The Rescissions Act of 2025 has stirred outrage in some corners of Black leadership. Many are decrying the billions in foreign aid cuts to Africa, the Caribbean, and global health programs. But let’s stop and ask the uncomfortable question no one in these circles wants to raise: why were we funding global development before we fixed our own house?
America’s inner cities are bleeding — not from foreign wars, but from neglect, broken schools, economic dependency, and moral confusion. We don’t need another USAID roundtable. We need functioning school boards, fathers in homes, land ownership, business financing, and the restoration of discipline and dignity in our communities. Yet when federal dollars were flowing, many Black nonprofits chased grants tied to global missions while the Black neighborhoods they came from remained in economic ruins.
Let’s be clear: this bill doesn’t cut food stamps, housing, or Medicaid. It doesn’t touch school funding or job programs. It stops writing checks to international organizations while Black Americans still can’t get a mortgage in their own zip code. If anything, this is a long-overdue course correction. But instead of embracing this pivot, too many so-called Black leaders are lamenting the loss of contracts tied to foreign aid dollars — dollars that rarely translated into tangible gains for our people here at home.
This is the same class of leaders who show up for press conferences but not policy. They manage the system but never change it. They celebrate symbolic diversity at the UN while ignoring the structural disrepair in Detroit, Newark, or the South Side of Chicago.
And yes — we say we want to buy real estate in Ghana, and that’s nice. But let’s be honest: how can any country in Africa truly respect us when we don’t even control our own economy here in America? From our culture to our fashion to our music, our greatest assets are owned and monetized by others. Meanwhile, too many Black boys and girls are homeless right here in Westchester County. The spiritual optics of return mean little if we’re unwilling to fight for shelter, safety, and sovereignty for our own children first. Until we build power at home, any talk of pan-African connection is just performance
And while we’re on it: how is it that we’re mobilizing for migrants — many of whom have over 1 million final deportation orders — yet we are not mobilizing to demand vocational education, safe streets, and safe parks for our own children? How did our priorities get so upside down?
This is not selfishness. It’s wisdom. Just like on an airplane when they tell you: put your oxygen mask on first before assisting others. If we can’t breathe — financially, educationally, spiritually — how can we possibly save anyone else?
In 2025, we can’t keep blaming racism for everything when we’re still pumping over $1.5 trillion a year into the very system we claim oppresses us. At some point, the blame shifts from the system to our choices within it. No educated consumer continues to spend money where they’re disrespected, underserved, and exploited. Yet we do it proudly — celebrating brands that mock us, voting for parties that ignore us, and enriching industries that give nothing back. Power doesn’t come from protest — it comes from ownership. Until we redirect our spending toward institutions that reflect our values, we’re not being oppressed — we’re volunteering.
Enough.
This is a moment for moral clarity. The message should be simple: Black America first. Not in rhetoric — in results. Our children should not be the last to read, the last to be hired, and the first to be aborted or incarcerated while our leaders fund mission trips and photo ops abroad.
Foreign solidarity is admirable, but misplaced when it comes at the expense of our survival. Let other nations build their institutions. We have to rebuild ours.
The money is moving. The federal government is shifting. The question is: will we shift with it — or remain chained to an outdated nonprofit-industrial complex that teaches us to fight for inclusion, but never control?
Black America doesn’t need more global gestures. We need focused, principled, disciplined leadership that puts our communities first — in housing, in education, in health, in economics, and in spirit.
If you’re a Black leader and your primary concern is how this bill affects your global grant pipeline, maybe it’s time to ask yourself who you’re really serving.
Emotional Politics — Logical Failure is the book you need.
In this bold and unfiltered work, Damon K. Jones delivers the hard truths many are afraid to say out loud: Black America has been loyal to a system that has failed to deliver. We’ve mastered symbolism but forfeited strategy. We show up to vote, but not to fund. We speak out, but rarely build. And the result? Speeches instead of solutions. Visibility instead of victory.
This book is not about left or right. It’s about logic over emotion. Power over performance. It’s a call to wake up, re-strategize, and use our political currency with purpose.
If you’re tired of being used, overlooked, and sold out—this book is your blueprint for change. Your voice is powerful. Your vote is valuable. But your money, your mindset, and your political clarity are what will make the difference.
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