Black People Don’t Work Together” — The Lie That Protects Theft

Let’s stop pretending this is about culture.The myth that Black people don’t work together exists for one reason: it excuses organized theft carried out through policy, bureaucracy, and capital. It turns displacement into a moral failure instead of what it actually is — a business strategy.

Neighborhoods don’t collapse on their own. They are starved.Police protection quietly pulls back before the headlines change. City services fade. Infrastructure rots. Banks disappear. Insurance becomes unaffordable. The area gets labeled a “slum” only after the damage is already done — and that label becomes justification for more neglect.Then the same system points at the wreckage and says, See? They couldn’t manage it.That’s phase one.

Phase two is where investors smell opportunity.Once property values are crushed low enough, outside capital floods in — not to help residents, but to replace them. Suddenly, the same streets that “weren’t worth fixing” are worth millions. Suddenly, police are everywhere. Suddenly, permits get approved. Suddenly, trash gets picked up on time. Funny how efficiency shows up right when money does.The people who survived the worst years — the ones who endured red tape, harassment, underfunded schools, and predatory fines — become the final obstacle.

So the pressure increases.
Property taxes spike overnight. Code violations appear out of nowhere. Rent jumps just enough to force a move. Developers “accidentally” buy the house next door. Investors offer cash, then intimidation.This isn’t revitalization. It’s removal.The same neighborhood that was called a “dangerous slum” gets rebranded as “up-and-coming” the moment Black residents are priced out. Coffee shops replace corner stores. Luxury condos rise where families once lived. And suddenly, the crime narrative disappears — because the people were never the problem.But here comes the insult on top of the injury.

After the displacement is complete, the same voices ask: Why didn’t the community build generational wealth?Because every time it tried, the rules changed. Because every time it endured long enough to matter, the land became valuable. Because survival was punished, not rewarded.Black people didn’t fail to work together. They worked together long enough for someone else to profit from it.Gentrification is not accidental progress. It is the final phase of a process that begins with neglect and ends with eviction — all while pretending it’s improvement.

So no, this isn’t about responsibility. It’s about who gets protected, who gets pushed out, and who gets paid.
And the lie that Black people don’t work together? That’s just the story told to make displacement sound deserved.

Six Seven: What’s the Problem?

There was a time when kids pulled harmless internet pranks and the consequences were mostly verbal—a warning from a teacher, a call home, maybe a reminder about appropriate behavior. Today, however, we live in a viral culture where even the most innocent trends can spiral into something far bigger than they deserve. The latest example is the so-called “six seven” meme.

The trend itself is almost laughably simple. Someone says “six seven,” kids laugh, shout, and flash a quick hand gesture. That’s it. On the surface, it’s nothing more than children being goofy—made-up nonsense with no obvious meaning. But as with many viral moments, adults quickly began asking: What does it really mean?

Mathematically, the answer is straightforward. Six plus seven equals thirteen. From there, speculation takes over. The number thirteen has carried symbolic meaning far beyond arithmetic for centuries. In numerology, it represents transformation—endings that lead to new beginnings, change brought through disruption. It isn’t inherently negative; it’s simply powerful.

Historically, however, thirteen became associated with bad luck through religious and mythological stories. The Last Supper placed Judas as the thirteenth guest. Norse legends describe Loki arriving as the thirteenth guest and bringing chaos. Over time, these narratives fused with cultural anxiety and cemented thirteen’s reputation as a number to fear.part of that unease comes from contrast. Twelve is widely seen as a “complete” number: twelve months, twelve zodiac signs, twelve disciples. Thirteen breaks that pattern. It disrupts the order. What began as symbolic discomfort slowly turned into superstition. So deeply ingrained is this belief that many buildings skip the 13th floor entirely, jumping from twelve to fourteen as if avoiding the number itself can prevent misfortune.

The irony, of course, is obvious. Removing the number doesn’t remove the idea.

The “six seven” meme isn’t a threat. It’s an example of how young people play with language, rhythm, and shared humor in digital spaces. Punishing students for repeating a viral math phrase says far more about adult anxiety than student misconduct.

If schools are handing out discipline over “six seven,” it may be time to reconsider where discipline ends and superstition begins. Not every viral trend is a challenge to authority. Sometimes it’s just math—filtered through culture, history, and humor.

And perhaps the real lesson here isn’t about six or seven at all, but about how society reacts when old fears collide with new forms of expression—and how we respond when confronted with something we don’t fully understand.

Chicago: The “Black America's Media Powerhouse

For more than a century, Chicago has stood as one of the most powerful centers of Black media in the United States, earning a reputation as the “Black New York of media.” While New York is widely considered the capital of white mainstream American media, Chicago has served as the beating heart of African American journalism, broadcasting, and cultural storytelling—shaping national identity, politics, and culture for generations.

The story begins with the Great Migration. As millions of Black Americans moved north in the early 20th century, Chicago became a hub of Black life, talent, and ambition. Communities on the South and West Sides weren’t just neighborhoods; they became incubators of political power, cultural expression, and media innovation. The growing Black population created both an audience and a workforce ready to build institutions of their own.

Few institutions symbolize that better than the city’s legendary Black press. The Chicago Defender, founded in 1905, rose to become the most influential Black newspaper of the 20th century—widely credited with encouraging and shaping the Great Migration itself. Other publications, including the Chicago Crusader and The Chicago Reporter, followed in its footsteps, establishing Chicago as a center of Black journalistic authority.

That legacy extended into magazines with the rise of Johnson Publishing Company. From its headquarters on Michigan Avenue, Johnson Publishing launched Ebony and Jet—two publications that would define Black beauty, style, politics, and celebrity culture worldwide. For decades, Chicago wasn’t just reporting Black life—it was curating and shaping it.

Chicago also became a powerhouse in broadcasting. Radio station WVON—known as “The Voice of the Negro”—became one of the most important platforms for community news, activism, and music. Black radio personalities in Chicago didn’t merely entertain; they mobilized voters, informed neighborhoods, and amplified the struggles and triumphs of Black America.

Television and entertainment added another layer. Chicago produced some of the most influential Black journalists, talk show hosts, comedians, and television personalities in the country. It is also the city where Oprah Winfrey chose to build her media empire—not by accident, but because Chicago’s Black media was a powerhouse there. Chicago didn’t just host Oprah; it helped elevate her into a global icon.

Chicago’s influence has always been strengthened by its politics. With powerful Black political leadership and activism deeply woven into the city’s history, media outlets were not just storytellers but instruments of empowerment. From civil rights battles to modern struggles over policing, housing, and inequality, Chicago’s Black media consistently led conversations long before national outlets paid attention.

Today, the phrase “Black New York of media” captures more than a nickname. It reflects Chicago’s unrivaled role as the black media capital of the world. For generations, the city has not only reported the news—it has shaped how Black America sees itself, and how the world sees Black America.