Notes On Our Rebuild, Issue 5: The Economics of Audacity

Juke joints, hair salons, and weapons of mass construction

You Had Me at Black and Martina Abrahams Ilunga

Oct 02, 2025

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Throughout the summer, I’ve been breaking down different parts of You Had Me at Black’s next chapter. Each note goes deeper into a different piece of the rebuild, so that you can have a full view of what we’re building and how you might step in. Catch up on notes one through four at the end of this post. If you missed the People’s Assembly in June, you can watch the 15-minute replay at the end as well.

Hey Y’all,

My college major required me to take a few economics and finance classes. They were by far my least favorite and most challenging classes, partly because I struggled to fully grasp the underlying theories. The professor would have long moved on to equations and problem sets and I’d be in the back still wondering - but why? Says who? All I saw were complicated man-made systems and forces, not absolute truths. I was skeptical. Back then I didn’t think to lean into my skepticism, I didn’t know I could debate, challenge, or take things apart. I didn’t have that audacity. I now know skepticism is an invitation. An invitation to explore something different, or better. Or sometimes, to return to something familiar.

Today I understand that audacity is what gets us through. The audacity to resist, to say no, to decide you’re worth more. The audacity to dream, to learn, to create, and to seek life. The audacity to move. The audacity to remember, and to pass down. The audacity to take care: to make, to share, to protect, to trade, to teach, to feed, and to heal. The audacity to honor our collective humanity. To see beyond the present. To trust in hope for the future.

Audacity is ancestral knowledge. Audacity is our inheritance.

B&W image of Assata Shakur. She is smiling and looking at something to the right of the camera. Her locs are half up half down in a side ponytail, with beads on the ends. She wears an African print tunic and simple jewelry. Her glasses hang from her collar. — Assata Shakur, May 1992, Havana. Photo: Bill Hackwell

Last week, one of my personal heroes transitioned. She is remembered for her audacity to choose life beyond and despite man-made systems intent on her destruction. Assata Shakur found me when I was 25 years old. Her autobiography welcomed me to the politics of Black liberation, and set a new standard for my own self-worth and purpose. Since her passing, my timeline has been flooded with quotes and excerpts of her writing. One especially resonates with me at this time: “We need weapons of mass construction. Weapons of mass love… We have got to make this world user friendly.”

this is the 21st century and we need to redefine r/evolution. this planet needs a people’s r/evolution. a humanist r/evolution. r/evolution is not about bloodshed or about going to the mountains and fighting. we will fight if we are forced to but the fundamental goal of r/evolution must be peace.

we need a r/evolution of the mind. we need a r/evolution of the heart. we need a r/evolution of the spirit. the power of the people is stronger than any weapon. a people’s r/evolution can’t be stopped. we need to be weapons of mass construction. weapons of mass love. it’s not enough just to change the system. we need to change ourselves. we have got to make this world user friendly. user friendly.

Assata Shakur

I am moved by the ways in which we’ve made our worlds user friendly throughout the past and into the present. The juke joints that played our Blues before our musicians were played on the radio; the salons and barbershops that provided a listening ear before therapy, and offered gainful employment before folks had papers; the markets where trusted recipes and remedies found loyal customers before getting squeezed by venture capitalists.

A black and white photograph of a barbershop on North Patrick and Pendleton Street in Alexandria, Virginia. The photograph features three barbers working on clients in the shop. Other clients wait in the background. — Collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture, Gift of Graham Holdings Company, ca. 1945

Birds-eye image of two women performing a transaction for plantain at a market. A younger man sits on a stool in front of them, and bowls overflow with yellow and green plantain. — Photo: Ingeborg Korme

These are economies I believe in. Economies rooted in our cultures, that look after and provide for our hearts and communities. Economies that take audacity to construct because they require us to trust and believe that other ways are possible and that we can be the ones to make them so. Economies designed and stewarded by you, me, us, to create the futures we deserve.

As the Notes On Our Rebuild series winds down (this is Issue 5 of 6), I am gearing up to roll out programs that will create the economy supporting You Had Me at Black. It is my intent for these programs to give you feasible choices for how you might take part in this evolution and find your place in the new home we will build:

Stewardship Circle

Stewards are You Had Me at Black community members who contribute their time and skills towards our sustainability by joining a steering committee and participating in governance. The first cohort of stewards will define this program together, including determining on-going Steward responsibilities, tenure, compensation and participation guidelines.

Patron’s Circle

Patrons are fans of You Had Me at Black who contribute towards our sustainability through one-time, monthly, or annual financial contributions. These contributions will support our operations and programming. Overtime, and based on feedback, patrons might receive perks and access to special programming or media.

Storyteller’s Circle

Storytellers are those who contribute towards our sustainability with their stories, and share in our increase. To start, this will include a paid 6-week small group experience inspired by the coaching process behind all of our podcast episodes. At the end of the program, storytellers can receive a recording of themselves telling their story, opt in to have the story aired on the podcast, possibly get invited to share it live on stage at a future kickback, or have it be a part of other media and publishing. Stories featured in this way will be eligible for profit-sharing.

What feels most radical, especially at a time when Black women are getting systematically pushed out of the workforce, is to untangle money and access by offering sliding scales and payment plans.

We are moving at the pace of trust, your trust in me and also my trust in you and your trust in each other. This is my weapon of mass construction, and I hope that you’ll join me in having the audacity to build it.

Peace,

Martina

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