derecho.

A derecho is a widespread, long-lived, fast-moving system of severe thunderstorms that can produce an extensive path of destructive straight-line winds.

The August 11 storm produced widespread damaging winds across northeastern Illinois and Northwest Indiana, with some winds reaching hurricane force. At Gary/Chicago International Airport, a peak wind gust of 99 miles per hour was recorded.

Think about that.

Ninety-nine miles per hour.

That helps explain the trees that came crashing down, the power lines scattered across communities, the damaged homes and property, and the thousands of families suddenly left without electricity.

For me, this week made the conversation about climate change personal in a way it never had been before.

I believe in climate change.

I understand there are people who do not. There are critics, skeptics, and people with completely different explanations for what we are witnessing. I respect their right to their views, just as I expect my right to mine to be respected.

But after sitting in the dark for several days without electricity, my perspective has only deepened.

I cooked outside on a grill because there was no electricity.

I watched food spoil in a refrigerator that we tried to maintain with a small generator.

I kept checking my phone and trying to stretch the battery life because that small device had become my connection to family, emergency information, utility updates, and the outside world.

And I sat in the dark trying to entertain and reassure a six-year-old with checkers, board games, conversation—anything that could make the situation feel a little less uncertain.

But the truth is, I was managing my own anxiety too.

And while I was thinking about my own household, I couldn’t stop thinking about people throughout our communities who were dealing with the same storm with far fewer resources.

What happens when the storm passes, but your community doesn’t have the resources to recover?

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For the last 10 days or so, I have been a little radio silent.

Not completely absent. I have checked in on social media here and there. But I have been quieter than usual.

Less talking.

More listening.

More meditation.

More prayer.

More reflection.

And, if I am truthful, a whole lot of questions.

The last few weeks have taken me through parts of the South, including Mississippi and Arkansas. I have been visiting family, reconnecting with people I love, and spending time in places where history is not something you simply read about.

You can feel it.

I had the blessing of spending time with my 106-year-old grandmother.

One hundred and six years.

Just think about that.

I also had the privilege of celebrating the 99th birthday of Mother Dace.

One hundred years.

When you sit in the presence of people who have lived for a century or longer, something happens to your perspective.

You start thinking differently about time.

You start thinking about what their eyes have seen.

Think about the America into which they were born.

Think about what Black families endured.

Think about what women endured.

Think about what they survived, what they prayed through, what they buried, what they built, what they fought to preserve, and what they tried to leave for the generations coming behind them.

And sitting there made me think about one word:

Inheritance.

Not just money.

Not just property.

Not just land.

Inheritance.

What do we inherit from the generations before us?

And maybe even more importantly:

What are we leaving behind?

At first, I thought I had writer’s block.

Writer’s block is rare for me.

But maybe I wasn’t blocked at all.

Maybe I was full.

Full of thoughts.

Full of questions.

Full of memories.

Full of gratitude.

Full of concern.

And full of some things that have been troubling my spirit.

My mind also kept returning to Mississippi and to the tragedy surrounding the death of young Nolan Wells—a tragedy that brought me back to Mississippi and caused me to think again about life, justice, grief, family, and our responsibility toward one another.

And somewhere between Mississippi and Arkansas, between sitting with family, praying, observing, and watching what is happening in America and around the world, one question kept coming back to me:

When did silence become acceptable?

Some Injustice Has Your Last Name

Before I talk about Washington, politicians, pastors, or anything happening thousands of miles away, I have to start much closer to home.

Family.

Because injustice doesn’t begin in Washington.

Sometimes injustice happens around the family table.

Sometimes it happens after somebody dies.

Sometimes it happens when property is divided.

Sometimes it happens when land that somebody worked a lifetime to acquire and preserve becomes more important than the people who share the same blood.

Sometimes brothers and sisters die, and those who remain find ways to deprive the heirs of a deceased sibling of what was rightfully intended for that part of the family.

And then everybody gets dressed and goes to church on Sunday.

I struggle with that.

I really do.

How does someone who calls themselves a Christian knowingly take something from their own family?

How do you praise God on Sunday and mistreat your family on Monday?

How do you sing about loving one another while manipulating an inheritance?

How do you quote Scripture while figuring out how to keep somebody else’s children from receiving what their mother or father should have received?

Sometimes injustice has your last name.

Sometimes greed sits beside you at the family reunion.

Sometimes the same person shouting “Amen!” on Sunday knows exactly what they did when somebody died.

And sometimes the deepest wounds don’t come from strangers.

They come from family.

That may make some people uncomfortable.

Maybe it should.

Because Christianity cannot only apply when we’re discussing politicians we don’t like.

If deception is wrong in Washington, it is wrong in our families.

If abusing power is wrong for a government, it is wrong when the person with the most money, information, influence, or access in a family uses that advantage against relatives who have less.

If taking what rightfully belongs to somebody else is wrong for a politician, it doesn’t suddenly become righteous because the person doing it carries a Bible.

Justice has to mean something when it costs us something too.

Washington Didn’t Raise Itself

And this is where my reflection went even deeper.

People don’t suddenly become cruel when they get elected to office.

They don’t wake up at 50, 60, or 70 years old and suddenly discover greed, resentment, jealousy, dishonesty, domination, or the need to control other people.

Those things have roots.

Before there was a senator, congressman, president, governor, pastor, bishop, judge, CEO, or anybody else holding enormous power, there was a child.

And that child was watching.

Watching how adults handled anger.

Watching how people settled disagreements.

Watching what happened when money entered the room.

Watching how family treated family.

Watching whether the strongest person protected the weakest person—or took advantage of them.

Watching whether adults apologized when they were wrong or simply became louder.

Watching whether love was unconditional or something that could be withdrawn as punishment.

Watching whether Christianity was something adults actually lived or simply something they talked about on Sunday.

Childhood matters.

Family dynamics matter.

Trauma matters.

What children witness matters.

Those experiences do not excuse what adults eventually choose to do.

But let’s stop pretending those experiences magically disappear when somebody turns 18.

We carry things.

Some people carry love.

Some carry compassion.

Some carry discipline.

Some carry faith and integrity.

And some people carry wounds they never addressed, anger they never confronted, resentment they never released, and a need for control they never examined.

Then society gives some of those people power.

We give them titles.

We give them pulpits.

We give them corporations.

We give them courtrooms.

We give them legislatures.

We give them armies.

Sometimes we give them nations.

And then we act surprised when unresolved human dysfunction shows up in the exercise of power.

Washington didn’t raise itself.

Everybody sitting in those seats came from somewhere.

Every one of them learned something about love, anger, conflict, power, compassion, truth, and how human beings should treat one another.

And power has a way of magnifying what is already inside a person.

Family affects community.

Community affects church.

Church affects politics.

Politics affects policy.

Policy affects human beings.

And those human beings go home to families.

It is reciprocal.

Round and round it goes.

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“Ribbon cuttings make headlines. Audits reveal whether progress was real.”

Author’s Note

This article was inspired by a meeting I had today with a longtime resident of Gary, Indiana. Our conversation was not specifically about the city’s mayors, and the question examined here did not arise during the meeting. But the encounter caused me to think more deeply about Gary’s recent history and leadership. Afterward, I found myself asking: What have Gary’s last three mayors actually accomplished—and how should residents fairly evaluate those accomplishments?

That question led me to review public records, government announcements, demographic data, board minutes and independent reporting. The purpose is not to declare that nothing was done, nor to award political credit based on personalities. It is to separate completed work from announced work; inherited projects from newly initiated projects; and public investment from measurable public benefit.

EDITOR’S NOTE: This analysis relies on publicly available records and reporting. Major municipal projects often span multiple administrations. Credit is therefore assigned carefully among initiation, financing, advancement and completion. Projected jobs, matching funds and future benefits are identified as projections—not treated as completed outcomes.

The Question Behind the Headlines

Gary has repeatedly been described as being on the verge of a comeback. Over the last three administrations, residents have heard about an expanded airport runway, a $300 million casino, federal recovery funding, blight programs, a $60 million FedEx facility, downtown revitalization grants and a new city-operated residential garbage system. Each announcement has carried the language of momentum.

Yet many residents still see abandoned structures, illegal dumping, unreliable infrastructure, weak commercial corridors and neighborhoods that do not appear to have benefited proportionately from the investment announced in the city’s name. That disconnect is the real subject of this report.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, Gary’s population fell from 80,294 in the 2010 Census to roughly 67,500 by the 2024 estimate. The Bureau’s 2020–2024 figures place median household income at $38,731 and the poverty rate at 33.1 percent. These figures do not mean that every development initiative failed. They do mean that Gary’s broad structural problems remain severe enough that isolated projects cannot be confused with citywide recovery.[1]

A city may gain a major facility without substantially reducing poverty. It may demolish dangerous buildings without creating new housing. It may receive a grant without completing the promised work. It may announce hundreds of jobs before a single resident is hired. Those distinctions are not cynical; they are the basics of public accountability.

How the Three Administrations Are Evaluated

Each mayor is assessed through the same seven questions:

• What major projects were completed during the administration?

• Which projects were inherited from previous administrations?

• What public money or outside investment was secured?

• What measurable outcomes—not projections—can be documented?

• What changed in neighborhoods and core city services?

• What major problems remained unresolved when the term ended?

• What information should be audited or publicly reported before success is declared?

Karen Freeman-Wilson: Building a Foundation Under Severe Fiscal Pressure

Term: January 2012–December 2019

What she inherited

Freeman-Wilson entered office with limited fiscal room to maneuver. Governing reported in 2012 that Gary had a total budget of approximately $47 million, owed about $43 million and faced a projected deficit of $10 million to $15 million. The city was also coping with high unemployment, widespread vacancy and a shrinking tax base.[2]

That starting point matters. A mayor inheriting a solvent city can focus on expansion. A mayor inheriting debt and service pressures must first stabilize operations while attempting to attract investment. Freeman-Wilson’s record should therefore be judged both by what she completed and by whether her planning translated into neighborhood-level improvement over eight years.

The airport runway expansion

The clearest lasting infrastructure accomplishment completed during her administration was the Gary/Chicago International Airport runway expansion. The main runway was extended to 8,859 feet, allowing larger and heavier aircraft to use the airport. The project required the relocation of Canadian National railroad tracks and had been pursued for years before Freeman-Wilson took office. The extended runway opened in 2015.[3]

The fair conclusion is neither that Freeman-Wilson created the project nor that she merely happened to be present. Her administration helped advance the agreements and coordination required to bring a long-delayed regional project across the finish line. That is a legitimate accomplishment. It also created infrastructure later administrations could use to market the airport area for logistics and distribution investment.

But the public was also entitled to ask what came next. Airport infrastructure has value only if it produces sustained cargo operations, business activity, employment and revenue. The runway was a foundation—not the completed economic transformation often imagined around it.

The citywide blight survey

Freeman-Wilson’s administration also undertook one of Gary’s most important data-gathering efforts. Approximately 200 volunteers surveyed nearly 60,000 parcels. Reporting at the time described roughly 6,300 vacant homes plus hundreds of vacant commercial properties—close to 7,000 vacant structures altogether.[4]

That survey gave the city a clearer inventory for demolition, rehabilitation, code enforcement and redevelopment. It was necessary work. Yet it also exposed the scale of the challenge: the estimated cost of demolishing all vacant structures was about $40 million, before accounting for redevelopment after demolition.

The distinction is essential. Mapping blight is an administrative accomplishment. Eliminating blight and returning land to productive use is an outcome. The survey improved the city’s knowledge, but large areas of visible abandonment remained after Freeman-Wilson left office.

Partnerships, paving and place-based development

Freeman-Wilson emphasized external partnerships, redevelopment planning, paving and targeted development in downtown, Miller, Emerson and University Park. Biographical accounts also cite ArtHouse: A Social Kitchen, a culinary incubator and public-art initiative supported by philanthropic funding.[5]

These efforts demonstrate that her administration was not inactive. But their cumulative effect did not reverse population loss, poverty or the uneven condition of neighborhoods. Her record is strongest when viewed as foundation-building: airport infrastructure, data systems, partnerships and planning. It is weakest when measured by the pace and geographic reach of visible change.

Investigative assessment: Freeman-Wilson

Freeman-Wilson’s administration completed the most durable infrastructure project among the three mayors examined here. She also created a more systematic understanding of blight and built relationships that positioned Gary for later opportunities. The unresolved issue is conversion: eight years of planning and partnership did not produce enough broad, measurable improvement for many residents to feel that the city had turned a corner.

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Indiana is routinely recognized as one of the most affordable states in America.

National rankings often celebrate our relatively low home prices and lower cost of living compared with states like Illinois, California, and New York. On paper, Indiana appears to be one of the best bargains in America.

But paper doesn’t tell the whole story.

For hundreds of thousands of Hoosiers, affordability has become an illusion.

This is Indiana’s housing paradox.

Housing isn’t truly affordable because affordability must be measured against income—not against another state’s housing market. A home that costs less than one in Chicago or Los Angeles is still out of reach if wages are too low to pay the mortgage or the rent.

That is exactly where Indiana finds itself today.

📊 Indiana Housing by the Numbers

The Data Behind Indiana's Housing Paradox

IndicatorWhat the Data ShowsWhy It MattersHourly wage needed to afford a modest two-bedroom apartment$22.18/hourMany working Hoosiers earn less than what is required for stable housing.Average renter wage in Indiana$18.05/hourThe average renter earns more than $4/hour below what is needed to afford a modest two-bedroom apartment.Indiana minimum wage$7.25/hourA minimum wage worker would need to work well over 100 hours each week to afford a modest apartment.Indiana's largest occupationsNearly two-thirds do not pay enough to afford a modest two-bedroom apartment.Many essential workers cannot afford the communities they serve.IndianapolisApproximately 39% of households cannot afford the median-priced existing home.Housing production has not kept pace with population growth.Gary & Northwest IndianaThousands of vacant, abandoned, or deteriorated residential properties remain.The challenge is restoring existing housing while families continue searching for quality homes.

Sources

• National Low Income Housing Coalition, Out of Reach: Indiana Housing Data

• Indiana Business Research Center, Indiana Housing Market Analysis

• Housing4Hoosiers Coalition

• Prosperity Indiana

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The statistics confirm what many Hoosiers already know through lived experience.

According to the National Low Income Housing Coalition, a full-time worker in Indiana must earn approximately $22.18 per hour to afford a modest two-bedroom apartment without spending more than 30 percent of their income on housing. Yet the average renter earns only $18.05 per hour, leaving thousands of working Hoosiers priced out of what experts define as affordable housing.

Even more troubling, nearly two-thirds of Indiana's twenty largest occupations do not pay enough to afford that modest two-bedroom apartment. These are not luxury jobs. They are childcare workers, nursing assistants, home health aides, restaurant employees, retail workers, warehouse employees, and the very people who keep our communities functioning every day.

Indiana's minimum wage remains $7.25 per hour.

At that wage, a full-time worker would need to work well over one hundred hours every week simply to afford a modest apartment.

That isn't affordability.

That's survival.

Two Different Housing Crises

Indiana's housing crisis does not look the same everywhere.

In Indianapolis, the issue is supply.

As the city's population has grown, housing construction has struggled to keep pace. Researchers estimate that nearly four out of every ten households in the Indianapolis metropolitan area cannot afford the median-priced existing home. More than half cannot afford the price of a newly constructed home.

Growth has become a double-edged sword.

Economic development has attracted new residents and businesses, but housing production has not kept pace, pushing ownership and rental costs beyond the reach of many working families.

Travel north to Northwest Indiana, however, and the picture changes dramatically.

Gary's housing crisis isn't simply about rising prices.

It is about decades of disinvestment.

Entire neighborhoods still contain vacant homes, abandoned structures, burned-out buildings, and deteriorating properties that once housed thriving families. Thousands of homes sit empty while families continue searching for safe, quality housing.

Think about that for a moment.

One part of Indiana cannot build homes fast enough.

Another part has thousands of homes waiting to be rehabilitated.

That is not merely a housing problem.

It is a planning problem.

It is an investment problem.

And ultimately, it is a leadership problem.

Housing Has Always Been a Civil Rights Issue

Some people may ask why the National Action Network is talking about housing.

The answer is simple.

Housing has always been a civil rights issue.

The modern civil rights movement cannot stop with voting rights, criminal justice reform, or equal employment.

Where a person lives influences nearly every opportunity they will have in life.

Housing determines access to quality schools.

Transportation.

Healthcare.

Healthy food.

Employment opportunities.

Public safety.

Broadband access.

Homeownership.

And perhaps most importantly, the ability to build generational wealth.

For generations, discriminatory housing policies—including redlining, restrictive covenants, unequal lending, and systematic disinvestment—prevented many Black families and other historically marginalized communities from building wealth through homeownership.

Although many of those practices are now illegal, their consequences remain visible throughout Indiana.

The vacant neighborhoods in Gary did not appear overnight.

Neither did the affordability crisis in Indianapolis.

These conditions are the result of decades of policy decisions, economic shifts, population changes, and uneven investment.

Housing, therefore, is not simply about buildings.

It is about opportunity.

That makes it a civil rights issue.

Indiana Must Stop Measuring Success by Cheap Housing

Indiana often celebrates being one of the least expensive states in America.

But perhaps we have been asking the wrong question.

Instead of asking whether Indiana's homes are inexpensive, we should ask:

Can working people actually afford them?

Are they safe?

Are they healthy?

Are they available?

Can they help families build wealth?

Can seniors remain in them?

Can young adults purchase their first home?

Can children grow up in stable neighborhoods instead of communities filled with abandoned buildings?

Those are the questions that matter.

Gary Is Not a Symbol of Failure—It Is a Symbol of Opportunity

Gary should not be viewed as a city beyond hope.

It should be viewed as one of America's greatest redevelopment opportunities.

Imagine what could happen if federal, state, local, philanthropic, private-sector, nonprofit, and faith-based partners worked together to restore thousands of vacant homes.

Imagine neighborhoods where abandoned houses become family homes once again.

Imagine young families purchasing their first home instead of leaving Indiana.

Imagine skilled trades creating good-paying careers while rebuilding entire communities.

Gary already possesses the infrastructure.

The transportation network.

The history.

The workforce.

The location.

The people.

What it needs is sustained investment, regional cooperation, and the political courage to act.

National Action Network Indiana's Call to Action

National Action Network Indiana believes housing justice belongs alongside voting rights, educational equity, healthcare access, criminal justice reform, and economic opportunity.

Housing is not simply a roof over someone's head.

Housing is economic development.

Housing is workforce development.

Housing is education.

Housing is public health.

Housing is neighborhood safety.

Housing is wealth creation.

Housing is family stability.

Housing is dignity.

Housing is civil rights.

Indiana has the resources to solve this challenge.

We need leaders willing to increase housing supply where it is lacking.

Rehabilitate existing housing where it has been neglected.

Raise wages so working families can thrive.

Expand affordable homeownership opportunities.

Support responsible redevelopment without displacing longtime residents.

And invest in communities that have waited far too long for meaningful reinvestment.

The question is no longer whether Indiana has a housing problem.

The evidence says we do.

The question is whether we have the courage to confront it together.

National Action Network Indiana intends to help lead that conversation—not only in Gary, not only in Northwest Indiana, not only in Indianapolis, but across every community where families are still waiting for the promise of equal opportunity to reach their own front door.

The civil rights movement has always been about more than changing laws.

It has always been about changing lives.

In the twenty-first century, housing justice must become one of the defining civil rights causes of our generation.

Because every Hoosier deserves more than a place to live.

Every Hoosier deserves a safe place to raise a family.

Every senior deserves to age with dignity.

Every worker deserves a wage that makes housing attainable.

Every child deserves a neighborhood filled with hope instead of abandonment.

And every community deserves the opportunity to thrive.

The promise of Indiana should not be measured by how inexpensive our homes appear on paper.

It should be measured by whether the people who live here can truly afford to call those homes their own.

That is the Indiana we should build.

That is the Indiana we should demand.

And that is the work before us.

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Why has Indiana not had a stronger presence in the national civil rights movement?

It wasn’t a question about one organization or one individual. It was a question about Indiana’s voice. Why hasn’t our state consistently been recognized alongside others for producing coordinated, influential work in civil rights, anti-discrimination efforts, leadership development, and civic engagement?

As President of National Action Network Indiana, I have thought deeply about that question.

Indiana has produced courageous leaders, dedicated pastors, educators, labor organizers, and community advocates. There is no shortage of people who have fought for justice. Yet when we look across the nation, we have to ask ourselves an honest question: Have we built a sustained, statewide movement that has consistently shaped the national conversation?

That question led me to another.

Could part of the answer be found not only in our institutions but also in the assumptions many of us have inherited without ever realizing it?

Recently, I began reading The Enduring, Invisible, and Ubiquitous Centrality of Whiteness, edited by Kenneth V. Hardy. Whether readers agree with every conclusion in the book or not, its central premise is worth considering. It argues that whiteness has often functioned as the unspoken center from which American society has defined what is considered normal, professional, attractive, authoritative, and acceptable.

The more I reflected on that idea, the more I began to understand that this conversation is not simply about race. It is about perspective.

What if many of us—Black, White, Latino, Asian, Native American, and others—have inherited standards that we never consciously chose?

What if many of us have learned to see the world through a cultural lens that has existed for generations without ever questioning where it came from?

History provides countless examples.

For generations, European standards of beauty dominated advertising, television, fashion, education, and corporate America. Straight hair was often considered more “professional.” Lighter skin frequently received greater social acceptance. Narrow facial features were celebrated while fuller lips, broader noses, darker skin, and tightly coiled hair were too often marginalized or treated as something to be corrected rather than embraced.

These were not simply fashion trends. They reflected broader cultural messages about whose appearance represented the standard.

I know this personally.

Years ago, a white CEO told me that when I wore my hair in its natural style, I looked “too militant.”

That statement had nothing to do with my education, my experience, my work ethic, or my leadership ability. It was entirely about how my appearance was perceived through a particular cultural lens.

That moment has stayed with me for years because it raised a much larger question.

Why would natural Black hair be associated with militancy at all?

Those assumptions do not appear out of nowhere. They are shaped by history, media, institutions, and generations of cultural conditioning. For many Black professionals, decisions about appearance have often involved navigating workplace expectations that favored conformity to dominant cultural norms.

The influence extends beyond hair.

For decades many women of color questioned whether darker skin was beautiful enough. Others wondered whether their natural facial features would be viewed as attractive. Some altered their appearance not because they disliked who they were, but because society consistently rewarded another standard.

This phenomenon is not unique to Black Americans.

Many immigrants arriving in the United States have adopted English names to simplify employment, education, or everyday interactions. Chinese Americans, Korean Americans, Indian Americans, Vietnamese Americans, and others have often introduced themselves as “John,” “Susan,” “David,” or “Mary” while also keeping their birth names within their families and communities. For many, this was a practical decision. Yet it also reflects the reality that assimilation into dominant cultural norms has often been encouraged and rewarded.

This is not about assigning blame to individuals because of their race.

It is about understanding how systems, institutions, and cultural expectations influence all of us, often without our awareness.

That same reflection applies within Black communities as well.

Sometimes we focus so intensely on the outcomes we desire that we fail to connect them to the civic responsibilities required to achieve them.

People speak passionately about criminal justice reform, economic justice, educational equity, healthcare, voting rights, and even reparations. Yet meaningful change requires more than passion. It requires informed civic participation.

Voting is not simply checking a box every few years.

Voting determines who appoints judges.

Voting determines who writes legislation.

Voting determines who oversees law enforcement.

Voting determines education policy, economic investment, healthcare priorities, and countless decisions that shape our daily lives.

If we want different outcomes, we must help people understand how government actually works and how their participation influences those outcomes.

That is why National Action Network Indiana is committed to civic empowerment.

Our mission extends beyond responding to crises.

We want people to understand their constitutional rights.

We want citizens to know what to do if they are stopped by law enforcement, arrested, or navigating the court system.

We want communities to understand local government, state government, and federal government.

We want people to recognize how public policy affects housing, employment, healthcare, education, criminal justice, and economic opportunity.

Knowledge is not merely information.

Knowledge is empowerment.

Indiana also presents another important reality.

Faith remains deeply woven into the fabric of our communities. Churches continue to serve as anchors throughout our state.

That heritage is something to celebrate.

But faith also calls us to honest self-examination.

If we truly believe every human being is created in the image of God, then our public policies, our institutions, and our treatment of one another should reflect that belief.

Scripture repeatedly teaches justice, mercy, compassion, humility, and love of neighbor.

Whenever prejudice, exclusion, or unequal treatment persists, we should ask whether our actions reflect the values we profess.

The future of Indiana’s civil rights movement will not be built solely through protests.

It will be built by developing leaders.

By educating voters.

By teaching constitutional rights.

By mentoring young people.

By strengthening families.

By understanding government.

By building organizations that collaborate rather than compete.

And perhaps most importantly, it will be built by helping people recognize assumptions they may never have been taught to question.

Kenneth V. Hardy’s work challenges readers to engage in exactly that kind of reflection.

Whether one agrees with every conclusion in The Enduring, Invisible, and Ubiquitous Centrality of Whiteness or not, the larger invitation remains valuable: to examine the assumptions we inherit, understand how history shapes institutions, and ask how we can build communities where dignity, opportunity, and justice are truly available to everyone.

Perhaps Indiana’s story is not defined by where we have been absent.

Perhaps it will be defined by what we choose to build next.

That is the work before us.

That is the vision of National Action Network Indiana.

And that is the future I believe is possible.

As I look toward the future, I am encouraged because Indiana is not without leaders who are committed to justice, faith, and community transformation. One such leader is Bishop Carlton Lewis III, Senior Pastor of Pilgrim Missionary Baptist Church in Gary, Indiana, alongside First Lady Sherry Lewis. Together, they exemplify what it means to put faith into action by serving both the church and the broader community.

Through their leadership, Pilgrim Missionary Baptist Church has become more than a place of worship—it is becoming a center for civic engagement, leadership development, and community empowerment. Bishop Lewis has embraced the mission of National Action Network Indiana by supporting efforts to educate, empower, and mobilize citizens throughout Northwest Indiana. As our partnership continues to grow, Pilgrim Missionary Baptist Church will serve as an important hub for leadership training, civic education, community organizing, and advancing the ongoing work of justice, equality, and opportunity for all.

Leaders like Bishop Carlton Lewis III and First Lady Sherry Lewis remind us that Indiana’s future will not be defined by what has been missing, but by those who are willing to stand together, build stronger communities, and leave the next generation with a legacy of faith, justice, and courageous leadership.

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My reflections are not rooted in disappointment over who won or lost a nomination. Elections have winners and losers. That is part of the democratic process. What concerns me is something deeper. What concerns me is what the process revealed about us.

As I watched candidates campaign, attended forums, listened to voters, and engaged with elected officials and community leaders, I found myself returning repeatedly to questions that extend far beyond any single race. Why do we support the people we support? How do communities determine who is worthy of leadership? What role does familiarity play in political decision-making? And perhaps most importantly, how much of our political behavior is influenced by historical patterns we rarely stop to examine?

Throughout this process, I found myself revisiting ideas explored by scholars who have examined the long-term psychological and cultural effects of slavery. One recurring theme in that work is the notion that systems of domination often leave behind patterns of thinking that persist long after the original system has ended. The structures change. The language changes. The laws change. Yet some habits of thought remain.

On plantations, division was often used as a tool of control. Certain individuals were granted limited privileges, proximity to power, or favored status. These distinctions were not designed to create equality. They were designed to preserve the system itself. People learned to navigate power carefully. They learned what was rewarded and what was punished. They learned which relationships were acceptable and which were not.

The question that lingers for me today is whether traces of those patterns continue to influence modern political behavior.

During this election cycle, I witnessed situations in which some public officials appeared unwilling to meet with certain candidates while openly embracing others. Regardless of who those candidates were, I found myself troubled by the principle involved. Leadership requires the ability to engage people we agree with and people we disagree with. It requires curiosity. It requires relationship-building. It requires the confidence to sit across the table from someone whose ideas challenge our assumptions.

When leaders refuse even the conversation, what message does that send?

Is it political strategy? Is it fear of association? Is it loyalty to existing power structures? Or is it something deeper—an unwillingness to confront perspectives that might require us to reconsider what we believe?

These questions matter because they shape the culture young people inherit.

One of my greatest concerns emerging from this election is not who won. It is whether younger generations understand the historical forces that continue to shape political outcomes. Many young voters are entering adulthood at a moment when debates over history education, voting rights, civic engagement, and democratic participation are becoming increasingly contentious.

Too many people know the names of political figures but not the systems that produced them.

Too many understand elections as personalities rather than structures.

Too many know who won but cannot explain why.

The removal or dilution of historical education only makes this problem worse. A community that does not understand its history becomes vulnerable to repeating it. A generation that does not understand how power operates becomes vulnerable to those who do.

History is rarely as simple as the stories we are taught. Even figures often celebrated as heroes operated within political realities, strategic interests, and competing pressures. Progress has almost never occurred because powerful people suddenly became morally enlightened. More often, progress emerged because ordinary people organized, demanded change, built institutions, and forced systems to evolve.

That lesson matters today.

The central question facing Indiana is not whether one candidate won a nomination. The central question is whether voters are demanding clear commitments from those who seek power.

What specific actions will be taken to protect voting rights?

How will voter participation increase?

What barriers will be removed?

What protections will be expanded?

How will historically marginalized communities benefit?

These are the questions that should drive civic engagement.

Regardless of which candidate someone supported, every voter has a responsibility to continue asking those questions after the election ends. Democracy does not conclude when ballots are counted. In many ways, that is where democracy begins.

Communities must move beyond symbolic representation and focus on measurable outcomes. We must stop confusing access with accountability. We must stop mistaking familiarity for qualification. We must stop assuming that a recognizable name, a respected family history, or longstanding political relationships are substitutes for a clear vision of the future.

Most importantly, we must educate the next generation to understand the difference between political participation and political empowerment.

Participation is showing up.

Empowerment is understanding the system well enough to change it.

As I reflect on Indiana's Secretary of State race, that is the lesson I carry forward. The real issue was never simply who won. The real issue is whether our communities are prepared to ask harder questions, challenge old assumptions, and build a political culture that rewards vision, accountability, and courage rather than comfort and familiarity.

The future of civic engagement in Indiana may depend on our answer.

-TP

No, I was never placed on a slave ship. But I carry the echoes of that history.

My ancestors came from Mississippi and Arkansas. My maternal and paternal grandparents were sharecroppers in the South. They rarely spoke about their experiences. There were stories left untold, emotions left buried, and pain that seemed too heavy to name aloud. Growing up, I never fully understood that silence. But now, as I read this book, I am beginning to recognize that trauma does not always arrive loudly. Sometimes it is inherited quietly — passed down through survival instincts, fear, emotional distance, silence, and learned behaviors shaped by generations of oppression.

One of the most powerful moments in the prelude discusses the Maasai people and a greeting associated with their culture: “Kasserian Ingera?” — meaning, “And how are the children?”

That question stopped me emotionally.

How are the children?

Not how is the economy.
Not who holds political power.
Not who is winning elections.
But how are the children?

Within that greeting is a profound understanding that the true condition of a society is reflected in the well-being of its children. Their emotional health, safety, identity, dignity, and future are treated as sacred.

As I reflected on my own upbringing in America, I realized how rarely Black children have truly been treated as sacred in this country. Too often, they are criminalized before they are understood, neglected before they are nurtured, and forced to navigate systems that were never fully designed to protect them.

I found myself wondering: How different would our communities look today if America truly valued the emotional and spiritual well-being of its children? How different would many of our lives have been if healing had been prioritized over survival?

Another passage in the book struck me deeply:

“For who can be truly human under the weight of oppression that condemns them to a life of torment, robs them of the future, and saps their free will?”

That question is not limited to history. It speaks directly to our present moment.

As we watch growing division, historical erasure, systemic inequality, and continued struggles for justice, we must honestly ask ourselves what kind of society we are becoming. We celebrate figures like Nelson Mandela because they represent reconciliation, truth, and liberation. But real healing requires more than admiring great leaders. It requires courage from ordinary people willing to confront uncomfortable truths.

Dr. DeGruy’s work reminds us that healing is difficult because trauma is layered. Those who have suffered under generations of oppression must heal from wounds carried both personally and ancestrally. At the same time, those who have benefited from systems rooted in inequality must also confront the moral and psychological consequences of that history.

That is work no society can avoid forever.

But healing cannot begin without truth.

Perhaps that is why there are continued efforts to erase or minimize Black history in America. Because history, when told honestly, forces a nation to confront itself. It challenges comfortable narratives. It exposes wounds many would rather ignore.

But we cannot afford silence anymore.

We must teach our children who they are.
We must preserve our stories.
We must tell the truth inside our homes, churches, schools, and communities.

We cannot depend solely on institutions to teach our history for us.

This book is becoming more than a reading assignment for me. It is becoming a mirror. It is forcing me to examine inherited pain, generational silence, and the healing still needed within myself and within our communities.

And so I invite you to take this journey with me.

As you reflect, ask yourself:
Where have I inherited pain?
What truths have gone unspoken in my own family?
What healing still needs to happen within me?

Because two things can be true at the same time: we can be harmed by systems while also perpetuating harm ourselves. Every one of us has work to do.

Whether we carry the wounds of oppression or benefit from systems built upon suffering, we each have a healing journey we must choose to begin.

~Thank you cousin: John Sykes, MSW, LCW, Recipient of 2026 Sidney Thomas Health Advocacy Award, University of Chicago-Crown Family School of Social Work, Policy & Practice Lecturer.

How are the children?

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Not just uncomfortable — threatened.

Threatened by women who lead. Women who speak with confidence. Women who are educated. Women who supervise them at work. Women who run for office. Women who challenge systems. Women who refuse to shrink themselves to protect male ego.

There is a word for this: misogyny.

Misogyny is more than simply “disliking women.” It is a cultural and psychological hostility toward women that often appears when women seek power, equality, visibility, or influence. It shows up in subtle ways and blatant ways. Sometimes it sounds like dismissive jokes. Sometimes it sounds like questioning a woman’s intelligence no matter her credentials. Sometimes it becomes political opposition rooted not in policy, but in gender itself.

We saw this dynamic play out repeatedly during the rise of Kamala Harris. Regardless of political party, many criticisms directed at her carried a tone that women in leadership know all too well: she was described as “unlikable,” “too ambitious,” “too emotional,” “too aggressive,” or somehow unqualified despite a résumé that included serving as a senator, attorney general, and vice president.

Male politicians are often rewarded for traits women are punished for.

A confident man is seen as strong.
A confident woman is called difficult.

A forceful man is considered decisive.
A forceful woman is labeled angry.

That double standard did not appear overnight. It is rooted in centuries of patriarchal culture where women were expected to serve, support, obey, and remain politically invisible.

The Handmaid’s Tale Was Never Just Fiction

One reason many women reference The Handmaid’s Tale is because it reflects a fear that women’s autonomy can always be rolled back if society becomes comfortable with male dominance again.

The novel — later adapted into the television series The Handmaid’s Tale — portrays a dystopian society where women lose control over their bodies, careers, education, and freedom. Women are reduced to functions rather than recognized as full human beings with intellect, agency, and leadership capacity.

What makes the story unsettling is not its fantasy. It is how many women see traces of it in real life.

When women’s voices are dismissed…
When women are denied leadership…
When women’s expertise is questioned…
When women are expected to stay silent to protect male comfort…

the underlying message becomes clear: some people still struggle to see women as equal participants in society.

Women Are Not “Less Than” — The Data Proves It

Women today are among the most educated groups in America.

According to national education statistics, women earn the majority of college degrees in the United States, including bachelor’s, master’s, and doctoral degrees. Black women in particular have become one of the fastest-growing groups pursuing higher education and entrepreneurship.

White women, Black women, Latina women, Asian women — women across racial groups contribute enormously to the American economy, healthcare system, education system, political infrastructure, and family stability.

Women are:

• Raising children

• Leading companies

• Serving in the military

• Running hospitals

• Teaching future generations

• Launching businesses

• Holding elected office

• Caring for aging parents

• Driving community activism

Society literally cannot function without women.

Every man walking this earth was born from a woman.

So why do some men still behave as if women are naturally inferior?

Is It Insecurity?

Sometimes, yes.

Researchers who study gender dynamics often point to insecurity, social conditioning, and fear of losing traditional power structures. Some men were raised to believe masculinity means dominance. If a woman succeeds beyond them professionally, intellectually, financially, or politically, they interpret it as a personal threat instead of normal human progress.

That insecurity can manifest as:

• Talking down to women

• Refusing female leadership

• Dismissing women’s expertise

• Opposing women candidates automatically

• Minimizing women’s accomplishments

• Using sexist stereotypes to undermine credibility

Importantly, this issue crosses racial and political lines. Misogyny is not owned by one race of men. I have personally observed it among some Caucasian men, but it exists in many communities and cultures because patriarchy itself is systemic.

At the same time, many men deeply value women, support women leaders, and work toward equality. This conversation is not about attacking all men. It is about confronting a mindset that continues to limit women’s humanity and leadership.

The Real Question

What kind of society are we trying to build?

One where women must constantly prove their worth?
Or one where women are recognized as equal human beings whose intelligence, leadership, and contributions deserve respect without qualification?

Because a society that refuses to value women ultimately refuses to value itself.

Women are not secondary citizens.
Women are not supporting characters in history.
Women are not threats because they are educated, outspoken, or powerful.

Women are half of humanity.

And any movement, ideology, or political culture that depends on diminishing women should concern every one of us — men included.

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Introduction

This report examines provisions within the “One Big Beautiful Bill Act” that could disproportionately affect Black and Brown communities in the United States. This analysis does not focus on political framing or partisan arguments. Instead, it evaluates how policy changes interact with existing racial disparities in:

• wealth,

• education access,

• healthcare access,

• employment,

• housing,

• and intergenerational economic stability.

Although the bill does not explicitly target communities by race, race-neutral policies often produce unequal outcomes because Black and Brown communities begin from unequal economic positions created through decades of structural inequality.

This report translates technical policy language into real-world impact.

SECTION 1 — PELL GRANT RESTRICTIONS

What Changed

The bill restructures portions of federal student aid eligibility and financial aid calculations.

Key areas include:

• tighter income formulas,

• revised financial-need calculations,

• restrictions tied to outside scholarships,

• stricter enrollment requirements,

• tougher academic progress standards,

• and increased emphasis on full-time enrollment.

These changes may appear administrative, but they directly affect whether low-income students can remain in school.

1A. Income Index Thresholds

What This Means

Federal aid formulas determine:

• who qualifies for Pell Grants,

• how much aid students receive,

• and whether they qualify for maximum awards.

The revised formulas recalculate what counts as “financial need.”

The government may now interpret certain households as having more available income than they actually possess.

Why This Matters for Black and Brown Families

Many Black and Brown households function differently from wealthier households.

These communities are more likely to:

• live in multigenerational homes,

• financially support extended family,

• share housing expenses,

• work inconsistent or seasonal jobs,

• rely on overtime income,

• participate in gig work,

• or support unemployed relatives.

On paper, the household income may appear higher.

In reality, much of that income is already consumed by survival expenses.

Real-World Example

A Black healthcare support worker earns:

• $50,000 annually.

She also:

• supports two children,

• helps an elderly parent,

• contributes toward rent for relatives,

• and carries existing debt.

Under revised calculations:
the household may appear financially stable enough to receive reduced Pell assistance.

But the actual disposable income available for college may be almost nonexistent.

Disproportionate Impact

Black and Brown students are statistically:

• more likely to be Pell recipients,

• more likely to come from households without college savings,

• and less likely to have generational wealth support.

White middle-class families are more likely to offset aid reductions using:

• savings,

• home equity,

• investments,

• inheritance,

• or direct family assistance.

Many Black and Brown families do not have those financial cushions.

1B. Outside Scholarship Limitations (“Aid Displacement”)

What Changed

The bill allows aid recalculations that can reduce federal or institutional aid when students receive outside scholarships.

This means:
a student who earns a community scholarship may lose other financial aid.

What This Means in Plain Language

Students may receive a scholarship from:

• a church,

• community organization,

• NAACP chapter,

• Latino civic organization,

• Black Greek organization,

• memorial foundation,

• or local nonprofit.

Instead of the scholarship increasing the student’s total support, the school may reduce:

• Pell Grants,

• school grants,

• or need-based aid.

The scholarship simply replaces money the student was already receiving.

Real-World Example

A Black student receives:

• a $2,500 church scholarship.

The college then reduces institutional aid by:

• $2,000.

Result:
the student effectively gains only $500 in additional help.

The community scholarship no longer meaningfully improves affordability.

Why This Hits Black Communities Harder

Black and Brown students disproportionately rely on:

• local fundraising,

• church support,

• civic scholarships,

• grassroots assistance,

• and community sponsorships.

These support systems exist because many families lack inherited wealth.

Aid displacement weakens one of the few economic support structures many minority students possess.

1C. Stricter Enrollment Requirements

What Changed

The bill increases pressure for students to:

• enroll full-time,

• complete programs faster,

• maintain continuous enrollment,

• and meet stricter academic progress standards.

Why This Matters

Many Black and Brown students are nontraditional students.

They are more likely to:

• work jobs while enrolled,

• care for children,

• support relatives,

• commute long distances,

• attend part-time,

• or pause enrollment because of financial hardship.

Real-World Example

A Latina student:

• works 35 hours weekly,

• attends nursing school,

• and helps care for younger siblings.

Because she cannot maintain full-time enrollment, she risks:

• reduced aid,

• academic penalties,

• or loss of eligibility.

The system increasingly favors students who can afford to focus solely on school.

1D. Reduced Protections for Part-Time Students

Why This Is Significant

Black and Brown students disproportionately attend:

• community colleges,

• workforce programs,

• vocational schools,

• commuter institutions,

• and certificate programs.

These students are far more likely to attend part-time.

If aid formulas increasingly reward:

• full-time attendance,

• uninterrupted enrollment,

• and accelerated completion,

many working-class students become vulnerable to losing support.

SECTION 2 — COSMETOLOGY, BARBERING, AND TRADE SCHOOL IMPACTS

Why This Matters

Black communities have historically used:

• barbering,

• cosmetology,

• beauty entrepreneurship,

• esthetics,

• nail technology,

• and related trades

as pathways toward:

• self-employment,

• local business ownership,

• and economic mobility.

These industries are deeply connected to Black entrepreneurship.

Workforce Pell Expansion — The Hidden Problem

Some provisions claim to expand Pell access for workforce training programs.

But many short-term trade programs:

• provide limited consumer protections,

• produce inconsistent earnings,

• and often charge very high tuition.

At the same time, the bill:

• tightens repayment systems,

• reduces borrower protections,

• and shifts more financial risk onto students.

Why This Creates Risk

Many cosmetology schools are:

• privately operated,

• expensive relative to income outcomes,

• dependent on federal aid,

• and heavily marketed toward Black women.

Students may now:

• borrow more privately,

• lose grant eligibility,

• struggle with repayment,

• or become trapped in debt from programs with modest wages.

Real-World Example

A Black woman enrolls in cosmetology school costing:

• $22,000.

Under stricter aid rules:

• she receives less Pell support,

• cannot borrow enough federally,

• and turns to private loans.

She graduates earning modest income while carrying high-interest debt.

Instead of building wealth through entrepreneurship, she begins adulthood financially underwater.

SECTION 3 — STUDENT LOAN RESTRUCTURING

What Changed

The bill restructures federal student loan systems through:

• borrowing caps,

• elimination of Graduate PLUS loans,

• fewer repayment options,

• longer repayment timelines,

• and reduced deferment protections.

3A. Graduate PLUS Loan Elimination

What This Means

Graduate students may no longer borrow unlimited federal funds for professional education.

Why This Matters

Black and Brown students disproportionately lack:

• family wealth,

• parental financial support,

• or generational assets.

Graduate education often depends entirely on federal borrowing.

Fields Potentially Affected

This may disproportionately reduce access to:

• law school,

• medical school,

• counseling,

• social work,

• public policy,

• education leadership,

• ministry,

• and mental health professions.

These are fields where Black representation is already limited.

Real-World Impact

Students may now:

• abandon graduate education,

• delay enrollment,

• rely on private loans,

• or never enter professional careers.

This affects long-term Black leadership pipelines.

3B. Longer Repayment Timelines

What Changed

Repayment periods may now extend:

• up to 30 years.

Why This Matters

Long-term debt delays:

• homeownership,

• retirement savings,

• entrepreneurship,

• marriage,

• and wealth accumulation.

Black borrowers already statistically:

• carry higher student debt balances,

• repay loans more slowly,

• and experience higher default rates.

Longer repayment periods may intensify existing racial wealth gaps.

SECTION 4 — MEDICAID WORK REQUIREMENTS

What Changed

The bill expands or imposes work-reporting requirements connected to Medicaid eligibility.

What This Means in Practice

People may now have to:

• repeatedly verify employment,

• submit paperwork,

• track work hours,

• and navigate administrative systems
  in order to keep healthcare coverage.

Why This Creates Problems

Most people affected are already working.

The issue is not refusal to work.
The issue is instability.

Many Black and Brown workers are employed in:

• low-wage sectors,

• gig work,

• temporary work,

• seasonal work,

• caregiving labor,

• or jobs with unstable schedules.

Real-World Example

A warehouse worker’s hours fluctuate weekly.

If paperwork is submitted incorrectly or late:

• healthcare coverage may be terminated,
  even if the person remains eligible.

Historical Pattern

Work requirement systems historically produce:

• bureaucratic disenrollment,

• confusion,

• and accidental coverage loss.

Many eligible people lose healthcare because of paperwork failures rather than ineligibility.

SECTION 5 — SNAP (FOOD ASSISTANCE) RESTRICTIONS

What Changed

The bill increases work requirements and eligibility restrictions connected to food assistance programs.

Why This Matters

Black households experience food insecurity at disproportionately high rates.

Many affected families already:

• work low-wage jobs,

• face rising food costs,

• live in food deserts,

• or struggle with transportation access.

Real-World Impact

Families may lose food assistance because:

• work hours fluctuate,

• reporting deadlines are missed,

• paperwork systems malfunction,

• or eligibility becomes harder to maintain.

Children and elderly relatives are often indirectly affected.

SECTION 6 — HEALTHCARE INSTABILITY

What Changed

The bill increases verification requirements and administrative barriers connected to healthcare enrollment.

Why This Matters

Communities with:

• unstable income,

• hourly employment,

• gig work,

• or frequent address changes

are more vulnerable to losing coverage during bureaucratic reviews.

Potential Outcomes

Communities may experience:

• interruptions in medication access,

• delayed preventive care,

• increased emergency room usage,

• worsening chronic illness,

• and greater medical debt.

SECTION 7 — LONG-TERM RACIAL WEALTH GAP EFFECTS

The Larger Economic Impact

The bill’s combined changes may widen existing racial wealth disparities through:

• higher debt burdens,

• reduced educational access,

• healthcare instability,

• and barriers to professional advancement.

Long-Term Consequences May Include

• delayed homeownership,

• reduced Black business formation,

• lower retirement savings,

• increased reliance on debt,

• and weaker intergenerational wealth transfer.

Final Assessment

The policies in this bill are formally race-neutral.
However, because Black and Brown communities already face unequal economic conditions, the practical consequences are likely to fall disproportionately on those communities.

The largest risks involve:

• reduced college affordability,

• weakened educational mobility,

• increased debt dependency,

• healthcare instability,

• food insecurity,

• and widening wealth inequality.

The communities most vulnerable include:

• Black women students,

• first-generation college students,

• working-class Latino families,

• vocational students,

• part-time students,

• graduate students without family wealth,

• and low-income urban households.

This may be one of those moments.

For generations, Americans worked, paid taxes, and contributed to Social Security with the belief that after a lifetime of labor there would be a measure of security and dignity waiting for them. So when discussions begin about reducing benefits or restructuring programs millions depend on, people have every right to pay attention and ask hard questions.

But this conversation is bigger than Social Security.

It is about voting rights. It is about representation. It is about whether future generations will inherit more freedoms — or fewer.

Many Americans remember the sacrifices made so others could vote freely in this country. From the marches across the Edmund Pettus Bridge to the violence endured by civil rights activists, the right to vote was secured through struggle, sacrifice, and relentless organizing. John Lewis often reminded the nation that voting is precious, powerful, and almost sacred.

Yet decades later, debates over ballot access, district maps, polling locations, and election laws continue across the country. Supporters of the proposed John Lewis Voting Rights Advancement Act argue that stronger federal protections are necessary to preserve equal access to the ballot and strengthen oversight of election changes in states with histories of discrimination.

This election season, many voters believe the stakes extend beyond party politics. They see questions about economic security, healthcare, civil rights, judicial appointments, and voting access all converging at once.

Some Baby Boomers born in the 1950s and 1960s grew up during a period when landmark civil rights protections were expanding. Today, many parents and grandparents openly question whether younger generations could ultimately inherit fewer protections and fewer opportunities if civic participation declines.

That concern is fueling calls for greater voter turnout, deeper community organizing, and broader participation in local and national elections this fall.

If people want change, they cannot afford disengagement.

Register. Verify your registration. Help neighbors get to the polls. Encourage first-time voters to participate. Bring family members with you.

And in November, the power of the vote will speak.

Democracy is not sustained by outrage alone — it is sustained by participation. No matter where someone stands politically, the future direction of the country will ultimately be shaped by the people who show up and vote.

He’s on the way. And every time I look at the state of our country, I’m reminded that God has always tested our people. The question is never whether the test is coming — it’s whether we will pass it.

Before we talk about the test in front of us today, we have to look back with clear eyes and honest memory.

God Sees the Affliction of His People

When God called Moses, He said:

“I have surely seen the affliction of my people… and I have come down to deliver them.”

— Exodus 3:7–8

This is a reminder that God does not overlook injustice. He sees it, He names it, and He moves. The same God who saw the Israelites in Egypt also saw our ancestors in the fields, in the cabins, in the chains. And He sees us now.

A Brief History Check

Slavery in the United States lasted from 1619 to 1865 — roughly 246 years.

Two hundred and forty-six years of forced labor, stolen wages, stolen families, stolen futures.

And when freedom finally came, it came with nothing attached:

• No land

• No education

• No resources

• No protection

• No repair

Most enslaved people were forbidden to read or write. Literacy was criminalized. Only those in the master’s house or those secretly taught by someone risking their life had access to education.

So imagine this:

A child is kidnapped at age four.

Locked in a room until eighteen.

No books. No schooling. No tools to survive.

Only allowed out to bathe.

Given just enough to live — never enough to grow.

Then one day, the door opens.

“Go. You’re free now.”

What does that young man do?

Where does he go?

How does he compete with the world outside that room?

That is the closest modern comparison to what happened to Black people in this country.

Why Reparations Matter

People often ask, “Why do Black people need reparations?”

But the better question is:

How could a nation justify NOT repairing the damage it caused?

For 246 years, Black labor built the economic foundation of the United States.

For another 100 years, Black Americans endured:

• Jim Crow

• Redlining

• Voter suppression

• Racial terror

• Housing exclusion

• Employment discrimination

• School funding inequities

• Mass incarceration

That is 346 years of state‑sanctioned harm before the Civil Rights Act even attempted to level the field.

And even today, discrimination persists — in wages, housing, healthcare, policing, and voting rights.

So when people say, “Reparations are unnecessary,” I ask:

How can a society claim fairness while refusing to repair the very harm it created?

Why Congress Has Never Passed Reparations

For decades, Congress has debated bills like H.R. 40, which would simply study reparations.

Not implement them — just study them.

It has never passed.

Some say Congress avoids reparations because:

• It would require acknowledging the full scale of harm

• It would require financial compensation

• It would challenge the myth of equal starting points

• It would force America to confront its own history

Others say the resistance is rooted in fear — fear of accountability, fear of cost, fear of shifting power.

But the truth is simple:

A nation cannot heal from wounds it refuses to admit exist.

God Brings People Out — But Also Brings Them In

There is another Scripture that speaks directly to this moment:

“We were slaves… but the Lord brought us out… to bring us in.”

— Deuteronomy 6:21–23

This verse shows God’s full pattern:

• He brings people out of bondage

• But He also brings them into restoration, land, stability, and promise

Freedom without repair is incomplete.

Liberation without restoration is unfinished work.

And that is exactly the point of reparations.

The Moral Question

If a child is kidnapped, abused, and denied education for fourteen years, society agrees that child deserves restitution.

So why is it controversial when the same logic is applied to a people held captive for centuries?

Who benefits from denying reparations?

Who fears what fairness would look like?

Who gains from keeping one group permanently behind?

These are not political questions — they are moral ones.

Will Reparations Ever Happen?

Some scholars believe reparations will eventually come because:

• The historical record is undeniable

• Economic data shows the racial wealth gap is directly tied to slavery and Jim Crow

• Local and state reparations efforts are emerging

• Younger generations are more open to the conversation

Others believe the resistance is too entrenched.

But here is what history shows:

Every major step toward justice for Black people in America came only after pressure, persistence, and faith.

So the real question is not whether reparations are possible.

The real question is:

Will America pass this test?

And even more importantly:

Will we stay unified, informed, and prepared for the moment when the door finally opens?

Because God has a pattern — He brings people out, and He brings people in.

The question is whether this nation will finally follow His example.

A Call to Action

If this history moves you, if this truth stirs something in your spirit, then don’t let the conversation stop here. Share this piece. Talk about it in your churches, your families, your circles of influence. Push your elected officials to support real study, real legislation, and real repair.

We cannot afford silence.

We cannot afford delay.

We cannot afford to wait for someone else to carry the weight God assigned to us.

Every generation has a responsibility.

This one is ours.

So I’m asking you — as a reader, as a believer, as a citizen — to stay engaged, stay informed, and stay vocal. Because justice does not move on its own. People move it. Faith moves it. Truth moves it.

And if we stand together, we will not only pass this test — we will help this nation finally live up to the promise it has spoken but never fully delivered.

My grandmother - Bigma 106 Years young-2026 Last Photo @100 Years young.

He’s on the way. And every time I look at the state of our country, I’m reminded that God has always tested our people. The question is never whether the test is coming — it’s whether we will pass it.

Before we talk about the test in front of us today, we have to look back with clear eyes and honest memory.

God Sees the Affliction of His People

When God called Moses, He said:

“I have surely seen the affliction of my people… and I have come down to deliver them.”

— Exodus 3:7–8

This is a reminder that God does not overlook injustice. He sees it, He names it, and He moves. The same God who saw the Israelites in Egypt also saw our ancestors in the fields, in the cabins, in the chains. And He sees us now.

A Brief History Check

Slavery in the United States lasted from 1619 to 1865 — roughly 246 years.

Two hundred and forty-six years of forced labor, stolen wages, stolen families, stolen futures.

And when freedom finally came, it came with nothing attached:

• No land

• No education

• No resources

• No protection

• No repair

Most enslaved people were forbidden to read or write. Literacy was criminalized. Only those in the master’s house or those secretly taught by someone risking their life had access to education.

So imagine this:

A child is kidnapped at age four.

Locked in a room until eighteen.

No books. No schooling. No tools to survive.

Only allowed out to bathe.

Given just enough to live — never enough to grow.

Then one day, the door opens.

“Go. You’re free now.”

What does that young man do?

Where does he go?

How does he compete with the world outside that room?

That is the closest modern comparison to what happened to Black people in this country.

Why Reparations Matter

People often ask, “Why do Black people need reparations?”

But the better question is:

How could a nation justify NOT repairing the damage it caused?

For 246 years, Black labor built the economic foundation of the United States.

For another 100 years, Black Americans endured:

• Jim Crow

• Redlining

• Voter suppression

• Racial terror

• Housing exclusion

• Employment discrimination

• School funding inequities

• Mass incarceration

That is 346 years of state‑sanctioned harm before the Civil Rights Act even attempted to level the field.

And even today, discrimination persists — in wages, housing, healthcare, policing, and voting rights.

So when people say, “Reparations are unnecessary,” I ask:

How can a society claim fairness while refusing to repair the very harm it created?

Why Congress Has Never Passed Reparations

For decades, Congress has debated bills like H.R. 40, which would simply study reparations.

Not implement them — just study them.

It has never passed.

Some say Congress avoids reparations because:

• It would require acknowledging the full scale of harm

• It would require financial compensation

• It would challenge the myth of equal starting points

• It would force America to confront its own history

Others say the resistance is rooted in fear — fear of accountability, fear of cost, fear of shifting power.

But the truth is simple:

A nation cannot heal from wounds it refuses to admit exist.

God Brings People Out — But Also Brings Them In

There is another Scripture that speaks directly to this moment:

“We were slaves… but the Lord brought us out… to bring us in.”

— Deuteronomy 6:21–23

This verse shows God’s full pattern:

• He brings people out of bondage

• But He also brings them into restoration, land, stability, and promise

Freedom without repair is incomplete.

Liberation without restoration is unfinished work.

And that is exactly the point of reparations.

The Moral Question

If a child is kidnapped, abused, and denied education for fourteen years, society agrees that child deserves restitution.

So why is it controversial when the same logic is applied to a people held captive for centuries?

Who benefits from denying reparations?

Who fears what fairness would look like?

Who gains from keeping one group permanently behind?

These are not political questions — they are moral ones.

Will Reparations Ever Happen?

Some scholars believe reparations will eventually come because:

• The historical record is undeniable

• Economic data shows the racial wealth gap is directly tied to slavery and Jim Crow

• Local and state reparations efforts are emerging

• Younger generations are more open to the conversation

Others believe the resistance is too entrenched.

But here is what history shows:

Every major step toward justice for Black people in America came only after pressure, persistence, and faith.

So the real question is not whether reparations are possible.

The real question is:

Will America pass this test?

And even more importantly:

Will we stay unified, informed, and prepared for the moment when the door finally opens?

Because God has a pattern — He brings people out, and He brings people in.

The question is whether this nation will finally follow His example.

A Call to Action

If this history moves you, if this truth stirs something in your spirit, then don’t let the conversation stop here. Share this piece. Talk about it in your churches, your families, your circles of influence. Push your elected officials to support real study, real legislation, and real repair.

We cannot afford silence.

We cannot afford delay.

We cannot afford to wait for someone else to carry the weight God assigned to us.

Every generation has a responsibility.

This one is ours.

So I’m asking you — as a reader, as a believer, as a citizen — to stay engaged, stay informed, and stay vocal. Because justice does not move on its own. People move it. Faith moves it. Truth moves it.

And if we stand together, we will not only pass this test — we will help this nation finally live up to the promise it has spoken but never fully delivered.

My grandmother - Bigma 106 Years young-2026 Last Photo @100 Years young.

I’ve been wrestling with a heavy truth since the Supreme Court’s recent decision affecting Louisiana’s congressional map. It wasn’t just a political moment for me — it was personal. It stirred something old, something I thought this country had long buried.

I was born in the 60s. I was young, but I remember enough. I remember traveling with my grandparents to Arkansas and stopping at what they called a “filling station.” Today we’d call it a gas station. There was a rusted metal sign hanging over a water fountain that read “WHITE ONLY.” The bathroom for Black folks was around the back. That sign was already rusted then — a relic of a system that insisted on reminding us who it thought we were.

When the Court handed down its decision, my mind went straight back to that memory. And I thought: How is it possible that my children — born decades after me — may now have fewer rights than I had? How is it that after becoming a productive citizen, a homeowner, someone who has done everything this country told me to do, I am watching the very government that should protect my rights make decisions that feel like they are taking them away?

I am trying to sit with those emotions. One part of me feels anger. Another part feels bewildered — especially when I look around and see people living their lives on social media as if nothing is happening. I don’t see concern. I don’t see urgency. But the truth is plain:

This decision opens the door for states to redraw congressional districts in ways that dilute Black political power.

It means communities that have fought for generations to secure representation could lose it. It means the voices of Black and minority voters may be weakened in ways that echo a past many of us lived through and hoped never to revisit.

And yet, even in this moment, something stirred in me — something rooted in faith and memory. That spark came from watching the National Action Network Saturday rally on YouTube. As I listened to the speaker, and later to Rev. Al Sharpton, one of the speakers referenced a passage from the Book of Judges. Her words stayed with me. They reminded me that scripture has always spoken to moments like this, moments when justice seems delayed but never denied.

In the Book of Judges, there is a story many people overlook — the story of Shamgar. Scripture says he struck down 600 Philistines with an oxgoad, a simple farming tool. Not a sword. Not a weapon of war. Just what he had in his hand. The point isn’t the violence; the point is the justice. The point is that deliverance came through someone who used what he had, where he was, with the strength God gave him.

That reminder — brought back to my mind by that NAN speaker — tells me that justice prevails not because the odds are in our favor, but because righteousness has never depended on the odds.

So after the anger, after the bewilderment, my mind goes to action.

What do we do next?

We mobilize.

We organize.

We refuse to be discouraged by those who say “don’t vote” or “it doesn’t matter.”

Because let’s be honest: some of the very people who didn’t vote are part of the reason we are in this predicament. Low turnout helped shift the balance of power in Congress. And when Congress is divided, laws that protect voting rights, civil rights, and fair representation cannot move forward.

For people who don’t understand how laws are passed, here’s the simple version:

A bill must pass the House and the Senate before it ever reaches the President’s desk. If one chamber is controlled by people who oppose expanding voting rights, then those bills never even get a vote. They die before they live. That is why elections matter. That is why turnout matters. That is why representation matters.

And that is why some political actors are so invested in redistricting that weakens minority voting power. Because they understand something too many of us forget: power is mathematical. If you can control who votes where, you can control who wins. And if you can control who wins, you can control which laws live and which laws die.

But here is what they underestimate:

A community that has survived centuries of injustice does not fold.

A people who have endured segregation, discrimination, and disenfranchisement do not disappear.

And a God who has delivered before will deliver again.

So yes — I am wrestling.

Yes — I am angry.

Yes — I am bewildered.

But I am also clear.

This is not the moment to retreat.

This is the moment to rise.

We will organize.

We will educate.

We will vote.

We will protect our communities.

We will stand on faith and on history.

Because justice has always prevailed — not easily, not quickly, but inevitably.

And it will prevail again.

An image of Ruby Bridges being escorted into William Frantz Elementary School by U.S. Marshals in November of 1960.