Tag Archives: HBCU endowment gap

The Largest IPO in African History Is Happening. Where Are African America’s Institutions?

Our work is the presentatoin of our capabilities. – Edward Gibbon

There is an old story about a village that lived along a great river. Every season, merchants from distant lands traveled that river, loading their boats with timber, ore, and grain pulled from the very land the villagers had worked for generations. Those merchants sailed downstream to markets where fortunes were made and power was consolidated, and season by season, neighboring tribes who had learned to build boats and send their own goods to market grew stronger their granaries fuller, their children better protected, their voices louder in the councils where decisions were made about who owned what and who owed whom. The village elders watched all of this from the bank. They were not ignorant men and women. They knew the river better than any merchant who passed through. They understood its currents, its seasons, its dangers. But they had never built boats. The lumber was expensive. The tools were hard to come by. The timing was never quite right. And so the resources of their land flowed downstream in other people’s vessels, enriching other people’s villages, while their own families and sibling villages just around the bend, bound to them by blood and history grew more exposed with each passing year. Then one season, a young man and a young woman stood before the elders and said: we know how to build the boats. We know where the timber is. We know the market downstream. The only question is whether this village will finally decide that the river belongs to us too.

The most consequential capital markets event in African history is unfolding in real time, and there is no reason for HBCU endowments and alumni associations to be spectators.

Aliko Dangote, the Nigerian industrialist whose Dangote Petroleum Refinery and Petrochemicals FZE has already reshaped the energy economics of West Africa, is preparing to take the refinery public. The offering structured as a coordinated multi-exchange IPO spanning the Nigerian Exchange, the Johannesburg Stock Exchange, the Nairobi Securities Exchange, the Ghana Stock Exchange, and several additional African bourses carries a valuation range of $40 billion to $50 billion. At a 10% stake offering, the actual transaction size approaches $5 billion, making it by a wide margin the largest equity offering ever conducted on an African stock exchange. The IPO subscription window is expected to open later in 2026.

For HBCU endowment officers, foundation boards, and alumni association investment committees who have spent the last decade searching for alternative assets that offer both competitive returns and meaningful institutional alignment, this transaction deserves serious analysis. It is not a charity play or a symbolic gesture toward Pan-African solidarity. It is a hard industrial asset, generating real revenue in hard currency, operating at the center of a continental energy transformation that will define the next quarter century of African economic development.

The strategic case begins with the asset itself.

The Dangote Refinery, located in the Ibeju-Lekki Free Trade Zone on the outskirts of Lagos, is the world’s largest single-train crude oil processing facility, with a current capacity of 650,000 barrels per day. It reached full operational capacity in early 2024, has already turned Nigeria into a net fuel exporter, and has disrupted global trade routes that previously ran refined petroleum products from European refineries back into the African market. The refinery currently supplies over 90% of Nigeria’s domestic petrol demand and has exported refined fuel to five African countries. The Dangote Group’s revenues have grown from $3.3 billion to $18 billion over the past five years, and the refinery’s expansion roadmap which envisions more than doubling capacity to 1.4 million barrels per day is the central purpose of the IPO capital raise.

One structural feature of the transaction is particularly noteworthy for institutional investors operating in the United States: dividends will be paid in US dollars, even though shares are purchased in naira. This is not a minor administrative detail. It addresses the core foreign-exchange risk concern that typically limits American institutional appetite for African equity markets. Dollar-denominated dividends from an asset generating dollar-denominated revenues — the refinery sells its output at global commodity prices — transforms the currency risk profile of the investment from speculative to manageable. For HBCU endowments that are overwhelmingly concentrated in US equities and fixed income, this creates a genuine entry point into the African investment universe without the full currency risk exposure that has historically made direct African market participation unattractive.

Now consider where HBCU endowments currently stand in the landscape of American higher education finance.

According to the most recent NACUBO-Commonfund Study of Endowments, HBCU institutions accounted for approximately $2.4 billion of the $944 billion in total endowment assets reported by participating institutions. The average HBCU endowment was $236.7 million, compared to $1.4 billion for all NCSE respondents. Only two HBCUs — Howard University, which crossed the $1 billion threshold, and Spelman College hold endowments above $500 million. The PWI-to-HBCU endowment gap among the top 10 institutions in each category stands at roughly 129 to 1. HBCU endowment gift flows fell to $67.7 million in FY25 from $91.9 million in FY24. On nearly every metric, the structural undercapitalization of HBCU institutional wealth is not merely significant; it is a threat to the long-term viability of institutions that serve as the backbone of African American professional formation.

The investment allocation patterns compounding this problem are equally stark. HBCU endowments allocate just 14% of their portfolios to alternative asset classes, compared to 41% for their non-HBCU peers — a 27-percentage-point gap that systematically excludes them from the asset classes driving the highest long-term returns. The reasons are structural and understandable: smaller endowments have fewer investment staff, face higher minimum investment thresholds at most alternative asset managers, and operate with more conservative board mandates. But the consequence is that HBCU endowments are systematically excluded from the alternative and international asset classes that generate the outsized returns sustaining the endowments of Harvard, Yale, and the University of Texas system. The compounding effect of this exclusion over decades is not a gap — it is a chasm.

The Dangote IPO, precisely because of its scale, its multi-exchange structure, and its dollar dividend commitment, represents an unusual opportunity to begin addressing one dimension of this allocation problem.

For institutions with sufficient endowment size to participate as institutional investors in the international tranche of the offering — Howard, Spelman, Hampton, and a small handful of others — the case for direct participation is straightforward. A position in the world’s largest single-train refinery, at an entry valuation of $40 to $50 billion, in an asset whose expansion is already funded and whose revenues are denominated in the currency in which your dividends will be paid, provides genuine portfolio diversification, inflation protection through commodity-linked revenues, and exposure to the fastest-urbanizing, fastest-growing consumer energy market on earth. Africa’s urban population is projected to double by 2050. Every major city added to the African urban grid requires energy infrastructure. The Dangote Refinery is positioned at the center of that demand trajectory.

For institutions whose endowment size makes direct participation in the IPO difficult which is the reality for most of the HBCU sector the answer is not to sit out. It is to aggregate. The 1890 Foundation, which serves as the coordinating hub for the nation’s 19 historically Black land-grant universities and has already demonstrated its capacity to administer large-scale federal partnerships, is the most credible existing infrastructure for a consortium investment vehicle among its member institutions. A formally structured investment fund operating through the 1890 network governed by participating endowment officers, managed by professional advisers with international markets experience, and capitalized through pooled contributions from member institutions would provide access to investment minimums and due diligence resources that no individual 1890 institution could assemble independently. The SWAC, MEAC, SIAC, CIAA, and HBCU Athletic Conference represent analogous organizing structures across the sector where the same consortium investment logic applies where each already functions as a governance body with member institutions, shared administrative infrastructure, and collective standing that could anchor a pooled investment vehicle.

HBCU alumni associations belong in this conversation, but not as secondary vehicles for the institution’s benefit. They belong as independent institutional investors making strategic decisions on their own financial merits. An alumni association that builds an investment fund with its own governance, its own professional management, and its own return targets is building institutional wealth for its membership, not running a philanthropic pipeline to its parent institution. The distinction matters. An alumni association investment fund capitalized by members seeking competitive financial returns will attract a different level of participation, a different quality of governance, and ultimately a different scale of capital than one framed as an alumni giving mechanism wearing investment clothes. Where coordination between a university endowment and its alumni association investment fund makes strategic sense such as co-investment in a shared opportunity, shared due diligence costs, complementary positions in the same offering that coordination should happen by design, not by default. But each institution must be making an independent decision of financial merit.

The argument for this model is not merely aspirational. It has historical precedent in other diaspora investment networks. The Indian American diaspora has consistently channeled capital into Indian infrastructure and technology sectors through organized networks of high-net-worth investors coordinated through professional associations and regional affinity groups. Cuban American capital networks have played a documented role in channeling investment back into businesses serving the diaspora in South Florida. Jewish American institutional networks have sustained diaspora bond programs through organized professional and philanthropic structures for decades. The mechanisms are known. The question is whether African American institutional leadership will build the organizational infrastructure to replicate them.

But the case for HBCU institutional participation in the Dangote IPO extends beyond portfolio diversification or even diaspora solidarity. It is about the connective tissue between two halves of the same people that has never been fully built. African American institutions sit on intellectual capital in agriculture, medicine, engineering, law, public policy, and the sciences that is directly relevant to the development challenges facing African Core nations. African institutions sit on natural capital, emerging market infrastructure, and a demographic growth trajectory that represents the most significant economic expansion of the twenty-first century. The relationship between the two has been episodic and philanthropic where it should be structural and transactional. An HBCU endowment that holds equity in the Dangote Refinery is not making a charitable gesture toward the continent — it is establishing a financial relationship that creates the institutional logic for research partnerships, faculty exchanges, student pipelines, and joint ventures that philanthropy alone never compels. Capital is the language institutions speak to each other when they intend to be taken seriously. Beyond the bilateral opportunity, there is a harder truth: Africa’s resources have been extracted, its assets undervalued, and its markets structured to serve outside interests since the colonial era. That dynamic does not end on its own. It ends when African institutions and their diaspora counterparts accumulate enough ownership stake in African Core assets that the continent’s wealth begins compounding inward rather than flowing out. Every dollar of HBCU and African American institutional capital deployed into African equity markets is a dollar that does not go to the outside investors who have historically treated the African Core as a source of raw return without reciprocal obligation. Ownership is the only permanent answer to extraction.

The Dangote IPO is not only an investment proposition. It is a test of whether Black institutional America can organize itself to participate in the capital formation of the African Core, the region whose industrialization will define the global economy’s next chapter or whether, once again, the value created in this geography will accrue primarily to investors who had the institutional organization to show up.

Nigeria’s regulatory environment carries the political and macroeconomic variance typical of any large, resource-rich emerging economy no more inherently unstable than the frontier and emerging markets of Eastern Europe, Southeast Asia, or Latin America that well-capitalized endowments have allocated to for decades without treating the risk as exceptional. That Nigerian markets have historically been characterized as uniquely risky reflects less about Nigeria’s actual risk profile than about the systematic undervaluation of African Core economies by external rating frameworks designed to serve the capital interests of institutions that benefit from keeping African assets mispriced. The multi-exchange listing structure presents a genuine operational challenge: coordinating clearing, settlement, and trading standards across multiple African exchanges simultaneously has no established precedent at this scale, and execution risk is real. Currency risk, while substantially mitigated by the dollar dividend structure, is not eliminated. And the refinery carries $3.65 billion in outstanding debt, with plans to repay through operations and asset sales — a material factor in any serious valuation analysis.

These risks are real. They do not, however, distinguish this offering from the risk profile of the emerging market private equity and infrastructure funds that well-capitalized non-HBCU endowments have been allocating to for the past two decades. The difference is not that those endowments found risk-free investments in emerging markets. The difference is that they built the institutional capacity to analyze and manage those risks, and they positioned themselves to capture the returns that came with accepting them.

HBCU endowments that remain concentrated in domestic equities and fixed income because they lack the investment staff to evaluate an African infrastructure IPO are not being prudent. They are being institutionally underpowered in a way that will compound against their beneficiaries for generations.

The path forward requires several concrete steps. First, HBCU endowment boards and foundation leadership should commission formal analysis of the Dangote prospectus as it becomes available and engage the offering’s appointed advisers — Stanbic IBTC Capital, Vetiva Advisory Services, and FirstCap — to understand the terms available to international institutional participants. Second, the 1890 Foundation, UNCF, the Thurgood Marshall College Fund, the HBCU Faculty Development Network, and the leadership of the SWAC, MEAC, SIAC, CIAA, and HBCU Athletic Conference should open formal conversations now about the governance structure of consortium investment vehicles within their respective networks, before this offering closes and before the next one arrives. Each of these organizations already operates across multiple institutions with shared administrative infrastructure; the investment coordination function is an extension of capacity they already possess, not a capability they would need to build from scratch. Third, HBCU alumni association leadership (national organizations, alumni chapters, and the professional networks that shadow every major HBCU) should be building investment fund infrastructure as a parallel track, governed independently and capitalized on financial merit, with coordination with institutional endowments happening where it creates genuine value for both parties.

The architecture of African wealth is being redrawn. The Dangote IPO is not a metaphor for that process. It is the process, in concrete form, open for institutional participation by any investor with the organizational capacity to engage it.

The young man and the young woman are standing before the elders. The boats can be built. The only question is whether this village will finally decide that the river belongs to them too.


This article is for informational and analytical purposes only and does not constitute investment advice. Prospective investors should conduct independent due diligence and consult qualified financial advisers before making investment decisions.

Disclaimer: This article was assisted by ClaudeAI.

When Rivalries Do Nothing: What 50 Cent and T.I. Could Learn from Rockefeller and Carnegie

As I grow older, I pay less attention to what men say. I just watch what they do. – Andrew Carnegie

In the late 19th century, two men stood at the pinnacle of American industry and despised each other. John D. Rockefeller, the oil baron who had quietly and methodically assembled Standard Oil into a monopoly, and Andrew Carnegie, the steel magnate who built his empire on the sweat and ingenuity of immigrant labor, were the defining rivals of the Gilded Age. They competed for wealth, for prestige, for the title of richest man in America — and then, crucially, they competed for something else entirely: legacy.

What that competition produced is almost too vast to comprehend.

Andrew Carnegie funded 2,509 libraries between 1883 and 1929, with 1,681 built in the United States alone. Over 26 primary organizations — including Carnegie Mellon University, Carnegie Hall, the Carnegie Institution for Science, and the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace — were established directly by him. Over 2,500 institutions and buildings worldwide bear his name. Pittsburgh, where his steel empire was born, holds the highest concentration, but the Carnegie name stretches across every state and dozens of countries. The Carnegie Corporation of New York, still active today, continues to fund education and democracy initiatives well into the 21st century.

The Rockefeller legacy is no less staggering. Dozens of major institutions bear his family’s name: Rockefeller University, The Rockefeller Foundation, the Rockefeller Brothers Fund, Rockefeller Center in the heart of Manhattan. His name is on halls at Cornell and Vassar, on a chapel at the University of Chicago, on an archive center that preserves the history of American philanthropy itself. And then there is the commercial legacy — when the Supreme Court broke up Standard Oil in 1911 into 34 companies, those companies eventually consolidated into what we now call ExxonMobil, Chevron, BP, Marathon Petroleum, and ConocoPhillips. That group of Standard Oil descendants today carries a combined market capitalization of approximately $1.3 trillion. The wealth Rockefeller created never stopped compounding. It simply changed form.

But here is what makes the Rockefeller legacy particularly resonant for this publication and this community: Morehouse College bears the name of Rockefeller’s former pastor, John Morehouse. Spelman College — the oldest historically Black college for women in the United States — bears the maiden name of Rockefeller’s wife, Laura Spelman. John D. Rockefeller was among Spelman’s earliest and most significant funders, contributing to the institution that would go on to educate generations of Black women who shaped American life. The man whose name is synonymous with monopoly capitalism was also, in a meaningful way, a patron of Black higher education at a moment when almost no one else was willing to be.

And the Rockefeller Foundation’s Form 990, publicly available through ProPublica’s Nonprofit Explorer, tells the ongoing story in hard numbers: total assets of $6.23 billion, net assets of $5.39 billion, and $440 million in charitable disbursements in 2023 alone — while the endowment principal remained largely intact. The Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, similarly available for public examination, reports total assets of $602 million and net assets of $559 million as of its most recent filing, up from $238 million in net assets just a decade ago. These institutions are still growing. They are still filing 990s. They are still deploying capital into the world more than a century after the men who created them drew their last breath.

A prior HBCU Money analysis of African American philanthropic institutions laid bare exactly why this distinction between revenue and investment income is the difference between activity and power. The King Center in Atlanta — one of the strongest African American legacy nonprofits in the country — earned $788,000 in investment income in 2022. The Ford Foundation generated $1.2 billion in investment income that same year. The Rockefeller Foundation generated $120 million. The Ford Foundation ran a $520 million deficit that year while the King Center ran a $1.28 million surplus — and Ford is the stronger institution by an almost incomprehensible margin. Ford can choose to run half a billion dollars in the red because its endowment is so vast that the deficit barely registers against the principal. The King Center’s surplus is a sign of precarity, not strength: it means the institution spent the year clinging to solvency rather than deploying capital into the world.

And then there is the Steward Family Foundation, anchored by David Steward — the wealthiest African American man in the country. In 2023 it reported $12.5 million in revenue. It held $22,000 in assets. It generated $29,000 in investment income. The wealthiest Black man in America has structured his primary philanthropic vehicle to distribute money annually and accumulate nothing — a pass-through, not a perpetual institution. His foundation will not be filing a 990 in a hundred years. It is not designed to. That is not a critique of David Steward’s generosity. It is a description of the architecture of Black philanthropy at its current upper limit: generous in the moment, invisible across generations.

That is what it looks like when a rivalry is pointed at something beyond ego.

Now enter Clifford Joseph Harris Jr. and Curtis James Jackson III, better known to the world as T.I. and 50 Cent.

The beef between these two hip-hop heavyweights has been simmering for years, recently reignited and escalating into a public spectacle that has captured the attention of the culture. T.I.’s son, King Harris, has leaped into the fray on his father’s behalf. Social media has lit up. Shots have been fired — verbal ones, though given the histories of both men, the word carries particular weight. The culture watches, chooses sides, and amplifies the conflict.

And what does it produce? Absolutely nothing of value to the African American community.

That is not an overstatement. It is the most precise accounting available.

This beef will not lead to a competition over who can build the largest endowment at an HBCU. It will not culminate in 50 Cent funding a new research center at Howard University while T.I. answers by endowing a chair at Morehouse — the school that, let us not forget, already carries the indirect legacy of a man who built an oil monopoly. It will not inspire either man to deposit millions into African American-owned banks, institutions that are chronically undercapitalized and desperately in need of the kind of support that Black wealth could provide if it were directed with intention. It will not produce a dollar for African American early childhood education programs. It will not fund K-12 institutions in the underserved communities both men came from. It will not build a single research facility dedicated to attacking the health disparities — hypertension, diabetes, maternal mortality, cancer survival rates — that continue to devastate Black America at disproportionate rates.

It will do nothing. It will generate content. It will generate clout. It will generate revenue for platforms that profit from conflict. It will generate nothing else.

The Medgar and Myrlie Evers Institute — honoring the NAACP field secretary who was assassinated in his own driveway in 1963 and the woman who spent thirty years pursuing his killer to justice — reported just $107,000 in total revenue in 2023 and earned nothing in investment income. Nothing. The institution charged with preserving the legacy of one of the most consequential civil rights martyrs in American history is running on the institutional equivalent of fumes. The Martin and Coretta King Center in Atlanta, the steward of Dr. King’s legacy and one of the most visited civil rights landmarks in the country, earned $788,000 in investment income in 2022 against an endowment that remains a fraction of what the institution’s mission demands. The Malcolm X and Dr. Betty Shabazz Memorial and Educational Center in New York — preserving the legacy of a man who came from the same streets, the same circumstances, the same defiance of a system designed to destroy him that both T.I. and 50 Cent have built careers channeling — generated $1,500 in investment income on $1.4 million in total revenue. Fifteen hundred dollars. Two men who have each earned more than that in the time it takes to read this sentence have not made these institutions whole.

This is the specific, named, documented cost of Black celebrity beef. Not an abstraction. Not a metaphor. Three institutions. Three legacies. Three sets of numbers that should make every wealthy Black American in this country uncomfortable.

This is not an indictment of either man as human beings. Both T.I. and 50 Cent have done genuine good in their communities at various points in their careers. Both are extraordinarily successful businessmen who built empires from circumstances that did not favor them. The fact that they arrived at wealth and influence from the bottom of American society makes their success stories genuinely remarkable. That is precisely why the waste of it is so tragic.

Consider the arithmetic of Carnegie’s library program alone. Two thousand five hundred libraries. Built over 46 years. In communities across the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, South Africa, and beyond. Free public libraries, at a time when access to books was a privilege of the wealthy. Carnegie gave away approximately $350 million during his lifetime — roughly $6 billion in today’s dollars — and the institutions he funded are still operating, still serving the public, still bearing his name. The competition between Carnegie and Rockefeller over who could give more, who could build more, who could leave the more lasting mark did not diminish either man’s wealth in any meaningful sense. It simply ensured that their names — and more importantly, the institutions those names represent — would outlast them by centuries.

There is a version of the T.I. and 50 Cent rivalry that could be genuinely historic. Imagine if these two men, instead of trading barbs online, announced a ten-year competition — tracked publicly, adjudicated by the community — over who could deploy their wealth most effectively for Black institutional development. Imagine 50 Cent challenging T.I. to match him dollar for dollar in deposits to Black-owned banks. Imagine T.I. responding by pledging to fund early childhood education centers in Atlanta and daring 50 to do the same in New York. Imagine the cultural energy that currently flows into this beef redirected into a genuine rivalry over who could build more, endow more, fund more, create more for a community that gave both of them everything they needed to become who they are.

The HBCU endowment gap is the starkest measure of the opportunity being squandered — and the universities that Rockefeller and Carnegie personally founded make the disparity almost impossible to look at directly.

Rockefeller founded the University of Chicago. As of June 30, 2025, its endowment stood at $10.9 billion, having returned 10.2% on investments in a single fiscal year. Carnegie founded Carnegie Mellon University. Its endowment reached $3.48 billion as of that same date, with a 10.9% net investment return for the year. Together, those two universities — founded by two men who were rivals — hold endowments exceeding $14 billion.

The combined endowments of all 100 HBCUs do not reach $6 billion. Two universities, founded by two rivals more than a century ago, hold nearly three times the endowment wealth of every HBCU in America combined.

Read that again. Two schools. Three times the endowment of one hundred.

That is not a funding gap. That is a structural chasm, built over generations, that determines whose scholars get paid, whose research gets funded, whose students graduate without debt, and whose institutions survive economic downturns without crisis. The University of Chicago and Carnegie Mellon will never face an existential budget crisis. They will never have to choose between keeping the lights on and retaining faculty. Their endowments generate enough annual return to fund operations, scholarships, and research without ever touching the principal. Meanwhile, HBCUs operate on margins that would make most community colleges uncomfortable, sustained by the dedication of their communities and the faith that the work matters — because the money has never matched the mission.

That is not a condemnation of HBCUs. It is a condemnation of the conditions under which they have been forced to operate, and an indictment of the Black wealth that has not yet organized itself to close that gap. The model for what organized private wealth can do exists and is documented in publicly filed 990s and university endowment reports. The only missing ingredient is the will to compete for something that matters.

The research funding gap is, if anything, even more consequential than the endowment gap — because research is where the future is written.

According to the National Science Foundation’s Higher Education Research and Development survey, the top 20 predominantly white institutions combined spend $36.5 billion annually on research and development. The top 20 HBCUs combined spend $712 million. That is not a gap. That is a ratio of more than 51 to 1. And to make the disparity even more concrete: 52 individual PWIs each spend more on R&D by themselves than all 20 of the top HBCU research institutions combined. Fifty-two schools. Each one, alone, outspending the entire upper tier of Black higher education research.

This is where the consequences of underfunding stop being abstract. Research funding determines who gets to ask the questions that shape medicine, technology, public policy, and economic development. It determines whose communities get studied, whose health outcomes get investigated, whose diseases get treated, whose neighborhoods get the infrastructure investments that flow from university-anchored economic development. When HBCUs are systematically excluded from this resource base, the African American community is not simply being denied prestige. It is being denied the scientific and institutional capacity to solve its own problems on its own terms.

The $35.8 billion annual research gap between the top 20 PWIs and the top 20 HBCUs is the price the African American community pays, every single year, for the failure to build research endowments at Black institutions. It is a recurring tax on Black intellectual capacity, levied not by law but by the absence of the kind of sustained private philanthropic investment that Rockefeller directed toward the University of Chicago and Carnegie directed toward Carnegie Mellon. Those institutions now have the endowments to fund research independence for generations. HBCUs are still waiting for someone to care enough to start.

The health dimension of this research gap is where the stakes become most personal. Black Americans die younger, suffer more chronically, and receive worse care at nearly every point of contact with the American medical system. Maternal mortality, hypertension, diabetes, cancer survival rates — the disparities are not mysteries. They are the predictable output of a research infrastructure that has never been adequately funded to study, understand, and treat Black patients on their own terms, in their own communities, with their own trust. The research capacity to change that exists at HBCUs and affiliated medical schools — institutions with the community relationships and patient access that predominantly white research universities have spent decades failing to build. But research capacity without research funding is just potential. Private endowments directed at HBCU medical research would save lives in ways that are measurable, documentable, and permanent. That is not a metaphor. It is a clinical fact.

African American-owned banks need the same intentional capital. Black-owned financial institutions are among the most important and most neglected infrastructure in the African American community. They survive on thin margins in the communities that need them most, while billions of dollars of Black wealth sit in institutions that have never demonstrated meaningful commitment to Black economic development. A public competition between two of the most influential men in Black popular culture over who could move more capital into Black banks would do more for Black economic infrastructure than a decade of policy advocacy.

None of this will happen because of the current beef between T.I. and 50 Cent. The cultural energy, the attention, the platform — all of it is being spent on a conflict that produces nothing, files no 990, builds no endowment, funds no scholar, saves no life.

Carnegie built 2,509 libraries. Rockefeller’s philanthropic descendants are still disbursing hundreds of millions of dollars annually, more than a century after his death, at institutions that carry his family’s name — including two HBCUs that bear the names of his pastor and his wife. The companies that descended from his oil trust are worth $1.3 trillion today. The two universities those rivals founded — the University of Chicago and Carnegie Mellon — together hold $14 billion in endowments and anchor research enterprises that collectively dwarf the entire HBCU research sector. Fifty-two individual predominantly white institutions each spend more on research annually than every top HBCU combined. The legacy of that Gilded Age rivalry is written in stone and endowment and laboratory and policy across the American landscape, in ways that will persist for another century at minimum.

What will the legacy of this beef be? Nothing. A few viral moments. A news cycle. A cultural footnote.

The competition that actually matters — the one that could put Black institutions on financial footing that no future political administration could threaten, that could fund the scholars and researchers and early childhood programs and community banks that the African American community has been building toward for generations — that competition has not yet begun.

It could begin tomorrow. The Medgar and Myrlie Evers Institute needs an endowment. The Martin and Coretta King Center needs an endowment. The Malcolm X and Dr. Betty Shabazz Memorial and Educational Center needs an endowment. Dozens of HBCUs need endowments. Scores of African American nonprofits are running on annual donations and faith while the institutions that honor the people who bled and died for the freedom that made Black celebrity possible in the first place operate on budgets that would embarrass a mid-size law firm. A rivalry over who could change that — who could move first, who could give more, who could build something that files a 990 a hundred years from now — would be worth watching. It would be worth celebrating. It would be worth the cultural energy that is currently being fed into nothing.

It is waiting for two men, or any two men, to decide that legacy is more interesting than drama.

The 990 filings are ready to be written. The institutions are ready to be named. Morehouse and Spelman proved more than a century ago that an industrialist’s rivalry could, when channeled correctly, leave Black institutions standing long after the industrialist was gone.

The only question now is who in this generation is willing to compete for something that will still matter when they are gone.

Disclaimer: This article was assisted by ClaudeAI.