For the love of money....... Some of us grew up knowing what capitalist meant.It wasn’t a cheap clapback.It was a serious word—meant to name and ch
For the love of money…….
Some of us grew up knowing what capitalist meant.
It wasn’t a cheap clapback.
It was a serious word—meant to name and challenge the systems and people who profit from exploitation, who squeeze entire communities dry.
Yet somewhere along the way, the word started getting tossed at ordinary Black Americans—folks just trying to
- keep a light bill paid,
- open a corner store,
- keep a farm going,
- take care of children with special needs,
- sell their art,
- build generational wealth to take care of all of their family,
- or simply build a safe life for their family. A space to heal from generations of harm and abuse.
Meanwhile, the real capitalists—
those profiting from human trafficking,
those running drug trafficking networks,
those laundering money off the backs of addiction, abuse, and poverty—
walk right past without ever hearing the label aimed at them.
People working to end sex trafficking, exploitation, and organized harm rarely hear the word capitalist thrown at the actual profiteers. But when survivors demand accountability? Too often, they’re slapped with words like “carceral”—as if their pain is the problem, not the predator who caused it.
Let’s be clear:
If you want to wield the word capitalist, point it where it belongs—at those who profit from harm, not those surviving it.
Capitalism in its most dangerous form doesn’t just live in boardrooms—it thrives in the shadows of trafficking rings, street corners, and backroom deals. That’s where the word belongs.
That’s where the fight belongs.
Women and children are people who deserve safety and justice.
What have you done to end human trafficking?
Affirmations for the Right to Justice
I have the right to want justice for what was done to me. That desire is not a flaw — it is my dignity speaking.
Wanting accountability does not make me “bitter” or “vengeful.” It means I still believe in right and wrong.
My healing and my hope for justice can exist side by side — neither cancels the other.
It is not wrong to say, “This was wrong.” It is strength to say it aloud.
My pain is real. My story is real. My call for justice is real.
Seeking truth is not cruelty. Silence is not kindness.
I do not need to apologize for refusing to protect those who harmed me.
It is not wrong to expect a world where harm is answered with responsibility.
My voice matters in the telling. My courage matters in the asking.
I am not alone in wanting safety, dignity, and justice for myself and for others.