This year’s Fourth of July arrives just days after the U.S. Senate passed the so-called “Big, Beautiful Bill”—a sweeping Republican-backed reconciliation package that threatens deep cuts to Medicaid, housing assistance, and public education. Many Black Americans, especially the leaders striving to rebuild post-disinvestment communities, find the holiday’s promises of freedom and prosperity particularly unfulfilling.
“There’s no liberty when we have to beg for resources to feed our neighbors,” said D’Marria Monday, founder of Founding Director of Block Builderz, a nonprofit that provides housing and resources to formerly incarcerated women. “There’s no freedom when our ancestors’ land is under threat.”
Born and raised in Tulsa, Oklahoma, Monday knows firsthand what it’s like to be in an environment that once thrived but over time, suffered the ills of systemic racism. She says that she stands on the Black people who built Greenwood, a neighborhood in Tulsa, Oklahoma, which was among the most prosperous Black communities in the country during the early 20th century. Known as “Black Wall Street,” it featured more than 300 Black-owned businesses, including banks, hospitals, restaurants, hotels, and theaters.
However, in 1921, white mobs, aided by local officials, set fire to the district, resulting in the deaths of hundreds and the displacement of thousands. No one faced accountability, and the survivors received no compensation. 100 years later, Monday says the big, beautiful bill feels sickeningly familiar.
As I write this, I agree. The timing underscores a bitter truth: while federal lawmakers celebrate American exceptionalism, grassroots leaders like Monday are forced to bootstrap the very safety nets their communities have been denied. They are restoring the promise of the American dream—not through policy handouts, but through sheer vision, legacy, and resolve.
Across the country, Black millennials and xennials are, much like their ancestors, leading a modern movement to restore the rich legacies of historically Black economic districts like Tulsa’s Greenwood.
A Legacy of Prosperity—and Erasure
Further south, Jackson, Mississippi’s Farish Street was once a bustling cultural and commercial hub for African Americans during the Jim Crow era. By the 1940s, the strip was home to over 200 Black-owned businesses, including pharmacies, barber shops, and entertainment venues like the Alamo Theater. But redlining, urban renewal, and systemic divestment hollowed out the corridor over the decades.
In Bluffton, South Carolina, Black families—especially Gullah-Geechee descendants—once maintained strong economic and cultural footholds. Yet climate change, land theft, and tourism-driven displacement have made land retention a constant battle .
Today, a new generation is picking up the torch.
Bluffton’s Cultural Renaissance
In Bluffton, South Carolina, Bridgette Frazier has created Ma Daisy’s Porch, a culinary and cultural destination rooted in Gullah heritage.
“It was important for me to do this because I saw our people not having space to have their stories told, or to have an economic footprint in an area generating revenue off Gullah culture,” said Frazier, a city council member and entrepreneur. Despite Gullah culture generating an estimated $32 billion annually in South Carolina, she points out that few Gullah natives see even a fraction of that wealth.
Frazier’s journey was not without resistance. She faced bureaucratic red tape typical of projects in historic districts, along with outright obstruction from local officials. Her concept Ma Daisy’s Porch, a hub that includes a restaurant, bakery, museum, and event space, named after her grandmother who was the matriarch in Bluffton, is meant to provide not only a safe space for residents, but also reinvigorate Black business ownership in the area.
In the past, Bluffton had approximately 15 to 20 Black-owned businesses during the Jim Crow era. However, today, that number is significantly lower, with only two remaining, according to Savannah Magazine.
The inequity is stubborn and hard to uproot, according to Frazier.
“I dealt with smear campaigns—even from state senators,” she recalled.
Yet, thanks to a values-aligned investor and hands-on executive coaching, Ma Daisy’s Porch is now open to the public, and according to her, just the beginning.
The Fight for Farish Street
That same belief in legacy as a tool for restoration powers the work of Aikisha Holly Colon in Jackson, Mississippi.
Alongside her mother, a retired physician and civil rights-era businesswoman, Colon is reviving Farish Street—once the crown jewel of Black economic life in Mississippi. The family is building a new residence next to their historic commercial property, where her mother once ran a medical practice. “We’re trying to get Fair Street back to what it used to be—living and working,” Colon explained.
Their investment is deeply personal. Colon’s mother had to use her own funds to renovate the building in the 1980s after banks refused to lend to a Black woman—even a physician.
“Most of us as Black people aren’t heirs to anything. We usually inherit debt. But I want my children and grandchildren to be able to say: We’ve been landowners since 1896,” Colon said.
Today, the Jackson Redevelopment Authority is leading a multimillion-dollar revitalization of the 200 block of Farish Street, including a Black-owned grocery store, an upscale bistro, new greenspace, and the relocation of Marshall’s Bookstore, the nation’s oldest Black-owned bookstore. The vision: to restore Farish as a destination for culture, commerce, and community.
Her journey was documented on the OWN reality series, The Belle Collective, which followed the hurdles Colon cleared to restore the legacy of the area.
In the series, she’s seen leading revitalization efforts by example. Alongside her husband and business partner, former NFL player Willie Colon, they are laying plans to expand their sports bar franchise, Bricks and Hops on to Farish Street. It will be among some of the few businesses, let alone Black-owned, in the area. Colon says it’s her mission to ensure it will be the first of many.
“I believe in the future and promise of Farish Street,” Colon said. “What once was can happen again–we just have to stay steadfast and act as our ancestors did. Lean on each other.”
Reclaiming Tulsa’s Future
Similar to Colon, Monday is reimagining community development through her organization, Block Builderz. A formerly incarcerated organizer, Monday says her work is rooted in ancestral fire.
“My grandfather had a boarding house on Greenwood. He helped rebuild after the massacre,” she shared. “I came to Tulsa not knowing that, but I was pulled back by legacy.”
She continued that legacy by building a transition home of her own for formerly incarcerated women. Her journey was featured on the OWN docuseries, Rebuilding Black Wall Street.
Her approach is as practical as it is revolutionary. “We’re using abandoned lots to create gardens that feed our neighbors. One garden fed 100 people. That’s what rebuilding looks like—believing in Black self-determination,” Monday said. While grant funding remains unpredictable, she’s focused on grassroots support. “People closest to the problem are closest to the solution, but farthest from the resources.”
Restoring More Than Buildings
Together, these women are not just reclaiming physical space—they’re restoring historical memory and reshaping futures. Whether through preserving family land, mentoring justice-impacted youth, or creating third spaces for cultural belonging, they’re rewriting what the American dream looks like—for themselves and for generations to come.
“In the end, this is about legacy,” Frazier said. “Not just mine—but all of ours.”