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A Different World, Same Old Hierarchies: Colorism, Class, and the Untold Pairings of Hillman College

Posted on July 1, 2025 | Leave a comment

“Television doesn’t just reflect our world—it reinforces its unspoken rules. And sometimes, it’s in what’s left unsaid that the truth screams loudest.”

There is perhaps no show more foundational to African American Gen X and elder millennial identity than A Different World. Premiering in 1987 as a spinoff from The Cosby Show, the sitcom quickly found its own voice and purpose, blossoming into a cultural beacon that reflected the richness and complexity of Black college life at fictional Hillman College—an HBCU modeled after Spelman, Howard, and other elite institutions.

From apartheid and HIV awareness to campus politics and colorism, the show tackled subjects few mainstream programs dared to touch. But even within its groundbreaking storytelling, some narratives were never fully explored. Perhaps most glaring among these were the unexplored romantic pairings of Ron Johnson and Whitley Gilbert, and Kimberly Reese and Dwayne Wayne. Their absence is not simply a matter of creative choice, but rather a symptom of entrenched internalized hierarchies of colorism, class, and gendered desirability—even in Black-led creative spaces.

This isn’t merely nostalgia-fueled fan fiction. It’s a cultural audit.

Ron Johnson: Miscast by Archetype, Not Background

Ronald Johnson, Jr. was not some scrappy kid from the margins. He was a light-skinned, second-generation college student from Detroit, Michigan. His father owned a car dealership, and Ron worked summers there—signaling not just work ethic, but a proximity to Black wealth and business infrastructure. In fact, by Hillman’s standards, he and Whitley Gilbert were socioeconomically parallel: both came from upper-middle-class families, both had access to private social capital, and both had expectations of upward mobility baked into their upbringing.

And yet, Ron’s portrayal consistently tilted toward buffoonery. He was the punchline. The skirt-chaser. The guy you liked but didn’t take seriously. His aesthetic—flashy suits, jewelry, and New Jack Swing flair—was coded as nouveau riche and unserious, despite being emblematic of a generation of young Black men redefining business and culture.

Meanwhile, Whitley Gilbert, with her Southern debutante air, was elevated as aspirational. She was light-skinned, soft-spoken (when she wanted to be), and came from a family steeped in respectability politics. That she would end up with Dwayne Wayne—a Brooklyn-born, dark-skinned, ambitious math major with a heart of gold—was played as a triumph of emotional growth and opposites attracting. But the coupling obscured the more natural pairing: Whitley and Ron.

Why were two light-skinned, upper-middle-class, culturally fluent characters kept apart?

The answer lies in how class and colorism intersect with gender expectations in Black storytelling. Ron’s light skin and wealth didn’t earn him narrative maturity because he was not written as emotionally serious. Whitley’s light skin and wealth did, because Black women must still fit a limited spectrum of desirability to be seen as love-worthy.

The Subtle Rejection of Intra-Class, Intra-Color Love

Pairing Whitley and Ron could have offered a natural and compelling relationship arc, exploring how two Black elite youth—one from the industrial North, one from the genteel South—navigate love, identity, and social expectations. Ron was not without emotional depth. He showed loyalty, ambition (eventually co-owning a nightclub), and a genuine desire to be taken seriously.

But Whitley’s arc was preordained. She was meant to be elevated—refined through her relationship with Dwayne Wayne, whose dark skin, nerdy brilliance, and working-class roots made him both lovable and “in need of” polish. The show allowed Dwayne to evolve from a bumbling flirt into a serious partner, but that grace wasn’t extended to Ron. His business acumen was never valorized. His family wealth never framed as legacy-building. His light skin did not shield him from being typecast.

Why? Because Black masculinity on screen is often given limited templates: the hustler, the hero, or the helpmate. Ron didn’t fit any box neatly enough. He was light-skinned without gravitas, rich without respect, and flirtatious without the redemption arc. The result? He was denied the narrative dignity of love with someone in his actual social class.

Whitley Gilbert: The Chosen Debutante

Whitley’s character arc—from elitist to empathetic—was among the show’s most powerful. Her internal classism was challenged, her superficiality peeled away, and her vulnerability finally exposed. But she was also shielded by her presentation: light-skinned, poised, and conventionally attractive within Eurocentric standards.

This made her “worthy” of the show’s grandest romance—the epic, sometimes rocky, and ultimately redemptive love story with Dwayne Wayne. Their courtship wasn’t just about two young adults figuring it out; it was a narrative about respectability and romantic transformation, a staple of Black middle-class media.

But what if Whitley had fallen for Ron? It wouldn’t have been about transformation. It would have been about familiarity—two people from the same world finding common ground. That wasn’t the story the show wanted to tell. It wanted aspirational transformation, not intra-class reflection.

That choice reveals the quiet but powerful ways in which class and colorism combine to sculpt who gets to be complex, who gets to grow, and who gets chosen.

Kimberly Reese: The Invisible Anchor

If Whitley Gilbert was the show’s belle, Kimberly Reese was its backbone. Played by Charnele Brown, Kim was dark-skinned, hyper-focused, and working multiple jobs to stay afloat in pre-med. She represented a different kind of Black excellence: gritty, grounded, and God-fearing.

Yet, for all her virtues, Kim was largely ignored romantically. She had flings and moments, but never a grand love story. Her pairing with Ron was fleeting. Her moment with Matthew, a white medical student, felt more like a plot device than an earnest exploration of interracial love. She was never positioned as a leading lady in the way Whitley was.

But why not pair Kimberly with Dwayne?

Both were academically driven, socially awkward at times, and navigating the pressures of being exceptional. Both came from working-class families. A relationship between them could have explored what it means to build a future together—struggling to balance career goals, family expectations, and a desire to uplift each other.

Instead, the show doubled down on the colorist formula: dark-skinned man, light-skinned woman. Dwayne and Kimberly were emotionally compatible, but Kim was never allowed to be seen as “soft” or romantic enough to be chosen.

She was the strong Black woman. And in television, that often means being alone.

The Economics of On-Screen Desirability

At HBCUs, where the intersection of class and colorism is often most stark, these dynamics are not fiction. They are lived experience. Generational wealth, skin tone, regional culture—all shape who gets attention, who is seen as “wife material,” and who becomes invisible. A Different World was written by people who understood those dynamics intimately, which is why their omissions are so revealing.

The coupling of Dwayne and Whitley functioned not just as a love story, but as a marketing strategy. A light-skinned woman and dark-skinned man satisfied the public’s craving for aspirational integration—of class, color, and character. Ron and Kim, both of whom would’ve represented more internally coherent couplings with their respective counterparts, were left out not because they lacked chemistry, but because they challenged the marketable image of what Black love was supposed to look like on television.

The Reboot Hillman Needs

What if A Different World were rebooted with new eyes?

  • Ron and Whitley: two heirs to Black economic mobility navigating authenticity, ambition, and vulnerability.
  • Dwayne and Kim: two strivers, from humble beginnings, falling in love through academic rigor and emotional resilience.

Today’s Hillman could tell these stories. And it must. Because representation is not just about being on screen—it’s about how we are portrayed. Who is seen as lovable. Who gets growth. Who gets the happy ending.

If the goal is not just to show Black faces but to dismantle Black hierarchies, then these “what-ifs” are not trivial. They are necessary.

Love in the Shadow of Respectability

A Different World did for HBCUs what few shows have ever done for any institution. It made them aspirational. It brought them into the living rooms of millions. But it also brought with it the quiet assumptions of who gets to be desired, respected, and redeemed.

Ron Johnson was more than a clown. He was a young Black man with legacy wealth, light skin, and untapped emotional depth. Kimberly Reese was more than a study machine. She was the embodiment of strength and softness—if only the writers had allowed it.

The couples we never saw reveal as much about us as the ones we did. And in the silence of those omissions lies the challenge for future creators: will they continue to tell safe stories, or will they tell the stories that make us all feel seen?

Disclaimer: This article was assisted by ChatGPT.

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Monetary Illiteracy In The Halls Of Power: When Grandstanding Replaces Governing

Posted on June 25, 2025 | Leave a comment

“It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.” — Aristotle

Each time Federal Reserve Chair Jerome Powell appears before Congress, particularly the House Financial Services Committee, a rare opportunity presents itself—one that could improve financial literacy at the highest levels of government and foster substantive dialogue on monetary policy’s profound impact on American households, businesses, and institutions. But that opportunity is almost always wasted.

Instead, the public is forced to endure yet another performance of political theater where elected officials, both Democrat and Republican, seem more concerned with going viral than going deep—more focused on five-minute gotchas than on fifty-year policy ramifications.

And for African America, whose economic institutions and family wealth face historic and systemic precarity, this continued dysfunction is not simply frustrating. It is dangerous.

The Purpose of Oversight or a Stage for Soundbites?

The Federal Reserve is arguably the most powerful economic institution in the world. Its chair, currently Jerome Powell, wields incredible influence over interest rates, inflation, labor markets, and the credit system. A hearing before Congress should be a time when policymakers probe deeply, ask sophisticated questions, and help inform the public through their own understanding.

Instead, what unfolds is often little more than ideological posturing. Members of Congress use their time to push personal or party agendas, cherry-pick statistics, or lob loaded questions with no intent of hearing the answer.

This isn’t oversight. It’s political performance art.

The House Financial Services Committee, charged with overseeing financial institutions, capital markets, and economic stability, must rise above this. Its role should be more than ceremonial. It should be educational—to itself and to the American people. But the overwhelming sense watching Powell’s recent testimonies is that most of the committee members lack even a basic understanding of how monetary policy functions, let alone how to interrogate it effectively.

Why It Matters for HBCUs and African American Economic Institutions

African America does not have the luxury of political and financial ignorance.

When inflation creeps higher, it isn’t just a line in a Bloomberg terminal. It is the difference between a Black student being able to afford books for the semester or choosing between groceries and tuition. It is a Black-owned small business having to lay off an employee because a loan’s interest rate jumped from 6% to 11%.

The lack of thoughtful interrogation of Powell’s monetary strategy reflects a more structural problem. There is a scarcity of African American economists in monetary policy circles. The Federal Reserve’s own ranks remain largely devoid of HBCU graduates, and few members of the House Financial Services Committee themselves come from economically marginalized backgrounds or have spent real time examining the consequences of macroeconomic policy on communities of color.

Yet these are the same communities most sensitive to interest rate swings, credit market freezes, or inflationary spikes.

And still, with this knowledge, Black America’s representatives—those on the committee and those adjacent—too often use their time during hearings for moral appeals or political slogans. But where is the policy meat? Where is the specificity? Where is the courage to press Powell on structural inequality in the Federal Reserve’s frameworks?

The Federal Reserve and the Myth of Neutrality

To be fair, the Federal Reserve, under Powell or any other chair, does not operate in a vacuum. But the institution often touts its political independence as a form of virtue. That independence, however, should not be mistaken for neutrality. The Fed’s policies have winners and losers.

From 2020 to 2022, the Fed’s monetary expansion saved financial markets—but also exploded asset prices, exacerbating wealth inequality. Homeowners gained equity. Renters fell behind. Banks consolidated more power while local lenders and community institutions—like Black banks—continued to struggle.

The committee could have questioned Powell on these outcomes. It could have demanded a racial wealth gap impact assessment of every major monetary policy decision. It could have interrogated how interest rate hikes disproportionately hurt historically marginalized borrowers. But those questions are never asked.

Instead, Powell is interrupted mid-sentence. Politicians talk over him. They make proclamations but ask no follow-ups. This behavior isn’t just disrespectful—it’s dangerous. And it’s a gross misuse of public time.

What HBCUs Can Teach Congress About Learning

At an HBCU, you learn that education is both a privilege and a weapon. It is something to be studied, sharpened, and used to build institutions. That approach—one rooted in discipline, humility, and preparation—is entirely missing from the House Financial Services Committee’s handling of monetary policy.

If a professor at Spelman or Howard or North Carolina A&T asked students to prepare a critique on central banking and one of those students responded with vague accusations or irrelevant political banter, they would be challenged to do better. Because rigor matters.

Imagine, instead, what would happen if HBCU economics departments had a seat at the table. Imagine if the committee regularly invited young scholars from Hampton, Morehouse, and FAMU to submit briefs or participate in Q&A sessions. Imagine a committee that used Powell’s visit as a chance to uplift new Black monetary scholars, who are often overlooked despite deep institutional knowledge.

There is no reason why an HBCU-trained economist should not be Chair of the Federal Reserve one day. But for that to happen, both access and expectation must change. We must expect more of Congress—and we must prepare ourselves to be in those seats.

The Price of Ignorance Is Paid in Communities Like Ours

Grandstanding doesn’t stabilize mortgage rates.

Political theater doesn’t ensure access to affordable credit.

Viral clips won’t help a Black farmer secure the funding needed to plant next season.

When the committee wastes its opportunity to genuinely understand and shape monetary policy, it abdicates responsibility for protecting those most vulnerable to economic volatility. Black communities cannot afford that negligence.

For instance, Powell was not questioned about how inflation-targeting might undervalue employment gains in Black communities. Nor was he asked whether the Fed’s models even consider racial employment disparities in real time. These are the kinds of questions that would surface if the committee viewed itself as learners—not performers.

A Call for Financial Statesmanship

What is needed in Congress is not just political courage but intellectual humility. An understanding that financial literacy is not just for constituents but must be a discipline practiced by lawmakers themselves.

The House Financial Services Committee could evolve into a place of high economic inquiry, a model of bipartisan dialogue around shared economic goals. But that will require members who read the footnotes of policy briefs, not just the headlines. Who consult experts across ideology. Who admit what they don’t know and ask better questions in return.

It also means creating a pipeline of informed staffers, many of whom should be HBCU-trained. Imagine a rotating fellowship where top students in finance and economics at Prairie View or Tuskegee serve one-year policy internships with members of Congress. Not only would this improve committee function, but it would democratize who gets to shape monetary discourse in the long run.

A Missed Opportunity That Cannot Keep Being Missed

Chair Powell is not infallible. His policies deserve scrutiny. But if the scrutiny is shallow, the Fed wins by default. Monetary policy deserves robust challenge—but that challenge must come with intellectual integrity, not political antics.

African American families, students, and business owners live with the real-world consequences of interest rate decisions every single day. They deserve elected officials who treat these hearings not as soundbite factories, but as classrooms—where hard questions are asked, where policies are dissected, and where the future is imagined more inclusively.

The Federal Reserve will always operate in the shadows unless Congress holds up a light. But to shine that light effectively, the House Financial Services Committee must first turn its cameras inward and ask whether it is performing or learning.

Because for communities like ours, the cost of their ignorance is far too high.

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From Showtime to Shutout: What the Lakers Sale Says About Black Ownership in Sports

Posted on June 20, 2025 | Leave a comment

“Wealth is created in ownership. If you don’t own, you’re always at someone else’s mercy.” – Robert F. Smith

June 2025’s record-shattering $10 billion sale of the Los Angeles Lakers to Guggenheim Partners chief Mark Walter confirmed what many already suspected: franchise values are rocketing into the financial stratosphere. Yet the deal also spotlighted a harsher truth. After nearly a half-century of hard-court brilliance and gridiron dominance, African Americans are still largely locked out of true ownership power. This article examines why—tracing the structural barriers that keep Black wealth on the playing field instead of in the owner’s suite, and outlining the institutional reforms needed to change the score.

From the Field to the Boardroom: Still a One-Way Street

African Americans make up roughly 70–75 percent of NBA players and about 60–65 percent of NFL rosters. In the WNBA, the share is even higher. Yet across 154 combined franchises in the NBA, NFL, MLB, and NHL:

  • Zero teams are majority-owned by African Americans in the NFL, MLB, or NHL.
  • Only one historic example (Robert L. Johnson’s Charlotte Bobcats/Hornets) and one recent example (Michael Jordan, 2010–2023) exist in the NBA.

Three forces keep that door shut:

  1. Intergenerational-Wealth Deficit – Most Black athletes are first-generation millionaires, while many current owners are third- or fourth-generation billionaires.
  2. Limited Collective Capital Vehicles – Black-controlled banks and investment firms are few and undercapitalized relative to mainstream counterparts.
  3. Opaque League Gatekeeping – Franchise valuations above $4 billion and insider-driven vetting processes deter new entrants without deep networks.

The Robert L. Johnson Breakthrough—And the Mirage of Progress

On December 18, 2002, BET founder Robert L. Johnson secured the NBA’s Charlotte expansion franchise for $300 million, becoming the first African American majority owner of a modern U.S. pro team. The milestone was historic, but it proved fragile. Lacking a pipeline of Black institutional capital—no HBCU endowment co-investors, no African American businesses or firms operating as minority owners—Johnson operated alone. By 2010 he sold controlling interest to Michael Jordan, whose own 2023 exit returned the league to its status quo: African American talent on the court, minimal African American equity off it. Symbolic breakthroughs absent institutional follow-through do not create sustainable inclusion.

The LeBron Conundrum: Cultural Power Without Governance Leverage

Billion-dollar athlete-entrepreneur LeBron James epitomizes the new Black business titan—owning film studios, apparel lines, and minority stakes in Fenway Sports Group. Yet even LeBron, arguably the most financially astute athlete of his generation, cannot write a solo check for a majority share of an NBA or NFL team. Average franchise prices now exceed $4 billion in the NBA and $6.5 billion in the NFL.

LeBron’s estimated net worth, while staggering at $1.2 billion, pales in comparison to the financial firepower wielded by new Lakers controlling owner Mark Walter, who is worth an estimated $5.5 to $6 billion personally—and controls access to far greater institutional capital. As CEO of Guggenheim Partners, Walter leads a global financial firm with over $345 billion in assets under management (AUM), according to the firm’s own reporting.

That institutional reach gives Walter an unparalleled advantage: the ability to deploy capital at scale, with leverage, and over long time horizons. His 2012 acquisition of the Los Angeles Dodgers for $2 billion was just the beginning. Now, his control over the Lakers reflects how ownership is secured not by personal wealth alone—but by deep institutional infrastructure.

The gap is not merely one of celebrity or business acumen—it is one of capital architecture. LeBron’s wealth is largely rooted in earned income and venture-backed enterprises, while Walter’s access to Guggenheim’s multi-hundred-billion-dollar asset base enables him to execute major acquisitions swiftly and without co-investors.

Until African Americans gain collective control of similar institutional investment vehicles—through private equity firms, pension-managed funds, or bank-led syndicates—Black excellence in sports will continue to be celebrated on the court, but denied authority in the boardroom.

Building a Syndicate That Can Actually Write a Check

If African Americans are to move from the highlight reel to the cap table, the capital stack must shift from aspirational community pooling to institutional syndication—driven by organizations already designed to deploy large checks and assume complex risk. Pragmatism, not idealism, is the order of the day.

Capital SourceAsset BaseRealistic Deployment Rationale
Black-Owned Banks (18 nationwide)$6.4 billion in assetsFDIC-insured balance sheets, access to low-cost deposits—including the growing wave of Fortune 500 “diversity deposits”—can underwrite debt facilities or pledge Tier 1 capital to a buyout fund.
Black Investment & Private-Equity Firms (e.g., Ariel, Vista, Fairview, RLJ)$70–90 billion AUM (collectively)Deep GP/LP relationships with public pensions and foundations; experienced at assembling $100–$500 million special-purpose vehicles (SPVs) around a single asset.
HBCU Endowments (102 institutions)≈ $5 billion totalAsk for 0.5–1 percent commitments per school—$25–50 million system-wide—providing research access, internships, and brand equity rather than acting as anchors.
Athlete Sidecar FundVariableStructure a managed feeder that lets players co-invest passively (no tithes or self-directing). Capital is professionally deployed—removing behavioral risk.
Corporate & Public PensionsTrillionsMany plans reserve 5–10 percent for “emerging managers.” A Black-led sports-ownership PE fund fits this mandate.

1. Banks as Capital Bridges
Black-owned banks can’t buy teams outright, but they can warehouse capital and extend critical financial infrastructure. By leveraging corporate “diversity deposits” and issuing credit facilities, they can become crucial intermediaries that keep transaction fees and governance influence in Black hands.

2. Investment Firms as Syndicate Architects
Black-led PE firms already understand the terrain. By structuring a flagship $400–$600 million sports-focused fund, they can attract institutional LPs and scale their acquisitions from minority WNBA stakes to majority control in emerging or undervalued leagues.

3. HBCUs as Modest Strategic LPs
HBCUs should not be burdened with anchoring such funds. Instead, they can contribute symbolic capital, student talent pipelines, and academic value. For example, a 1 percent commitment from Howard or Spelman tied to naming rights or internship guarantees would align mission with opportunity.

4. Athletes & African American Families as Co-Investors, Not Donors
A feeder fund with low buy-ins and lock-up periods allows them to invest with institutional support. This protects them from high-risk self-management and ensures alignment with professional fund managers.

5. Execution Timeline

  • 2026–2028: Assemble GP team, secure $150 million from banks and PE partners, with layered support from HBCUs and athlete and African American businesses co-investors.
  • 2028–2032: Close a $500 million Fund I and acquire equity in two WNBA teams and a controlling NWSL stake bundled with real estate.
  • 2032–2037: Launch Fund II at $1 billion, targeting a controlling interest in an MLS or NBA franchise.
  • 2040: Own a major-league asset with governance representation from African American banks, investment firms, and HBCU partners—creating long-term cash flows and intergenerational wealth held by Black institutions.

Media Rights and the Power Gap

Owning teams is only half the battle. The NBA’s next domestic media deal could top $75 billion, and yet no Black-owned network will participate directly in those revenues. Streaming platforms, RSNs, data-analytics firms, and betting partnerships—all profit off Black athletic performance. Until African American institutions enter the media-rights supply chain, the revenue fountainhead remains out of reach.

Cultural Iconography, Financial Dispossession

Hip-hop tracks blare in arenas, sneaker culture drives merchandise sales, and social-media highlights fuel league engagement—but licensing profits flow to predominantly white ownership groups. Careers end; ownership dynasties do not. The average NFL tenure is 3.3 years; Robert Kraft has owned the Patriots for 31 years. Equity compounds; salaries evaporate.

From the Boardroom, Not the Ball Court: Where Owners Really Make Their Money

A glaring misconception is that sports fortunes begin with sports talent. In practice, franchise control stems from non-sports industries:

OwnerTeam(s)Primary Wealth Source
Steve BallmerLA ClippersMicrosoft stock
Stan KroenkeRams, Nuggets, ArsenalReal estate / Walmart marital fortune
Robert KraftPatriotsPaper & packaging
Mark CubanMavericksBroadcast.com tech exit
Joe TsaiNets, LibertyAlibaba IPO
Josh HarrisCommanders, 76ersApollo Global Mgmt. (private equity)

None earned money playing pro sports; all deployed patient, appreciating, often tax-advantaged capital to buy franchises. In contrast, athlete income is earned, highly taxed, and front-loaded. A $200 million NBA contract, after taxes, agents, and lifestyle inflation, seldom equals the liquidity needed for a $6 billion NFL acquisition.

African Americans dominate labor yet rely on labor income to pursue ownership—an uphill climb when the ownership class uses diversified portfolios, inheritance, and leverage. The gap is not just financial; it’s structural.

A Blueprint Forward

African American banks, PE firms, and institutional investors must build syndicates that mirror the strategies of the existing ownership class—while rooting the returns inside Black institutions.

  • 2026–2030 – Launch a $500 million Fund I with contributions from banks, investment firms, HBCUs, and athletes.
  • 2030–2035 – Acquire multiple minority and controlling stakes in undervalued leagues.
  • 2035–2045 – Expand into media-rights, merchandising, and facilities ownership.
  • 2045–2050 – Control a major-league asset and use it to empower future generations via scholarships, pensions, research grants, and equity reinvestment.

Owning the Game—or Owning What Funds the Game?

The persistent call for African American ownership in major league sports raises a deeper question: Should African Americans even prioritize owning sports franchises, when we remain almost entirely absent from the very industries—technology, finance, energy, real estate—that generate the wealth used to buy these teams in the first place?

Mark Walter didn’t become the Lakers’ majority owner through basketball. He did it through Guggenheim Partners—a financial firm managing $345 billion in assets. Steve Ballmer bought the Clippers not from years of courtside ambition, but from cashing out Microsoft stock. Owners dominate sports not because of athletic brilliance, but because they own pipelines, patents, trading desks, and land—the assets that make sports ownership a byproduct, not a goal.

For African Americans, the concern isn’t just that they don’t own the team. It’s that they don’t own the banks that financed the team, the media companies that broadcast the games, or the tech platforms monetizing fan engagement. It is a misallocation of focus to aim for the outcome—sports ownership—without first entering the industries that produce ownership-level capital.

There’s no harm in wanting a seat in the owner’s box. But the more strategic question is: why not aim to own the entire ecosystem? The scoreboard. The stadium real estate. The ticketing software. The AI that tracks player stats. The advertising networks.

Athletes made sports cool. Billionaires made sports profitable. African America must ask whether it wants symbolic entry into an elite club—or whether it wants to control the industries that fund the club.

The real power isn’t just in the arena. It’s in what surrounds it. And until African Americans own those arenas—of finance, data, infrastructure, and media—they will always be positioned to play the game, but not define it.

Final Whistle

The scoreboard of ownership still reads 0-154 against African Americans in most major leagues. Talent fills highlight reels; equity fills trust funds. The route to flipping that score will not be paved by bigger contracts or more MVP trophies. It will be built through African American banks mobilizing capital, investment firms leading syndicates, and HBCU institutions gaining board seats—not just honorary jerseys.

Athletes have inspired generations. Now, institutions must finance generations.

The next dynasty to celebrate should not just hoist a trophy—it should hold a deed.

Disclaimer: This article was assisted by ChatGPT.

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Has The Internet Become A Utility? No, But It Is Close

Posted on June 17, 2025 | 1 comment

 Opportunity has power over all things. — Sophocles

I have constantly made the argument that just because you put someone on a nuclear submarine does not mean they will innately figure out how to pilot it. In fact, disaster is more likely to happen. Just giving someone access to information does not mean they will automatically know how to better themselves unless that portal is strictly designed to do so. However, the internet is filled with as much junk (if not more) than useful information. People will therefore gravitate to what they have learned to comprehend. There is the argument that having water in your home is better than not, but what if that water is more toxic than clean. The faucet becomes deadly, not helpful.

What is a utility? The dictionary defines a public utility as “a business enterprise, as a public-service corporation, performing an essential public service and regulated by the federal, state, or local government.”

Based on this definition, the internet does not quite fit the criteria of a public utility—at least, not yet. While the internet has certainly become an essential service in modern society, it lacks the same level of regulation and universal accessibility that defines traditional utilities like electricity, water, and gas. These utilities are tightly controlled to ensure consistency, affordability, and access for all, regardless of socioeconomic status. The internet, by contrast, is still largely managed by private corporations that set their own prices, establish service areas, and determine the quality of the connection users receive. This has led to disparities in access, with high-speed broadband readily available in affluent urban areas while rural and lower-income communities often struggle with slow or unreliable connections.

One of the biggest distinctions between the internet and traditional utilities is the role of regulation. Electricity and water services are heavily regulated because they are deemed necessary for survival and public welfare. In contrast, the internet operates in a more laissez-faire environment. While governments have attempted to introduce regulations such as net neutrality—intended to ensure equal access to all online content—these efforts have faced pushback from major telecommunications companies. The debate over whether the internet should be classified as a public utility is an ongoing one, with proponents arguing that universal access is a fundamental right in an increasingly digital world, while opponents fear overregulation could stifle innovation and increase costs.

Despite these challenges, the internet has become nearly indispensable in daily life. It is the backbone of modern communication, education, commerce, and entertainment. Job applications, telehealth services, remote work opportunities, and access to government resources all depend on a reliable internet connection. The COVID-19 pandemic underscored just how vital internet access is, as schools transitioned to online learning and businesses adopted work-from-home models. Those without reliable internet were left at a severe disadvantage, further exacerbating existing inequalities.

Another factor to consider is infrastructure. Traditional utilities operate on a centralized infrastructure model, where a single provider (often a government-regulated entity) manages distribution to all consumers. The internet, however, consists of a decentralized network of private providers, each controlling different segments of the infrastructure. While this decentralization has allowed for rapid innovation and expansion, it has also led to fragmentation, where service quality and pricing vary widely based on geographic location. In areas with limited competition, internet providers can charge high fees for subpar service, leaving consumers with little recourse.

Cost is another key element in the utility debate. Utilities like water and electricity are subject to price regulations to prevent excessive charges. The internet, however, remains largely unregulated in this regard, with broadband costs in the United States being some of the highest in the world. Many low-income households cannot afford high-speed internet, effectively locking them out of opportunities that require online access. This digital divide reinforces socioeconomic disparities, as those with consistent internet access gain educational and economic advantages over those who are disconnected.

Moreover, the quality of the internet experience is not uniform. Unlike water, which is expected to be safe to drink regardless of where you live, the internet experience varies widely based on available bandwidth, provider policies, and regional infrastructure. Some communities suffer from data caps, throttling, and unreliable service, while others enjoy ultra-fast fiber-optic connections. This inconsistency highlights another major difference between the internet and true public utilities.

If the internet were to become a public utility, significant changes would need to occur. Governments would have to step in to ensure equitable access, set fair pricing standards, and improve infrastructure in underserved areas. Public broadband initiatives, such as municipal networks, have already been proposed and implemented in some areas, offering lower-cost, high-speed options as an alternative to private ISPs. However, these efforts are often met with legal and political challenges, as existing providers fight to maintain their market dominance.

The argument that the internet should be classified as a utility stems from its necessity in modern life. Just as society determined that water, electricity, and gas are essential for a functioning household, the internet is increasingly seen as an essential service. Many believe that access to the digital world should not be a privilege but a right. However, until regulations catch up with this reality, the internet remains in a gray area—essential, but not yet universally protected and regulated like a true public utility.

To enhance the discussion on the internet’s status as a utility, it’s essential to examine the digital divide—the gap between those who have access to modern information and communication technologies and those who do not. Despite advancements in global connectivity, significant disparities persist both within the United States and worldwide.

Global Perspective

As of 2022, approximately 2.7 billion people, or one-third of the world’s population, remained without internet access. Additionally, 53% lacked access to high-speed broadband, limiting their ability to engage fully in the digital economy.

The divide is more pronounced between high-income and low-income countries. In high-income nations, internet usage stands at about 93%, whereas in low-income countries, only 27% of the population is online. This discrepancy highlights the infrastructural and economic challenges faced by developing regions in achieving digital parity.

Gender disparities also contribute to the global digital divide. Globally, 70% of men use the internet compared to 65% of women. Women account for a disproportionate share of the offline population, outnumbering male non-users by 17%. This gap underscores the need for targeted initiatives to promote digital inclusion among women.

United States Perspective

In the United States, while 95% of adults use the internet and 90% own a smartphone, only 80% have high-speed internet at home. This indicates that a significant portion of the population still lacks reliable broadband access, affecting their ability to participate fully in digital activities.

Income disparities significantly influence internet access. In 2019, 44% of adults in households earning below $30,000 annually did not have broadband services. This lack of access can hinder opportunities for education, employment, and access to essential services.

Educational attainment also plays a role in digital connectivity. Adults with higher education levels are more likely to have internet access, highlighting the intersection between education and digital inclusion.

Racial and ethnic disparities further exacerbate the digital divide. In 2021, 71% of White non-Hispanics used a PC or tablet, compared to 57% of African Americans and 54% of Hispanics. These differences can perpetuate existing inequalities in education and employment opportunities.

Implications

The digital divide has far-reaching consequences. Individuals without reliable internet access face challenges in job applications, accessing healthcare, and participating in educational opportunities. For instance, during the COVID-19 pandemic, students without home internet struggled with remote learning, exacerbating educational inequalities.

Addressing the digital divide is crucial for ensuring equitable access to information and opportunities. Potential solutions include investing in infrastructure to expand broadband access, implementing affordable internet programs, and enhancing digital literacy initiatives. Bridging this gap is essential for the internet to be considered a true utility, accessible and beneficial to all.

The digital divide—the gap between those with access to modern information and communication technologies and those without—profoundly affects various sectors, notably entrepreneurship and Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs).

Impact on Entrepreneurship

Entrepreneurs rely heavily on digital tools for marketing, sales, communication, and operations. Limited access to high-speed internet and digital technologies hampers business growth and innovation.

  • Rural Entrepreneurs: In the United States, rural small businesses face significant challenges due to inadequate broadband access. This deficiency restricts their ability to expand customer bases through online sales and reduces operational efficiencies. Research indicates that limited broadband access correlates with reduced business innovation in rural areas, as it impedes the adoption of cloud-based technologies essential for modern business operations.
  • Women Entrepreneurs in Developing Countries: The high cost of mobile data and unreliable internet connectivity disproportionately affect female entrepreneurs in developing nations. A survey across 96 countries revealed that 45% of women in business lack regular internet access due to expense and connectivity issues, hindering their capacity to market products, communicate with customers, and receive payments.
  • General Entrepreneurial Challenges: The digital divide limits access to digital finance, reducing diversified funding sources for disadvantaged groups. This constraint affects the ability to engage in open innovation processes, as individuals without access to information and communication technologies (ICT) cannot participate effectively in the digital economy.

Impact on HBCUs

Historically Black Colleges and Universities play a crucial role in providing higher education to African American communities. However, many HBCUs face challenges related to the digital divide.

  • Infrastructure Limitations: A significant number of HBCUs are located in areas with limited broadband access, often referred to as “broadband deserts.” This lack of high-speed internet hampers the institutions’ ability to offer digital learning resources and affects students’ educational experiences.
  • Funding and Resources: HBCUs have historically been underfunded, limiting their capacity to invest in necessary digital infrastructure and technology. This financial constraint exacerbates the digital divide, affecting the quality of education and the institutions’ competitiveness.
  • Digital Literacy and Inclusion: Despite these challenges, HBCUs are actively working to bridge the digital divide by fostering digital literacy and inclusivity. Initiatives include collaborative assignment designs and amplifying student voices to enhance digital learning experiences.

Efforts to Bridge the Gap

Addressing the digital divide requires concerted efforts from governments, private sectors, and educational institutions.

  • Investments in Infrastructure: Allocating funds to improve broadband infrastructure in underserved areas is crucial. For instance, federal agencies have directed significant financial support towards technology initiatives in HBCUs to enhance digital equity.
  • Public-Private Partnerships: Collaborations between corporations and educational institutions can lead to substantial improvements in digital infrastructure. Such partnerships aim to enhance technology access and digital literacy among students and the broader community.
  • Policy Initiatives: Governments can implement policies to reduce the cost of mobile data and internet services, making them more affordable for entrepreneurs and educational institutions. Such measures are vital in developing countries where the cost remains a significant barrier.

The digital divide significantly impacts entrepreneurship and HBCUs by limiting access to essential digital tools and resources. Addressing this issue is critical for fostering economic growth, innovation, and educational equity.

Ultimately, the question of whether the internet should become a utility comes down to societal priorities. If we agree that digital access is fundamental to education, employment, healthcare, and civic engagement, then steps must be taken to ensure it is available to all, regardless of income or location. This may mean rethinking current regulatory frameworks, expanding public broadband initiatives, or enforcing stricter oversight of internet service providers. Until then, the internet remains on the verge of utility status—vital, but not yet universally accessible or regulated in the way that other essential services are.

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