A handful of men hold the feast, while women and darker-skinned people are told to survive on crumbs. Why are we accepting this as normal? For
A handful of men hold the feast, while women and darker-skinned people are told to survive on crumbs.
Why are we accepting this as normal?
For too long, we’ve watched resources flow upward into the hands of a select few, as if the rest of us were born to endure hunger—not just for food, but for rest, dignity, safety, and peace. We have been taught to shrink our dreams, lower our voices, and adjust to deprivation as if it were our inheritance.
But here is the truth they never intended us to remember:
We are descendants of people who survived worse and built beauty anyway.
We have always been the architects of culture, the holders of community, the healers, the teachers, the innovators, the ones who made something out of nothing. Our grandmothers stretched pennies into meals and prayers into futures. Our mothers stitched hope into the very seams of our survival.
We have never been the crumbs. We have always been the bread.
The feast was never theirs without us. The world runs—quite literally—on the labor, brilliance, emotional intelligence, and resilience of the very people they expect to remain silent and exhausted. And the moment we decide to stop feeding systems that starve us, those systems collapse.
We do not need permission to change this.
We need memory.
We need each other.
And we need the courage to name what we see.
The game changes when:
- We invest in women and children.
- We protect caregivers, childcare workers, nurses, healers, and educators.
- We refuse to romanticize struggle, lack of safety, lack of healthcare, and lack of affordable access to survival needs.
- We build spaces where healing is not a luxury.
- We support leaders who understand our lives—not just our votes. We can stop entertaining those who don’t with our attention. Law making is not entertainment.
We already carry the ingredients of liberation—skill, brilliance, history, creativity, and collective will.
The question is no longer Why is this happening?
The question is:
What will we build now that we remember who we are?
Because once the majority stops believing crumbs are a compliment, the feast will finally belong to all of us—not a chosen few.