Teen Roundtable

How the Next Generation Sees America—and How They Think It Can Be Saved

Adults keep telling young people they’re the future while actively setting that future on fire.

From rising racism and open xenophobia to endless foreign bombings justified by lies dressed up as patriotism, the message being sent is clear: profit matters more than people, power matters more than peace, and truth is optional.

We wanted to know how the generation coming of age in this moment actually feels—and more importantly, what they think needs to change.

This roundtable brings together teenagers from different races, identities, and backgrounds, all between the ages of 13 and 18. They are not experts. They are not politicians. They are simply living inside the consequences of adult decisions.

We asked them two things:

"How do they see the state of the country going into 2026—and what do they believe could change its direction?"

Here’s what they said.

Moderator Question

Racism and xenophobia are at an all-time high. Trump has bombed multiple foreign countries during his second term, claiming it’s about drugs and safety, while openly talking about taking resources and making people rich. What do you feel is the state of this country going into 2026, how will it affect your future—and what do you think needs to change for things to get better?

The Teen Roundtable

Jalen, 17

“America feels angry and divided. Like everyone’s choosing sides instead of choosing people. As a Black kid, I already feel like I’m behind before I even start.”

Way Forward:

“Schools need to teach real history, not just the ‘nice’ parts. And politicians need to actually listen to young people instead of talking down to us.”

Sofia, 16

“My family came here for safety, but now it feels like we’re constantly being blamed for everything. It makes me worry that no matter how hard I work, I won’t be accepted.”

Way Forward:

“People need to meet immigrants in real life. Not just hear about us on the news. And the government needs to stop using us as political targets.”

Marcus, 18

“Bombing countries like it’s nothing makes me feel like human life doesn’t matter. It’s scary to think that’s the kind of leadership we’re supposed to trust.”

Way Forward:

“We need leaders who care about diplomacy and peace, not money. War shouldn’t be the first option—it should be the last.”

Aaliyah, 15

“Adults keep saying ‘you’re the future,’ but they don’t protect us. Not in schools, not online, not in the world.”

Way Forward:

“Start protecting kids for real. Mental health support should be normal, not something you get judged for. We’re dealing with way too much.”

Ethan, 14

“Some kids repeat racist stuff they hear at home or online. Adults pretend it’s not happening, but it is.”

Way Forward:

“Parents and teachers need to call it out instead of ignoring it. If kids are taught better, things can actually change.”

Naomi, 17

“Being a Black girl already feels like I’m seen as a problem. Watching the government value money over people just proves the system isn’t built for us.”

Way Forward:

“We need more Black leaders who actually care about communities, not just their careers. And voting needs to be easier, not harder.”

Luis, 16

“When politicians lie and everyone knows they’re lying, it makes you not trust anything.”

Way Forward:

“We need honesty. Even if the truth is ugly, I’d rather hear that than be manipulated.”

Jordan, 18 (transgender)

“My existence feels like a debate topic. That makes the future feel unsafe.”

Way Forward:

“Let people live. Laws should protect us, not erase us. Respect shouldn’t be political.”

Kayla, 13

“We’re young, but we’re paying attention. It feels like adults broke things and expect us to fix it.”

Way Forward:

“Give young people real voices. Not just on social media—actually let us help make decisions.”

Closing Reflection

What stands out isn’t just fear—it’s awareness.

These teens see the patterns adults claim are invisible. They recognize when war is about profit, when racism is rebranded as policy, and when young people are praised in words but abandoned in action.

They aren’t asking for perfection.

They’re asking for honesty, protection, inclusion, and peace.

If this country wants to change its trajectory, it won’t start with bombs or blame—it will start by listening to the very people who will inherit whatever America becomes next.

This is Teen Roundtable.

And this generation has something to say.

BLACK HISTORY FOR KIDS

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Body & Soul

Reshape Your Body, Soul, and Health

Nothing says New Year like the urge to reset—to get healthy, to reshape the body, to finally become the version of ourselves we’ve been promising is “coming soon.” Gyms fill up. Grocery carts change. Vision boards get built. For a moment, hope feels tangible.

But too often, those resolutions don’t survive January.

The problem isn’t discipline. It’s direction.

We focus almost entirely on the body—weight, appearance, numbers on a scale—while ignoring the mental and spiritual weight we’ve been carrying for years. True health isn’t just about what you eat or how often you work out. It’s about what you think, what you tolerate, and what you refuse to release.

This year, let’s expand the conversation.

In 2026, reshaping the body should include healing the mind and cleaning the soul.

Mental health is not a luxury—it’s maintenance. Many of us are walking around exhausted, anxious, and emotionally overloaded, trying to “power through” life without ever stopping to ask ourselves what we need. Burnout has become normalized, especially in Black communities where strength is often mistaken for silence.

Reshaping your health means making space to rest without guilt. It means setting boundaries without explanation. It means seeking help when the weight gets heavy—through therapy, trusted community, journaling, prayer, or stillness. There is nothing weak about choosing peace.

And then there’s the soul work.

Cleaning your soul means letting go of what no longer aligns with who you’re becoming. Old habits. Old grudges. Old relationships that drain more than they give. Energy vampires disguised as loyalty. Patterns passed down that no longer serve you.

You cannot step into a new year while dragging old baggage behind you.

So how do we stay intentional—past the first few weeks of motivation?

Start small, but start honestly. Set goals that fit your life, not someone else’s highlight reel. Consistency beats intensity every time. Ten minutes of movement is better than none. One healthy meal is better than perfection. One honest conversation can change everything.

Make your routines sustainable, not punishing. Health should feel like care, not control.

Check in with yourself regularly. Ask: How am I really doing? Not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. Adjust when necessary. Growth isn’t linear, and healing isn’t a deadline-driven process.

Most importantly, give yourself grace.

You are unlearning as much as you are building. You are healing while still living in a world that constantly demands more from you. Progress may be quiet, but it is still progress.

This year, don’t just chase a “new body.”

Build a healthier relationship with yourself.

Strengthen your mind.

Clean your soul.

Because when the body, mind, and spirit are aligned, wellness stops being a resolution—and becomes a way of life.

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Finding Love Offline

Reclaiming Human Connection in a Swipe-Driven World

Dating has always been a part of our humanity. Meeting. Courting. Laughing. Touching. Falling in love.

Long before apps, algorithms, and profile bios, love was found in shared spaces—church basements and barbershops, bookstores and bus stops, cookouts and college campuses. Love happened when two people locked eyes, felt something stir, and took the risk of speaking. It was imperfect, sometimes awkward, often messy—but it was real.

Today, we live in a world more “connected” than any generation before us, yet so many people feel profoundly alone.

That contradiction is not accidental.

In this era of hyper-connectivity, romance has been reduced to swipes and screens. We swipe left on humanity. Swipe right on possibility. We match, we message, we exchange pleasantries that rarely go anywhere. And somewhere between the third “hey” and the inevitable silence, something inside us starts to harden.

Ghosting becomes normal.

Disposable connections become expected.

And genuine intimacy begins to feel like a relic of another time.

“We have more ways to communicate than ever before, yet fewer meaningful conversations,” one relationship therapist recently observed. “Technology hasn’t killed love—it’s just made avoidance easier.”

For many, dating apps promised liberation: more choice, more access, more opportunity. But instead of clarity, they delivered confusion. Instead of connection, comparison. Instead of love, exhaustion.

The digital dating landscape has become an emotional marketplace—one governed by algorithms, aesthetics, and attention spans measured in seconds. People are reduced to photos. Lives are compressed into bios. Complex humans become options, easily discarded for the illusion that something better is just one more swipe away.

Choice overload has replaced intentionality.

And with it comes a quiet grief—the sense that something sacred about connection has been lost.

When Love Becomes a Performance

Online dating doesn’t just change how we meet—it changes how we present ourselves.

Profiles are curated, filtered, and optimized for approval. We sell versions of ourselves that are polished but incomplete. Flaws are hidden. Vulnerabilities are edited out. And slowly, we forget how to show up as whole people.

“You’re not meeting someone,” a sociologist once said. “You’re meeting their brand.”

This pressure to perform—to be clever, attractive, emotionally unavailable but interesting—creates a dating culture rooted in fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of seeming “too much.” Fear of being honest too soon.

And for Black people especially, this digital terrain can feel even more alienating. Racial bias baked into algorithms. Fetishization disguised as preference. Silence that echoes louder when you already live in a society that struggles to truly see you.

So more and more people are opting out.

Not because they’ve given up on love—but because they’re ready to reclaim it.

The Quiet Return to Real Life

There is a growing movement—quiet but powerful—of people choosing to step away from the screen and back into the world.

They’re meeting face to face again.

They’re looking into eyes instead of avatars.

Listening to voices instead of reading texts.

Feeling chemistry in real time, not imagining it through emojis.

They’re remembering what it feels like to sit across from someone and share stories. To laugh without buffering. To feel the nervous energy of attraction without a “typing…” indicator.

“There’s something sacred about being in the same room,” one woman shared. “You can’t curate energy. You either feel it or you don’t.”

Offline love requires courage. It demands presence. It asks us to risk rejection without the safety net of a screen. But it also offers something the digital world cannot replicate: authentic intimacy.

So How Do You Find Love Offline?

Not by forcing it.

Not by hunting it.

But by creating space for it.

Here are grounded, real-world ways to invite love back into your life—without downloading another app.

1. Be Where People Are

Love doesn’t live in isolation. Go to places that reflect who you are or who you’re becoming—community events, workshops, open mics, fitness classes, bookstores, cultural gatherings, volunteer spaces.

Shared environments create shared language.

2. Practice Presence

Put the phone down. Make eye contact. Listen without planning your response. Presence is magnetic in a distracted world.

“The rarest thing today is undivided attention—and it’s deeply attractive.”

3. Lead With Curiosity, Not Performance

Ask real questions. Be interested, not impressive. People feel when you’re genuinely engaged versus waiting for your turn to talk.

4. Allow Awkwardness

Offline connection isn’t always smooth—and that’s okay. Chemistry isn’t built through perfection but through authenticity. Awkward moments humanize us.

5. Relearn Conversation

Flirting isn’t lines—it’s energy. Humor. Timing. Empathy. Learn how to talk again without shortcuts or emojis doing the work for you.

6. Heal Before You Seek

Offline dating mirrors your emotional readiness. If you’re guarded, unavailable, or unhealed, real-life connection will expose it quickly. Do the internal work so you don’t bleed on people who didn’t cut you.

7. Let Love Grow Slowly

The offline world isn’t instant. And that’s its power. Attraction deepens over time. Trust builds through consistency. Desire strengthens through familiarity.

“Fast connections burn out. Slow connections build foundations.”

Choosing Real Over Convenient

Finding love offline isn’t about rejecting technology altogether—it’s about refusing to let convenience replace connection.

It’s about remembering that love was never meant to be efficient.

It was meant to be felt.

In a world telling you to swipe faster, choosing to slow down is revolutionary. Choosing to show up fully, honestly, and in the flesh is an act of courage.

And maybe—just maybe—love has been waiting for you not on your phone, but out in the world, hoping you’d look up.

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Jay-Z’s $500 Million Bet on Korean Culture—and the Questions It Leaves Behind

By Maurice Woodson

Shawn “Jay-Z” Carter has never just followed culture—he’s helped shape it, monetize it, and globalize it. From Marcy Houses to boardrooms, his evolution from rapper to mogul has long been held up as proof of what Black ownership and vision can look like at the highest level.

So when news broke that Jay-Z’s private equity firm, MarcyPen Capital Partners, had announced plans for a $500 million investment into Korean culture and K-pop, it landed with weight. The joint venture with Hanwha Asset Management, unveiled at Abu Dhabi Finance Week, is designed to scale Korean entertainment, beauty, fashion, food, and lifestyle brands across global markets. The fund—often referred to as MarcyPen Asia—is expected to begin full capital deployment in 2026, backed by institutional investors and sovereign wealth funds.

On paper, it’s a smart move.

Korean culture has become one of the most successful cultural exports of the 21st century. K-pop dominates global charts. Korean films and television win international awards. K-beauty and fashion influence trends far beyond Asia. From a purely strategic standpoint, Korea sits at the intersection of culture and commerce—exactly where MarcyPen has historically operated.

Executives tied to the deal have framed South Korea as a “cultural hub of Asia,” a place where global consumer tastes are formed and accelerated. The logic is familiar: invest where culture is already converting influence into massive economic return.

But culture is never just business—especially when Black culture is part of the conversation.

Almost immediately, the announcement sparked pushback. Not outrage for outrage’s sake—but something deeper. A reckoning.

Across Black media spaces, community discussions, and cultural commentary, a consistent question emerged: Why now—and why there?

For decades, Black American culture has been the blueprint. Hip-hop, R&B, streetwear, dance, slang, aesthetics—these aren’t fringe influences. They are the backbone of global popular culture. Yet while Black culture continues to be exported, sampled, remixed, and repackaged worldwide, Black communities at home remain chronically underinvested.

That’s the tension this deal exposed.

Many critics pointed out that K-pop and Korean entertainment industries have long drawn heavily from Black music, fashion, and performance styles—often without credit, acknowledgment, or meaningful economic reciprocity. Blackness is adopted, stylized, and sold globally, while Black people themselves remain marginalized, stereotyped, or excluded.

“How do you invest in a country that loves Black culture but doesn’t love Black people?” one creative asked bluntly.

Others framed the move as painful abandonment.

“Black America is bleeding—economically, culturally, mentally,” one commentator wrote. “Independent Black artists can’t get funding. Black media is undercapitalized. Black neighborhoods are underdeveloped. And we’re watching half a billion dollars leave the ecosystem.”

The critique wasn’t anti-Korean culture, nor was it anti-global vision. It was pro-Black investment.

Calls grew louder for that level of capital to be directed toward:

• Black-owned media infrastructure
• Independent Black artists, labels, and production houses
• Film, television, and tech spaces where Black creators still fight for ownership
• Community development and cultural preservation
• Systems that protect Black intellectual property instead of extracting it

“Black culture is the most profitable culture on the planet,” another post read. “But Black communities are still treated like an afterthought.”

What made the conversation more complex—and more painful—is Jay-Z’s symbolic role. He has long represented Black self-determination, ownership, and strategic excellence. That’s precisely why this move hit differently. For some, it didn’t feel like global expansion—it felt like confirmation of a familiar pattern: Black culture is always valuable, but Black people are always optional.

To be clear, Jay-Z has not publicly framed this investment as a rejection of Black America. His career suggests the opposite—decades of building, mentoring, and reinvesting. And from a capitalist standpoint, the move makes sense. Korean culture is already structured, scalable, and globally positioned.

But timing matters. Optics matter. And context matters.

At a moment when Black American culture continues to be the engine behind global trends—while Black communities struggle for institutional support—the question isn’t whether this investment is legal or profitable. It’s whether it reflects the priorities of a culture still waiting for its own infrastructure to be fully funded.

This isn’t about demanding nostalgia-based loyalty. It’s about accountability.

If Black culture is powerful enough to shape the world, why isn’t it powerful enough to consistently receive large-scale investment from those who benefited most from it?

Jay-Z’s $500 million bet on Korean culture may ultimately prove visionary. It may open doors, create cross-cultural opportunities, and generate massive returns. But the backlash surrounding it reveals something that can’t be ignored: a growing demand for Black capital to come home.

Because recognition isn’t enough.

Influence isn’t enough.

Visibility isn’t enough.

Black culture doesn’t just need applause—it needs infrastructure.

It doesn’t just need admiration—it needs ownership.

And it doesn’t just need global reach—it needs local reinforcement.

Until that imbalance is addressed, moves like this will continue to spark not just debate—but reflection, frustration, and a very necessary conversation about who truly benefits when Black culture goes global.

When One Billionaire Owns the Narrative: Why Nothing Feels Real Anymore

How Media Consolidation Killed Credibility—and Why Culture Is Finally Pushing Back

By Maurice Woodson

If you’ve been wondering why filmmaker Ryan Coogler and Sinners have been quietly ignored—if not outright erased—by Variety, Deadline, Rolling Stone, and The Hollywood Reporter, understand this:

it isn’t accidental. And it isn’t about merit.

It’s about ownership.

Those publications—along with Billboard, VIBE, IndieWire, and cultural gatekeeping machines like the Golden Globes, American Music Awards, Billboard Music Awards, Streamy Awards, and even New Year’s Rockin’ Eve—all sit beneath one corporate umbrella.

That umbrella belongs to Jay Penske.

When one billionaire controls the press, the charts, and the awards, journalism stops being journalism. It becomes narrative management. Culture stops being organic and becomes curated. And success stops being earned—it becomes approved.

This is not conspiracy.

This is consolidation.

Manufactured Consensus, Managed Silence

For decades, we were sold the illusion that these outlets competed with one another—that they challenged power, elevated art, and reflected culture as it actually existed. But when the same ownership decides what gets covered, what gets rewarded, and what gets ignored, diversity of thought becomes impossible.

Silence becomes policy.

That’s why certain artists, filmmakers, and movements are celebrated endlessly—while others, particularly those rooted in Black autonomy, political clarity, or cultural disruption, are sidelined without explanation.

No bad reviews. No honest debate. Just absence.

And absence, in media, is the loudest weapon there is.

Why the Awards Feel Hollow

People feel it—even if they can’t always name it.

Awards don’t hit the same. Charts don’t feel honest. Coverage feels predictable, sanitized, and strategically selective.

Not because culture stopped producing brilliance—but because legacy media stopped serving culture.

These institutions no longer reflect what people love, watch, stream, or believe. They reflect what power is comfortable endorsing. They reward compliance over creativity and proximity over purpose.

What we’re witnessing isn’t decline—it’s exposure.

Journalism Without Truth Is Just Marketing

Real journalism requires three things:

free speech, impartiality, and accountability.

Legacy media has abandoned all three.

Instead of interrogating power, it protects it.

Instead of amplifying marginalized voices, it filters them.

Instead of telling the truth, it manages perception.

That’s not journalism.

That’s public relations with prestige branding.

Why 2026 Is the Breaking Point

This is why 2026 feels different.

Not because legacy media is “old,” but because it has become consolidated, politicized, and weaponized beyond repair. The mask has slipped. The audience has noticed. And trust—once lost—never returns the same way.

The collapse of credibility always comes before the rise of something new.

Independent platforms.

Grassroots journalism.

Unbought voices.

Unfiltered truth.

That rise is already happening.

And legacy media knows it.

Final Word

When one billionaire owns the press, the charts, and the awards, nothing rings true—and nothing is untouched by manipulation.

But culture doesn’t belong to corporations.

It belongs to the people.

And when the old gatekeepers lose their grip, history shows us what happens next:

The truth finds another microphone.

And it speaks louder than ever.

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FROM MY KITCHEN

New year. New goals. New plans. But one question never changes: What’s for dinner?

I cook about 320 days a year. I love food, flavor, and the way a good meal brings comfort and joy. In this issue, I’m sharing a few of my favorites—my easy Garlic Parmesan Chicken Pasta and my all-time favorite dessert: Banana Pudding.

I’ll let you in on a secret. When I was five years old, my mother asked what kind of cake I wanted for my birthday. I told her, banana pudding. All these years later, nothing has changed. On my birthday, I still choose banana pudding over cake—and 90% of the time, I make it myself.

I cook about 320 days a year. I love food, flavor, and the way a good meal brings comfort and joy. In this issue, I’m sharing a few of my favorites—my easy Garlic Parmesan Chicken Pasta and my all-time favorite dessert: Banana Pudding.

I’ll let you in on a secret. When I was five years old, my mother asked what kind of cake I wanted for my birthday. I told her, banana pudding. All these years later, nothing has changed. On my birthday, I still choose banana pudding over cake—and 90% of the time, I make it myself..

Easy Garlic Parmesan Chicken Pasta

Ingredients:

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (cut into bite-sized pieces)
• Salt & pepper to taste
• 4 cloves garlic (minced)
• 2 cups chicken broth
• 1 cup milk (or heavy cream for a richer sauce)
• 8 oz pasta (penne, rotini, or your choice)
• 1 cup grated Parmesan cheese
• 1 tablespoon butter (optional for extra richness)
• Fresh parsley (optional, for garnish)

Instructions:

1. Cook the Chicken
   Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat.
   Season chicken with salt and pepper, then cook until browned and cooked through (about 5–7 minutes). Remove from skillet and set aside.
2. Sauté Garlic
   In the same skillet, add a little more oil if needed and sauté garlic for about 30 seconds, just until fragrant.
3. Add Liquids & Pasta
   Add chicken broth, milk, and uncooked pasta. Stir to combine. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer. Cover and cook for 12–15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until pasta is cooked and liquid is mostly absorbed.
4. Finish the Sauce
   Stir in Parmesan cheese, butter (if using), and cooked chicken. Mix until the sauce is creamy and the chicken is heated through.
5. Garnish & Serve
   Sprinkle with extra Parmesan and chopped parsley if desired. Serve hot.

Tip: Add steamed broccoli or spinach to make it a one-pan meal!

Southern-Style Banana Pudding (with Vanilla & Banana Pudding Mix)

Ingredients:

• 1 box (3.4 oz) instant banana pudding mix
• 1 box (3.4 oz) instant vanilla pudding mix
• 3 cups cold whole milk
• 1 can (14 oz) sweetened condensed milk
• 1½ cups heavy whipping cream (or 1 tub of Cool Whip, optional)
• 1 box Nilla Wafers
• 4–5 ripe bananas, sliced
• Optional: vanilla extract (½ tsp)

Instructions:

1. Make the pudding base:
   In a large bowl, whisk together the banana and vanilla pudding mixes with the cold milk until smooth and thick (about 2 minutes).
2. Add condensed milk:
   Stir in the sweetened condensed milk until fully combined. Add vanilla extract if using. Chill for 5–10 minutes to thicken slightly.
3. Whip the cream (if not using Cool Whip):
   In a separate bowl, beat the heavy cream until stiff peaks form. Gently fold into the pudding mixture. If using Cool Whip, just fold it in directly.
4. Layer it up:
   In a trifle dish or 9x13-inch pan, layer as follows:
   A layer of Nilla WafersA layer of sliced bananasA layer of pudding
   Repeat until all ingredients are used, ending with a layer of pudding or whipped cream on top.
5. Chill:
   Cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours (overnight is even better) to allow the flavors to meld and the wafers to soften.
6. Optional garnish:
   Top with crushed wafers, banana slices, or whipped cream before serving.

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Discover Our Favorite Black-Owned Beverages

Pouring culture, history, and community into every sip

Supporting Black-owned businesses isn’t a trend — it’s a commitment. From spirits rooted in ancestral brilliance to wellness-forward teas, coffees, and juices made with purpose, Black-owned beverage brands continue to redefine taste, innovation, and cultural storytelling.

These companies aren’t just selling drinks. They’re reclaiming legacy, building generational wealth, and pouring intention into every bottle, can, and cup. Here are some of our favorite Black-owned beverage brands making waves across the industry.

Spirits & Wine: Legacy in a Glass

Black excellence has always been present in spirits and wine — even when history tried to erase it.

Sorel Liqueur

Founded by Jackie Summers, Sorel is a spiced hibiscus liqueur rooted in West African and Caribbean traditions. Rich, complex, and cultural — this is heritage in liquid form.

Uncle Nearest Premium Whiskey

Inspired by Nathan “Nearest” Green, the first known African American master distiller and the man who taught Jack Daniel how to make whiskey. Uncle Nearest isn’t just a brand — it’s historical truth finally receiving its flowers.

McBride Sisters Collection

One of the largest Black-owned wine companies in the world, founded by sisters Robin and Andréa McBride. Their collection, including the beloved Black Girl Magic wines, is bold, accessible, and unapologetically celebratory.

Abisola Whiskey

Crafted by founder Abisola Abidemi, this brand represents Black women stepping confidently into spaces once closed to them. Smooth, refined, and intentional.

Maison Noir Wines

Founded by André Mack, Maison Noir breaks down the intimidation of wine culture, making premium wine approachable without sacrificing depth or quality.

Non-Alcoholic & Juices: Flavor with Purpose

Not every powerful drink contains alcohol. These brands prove that wellness and flavor can coexist beautifully.

Me & The Bees Lemonade

Founded by Mikaila Ulmer as a child entrepreneur, this lemonade is sweetened with honey sourced from local bees, blending business, sustainability, and community impact.

Ellis Island Tea

A Jamaican-style sweet tea based on a family recipe, delivering island flavor, nostalgia, and cultural pride in every bottle.

Grown Folks Hard Seltzer

Inspired by soul food flavors and grown folks’ taste, this brand flips the seltzer game with creativity and cultural relevance.

Turmeric Magic

Health-forward beverages made with real ingredients and functional benefits — because healing should taste good too.

Coffee & Tea: Brewing Community

Coffee and tea have always been gathering points in Black culture — places of conversation, resistance, and connection.

BLK & Bold

More than a coffee and tea company, BLK & Bold reinvests directly into Black communities, proving capitalism can still have a conscience.

Red Bay Coffee

Founded in Oakland, Red Bay Coffee is known for its vibrant culture, ethical sourcing, and unapologetic Black identity.

Adjourn Tea House

A beautifully intentional tea brand that elevates tea culture while creating space for rest, reflection, and connection.

Other Notable Black-Owned Brands to Know

Dope Coffee

Bold branding, bold flavor, and deeply rooted in Black culture and expression.

Sankofa Beer Company

A Black-owned craft brewery honoring African heritage while pushing the culture of craft beer forward.

Cultured Kombucha Co.

Offering a variety of kombuchas that support gut health without sacrificing taste.

Why It Matters

Every dollar spent with a Black-owned brand is a vote for visibility, ownership, and self-determination. These beverage companies aren’t asking for a seat at the table — they built their own and invited the culture with them.

So the next time you pour a drink, make it intentional. Make it Black-owned.

Black Zone Magazine will continue to highlight the businesses that nourish our bodies, honor our history, and strengthen our communities — one sip at a time.

Celebrate Dry January

With Black Owned Alcohol Free Beverages

More than ever, people are choosing to go alcohol-free—and not just for January, but for life. Whether you’re abstaining by choice, for health, for clarity, or by mandate, Dry January is the perfect time to explore alternatives that don’t sacrifice flavor, culture, or experience.

This January—and all year long—celebrate with Black-owned alcohol-free beverage brands that deliver high-quality, delicious options made with intention. From bold flavors to wellness-forward ingredients, these brands prove you don’t need alcohol to raise a glass, enjoy the moment, or support Black excellence.

Below are standout alcohol-free beverages worth sipping, sharing, and supporting.

Stolen in Plain Sight: America’s Silent War on Black Girls

Human Trafficking, Racial Indifference, and the Lives the Nation Refuses to Protect

By Maurice Woodson

It’s 2026, and we are still having this conversation.

January is officially National Human Trafficking Prevention Month in the United States—a designation made by presidential proclamation every year since 2010. It’s supposed to be a time of awareness, education, and action. A time when America claims to stand against forced labor, sex trafficking, and modern-day slavery. Every January 11, people are encouraged to participate in #WearBlueDay, throwing on blue as a symbol of solidarity.

But solidarity means nothing without accountability.

Awareness means nothing without urgency.

And proclamations mean absolutely nothing to the Black and Brown women and girls who have been disappearing for decades.

For generations, Black girls have vanished in this country—snatched from bus stops, lured online, preyed on in foster care systems, pushed out of schools, and swallowed by a society that has mastered the art of looking the other way. Many are raped. Many are beaten. Many are murdered. And far too many are trafficked—sold over and over again like disposable property.

And when it comes to the pigmented missing, law enforcement has historically turned a blind eye.

But let a white girl go missing. Then it’s breaking news. Then it’s an Amber Alert. Then it’s wall-to-wall coverage. Then it’s urgency, sympathy, prayers, and national outrage. That isn’t opinion. That’s pattern.

That’s fact.

Modern Slavery, American Style

Human trafficking is one of the most pervasive—and most deliberately misunderstood—crimes in the United States. It is a modern form of slavery, defined by the use of force, fraud, or coercion to exploit people for labor or commercial sex.

Globally, an estimated 27 million people are trapped in trafficking situations. They are forced to work in fields and factories, restaurants and private homes, massage parlors and hotel rooms. Traffickers don’t hunt randomly. They prey on the most vulnerable—those society has already discarded.

In the United States alone, there are an estimated 199,000 trafficking incidents every year. Roughly 75% involve sex trafficking, while 25% involve forced labor. Contrary to popular myth, the majority of sex trafficking victims in this country are U.S. citizens—not undocumented immigrants smuggled across borders.

And the overwhelming majority are women and girls.

Globally, nearly 72% of trafficking victims are female. In the U.S., that number skews even higher when race enters the picture.

The Target on Black Girls’ Backs

Black women and girls account for approximately 40% of all sex trafficking victims and survivors in the United States—despite making up only about 15% of the U.S. female population.

Let that sink in. This is not coincidence. This is not random. This is systemic.

Black girls are routinely misclassified as “runaways” instead of missing persons. They are labeled “fast,” “grown,” or “troubled” instead of endangered. They are treated as offenders rather than victims, resulting in fewer resources devoted to finding them and even fewer consequences for those who exploit them.

Research has repeatedly shown that Black girls are perceived by adults as less innocent and more mature than their white peers. That lie—rooted in white supremacy—has deadly consequences. It allows traffickers to operate freely. It allows police departments to deprioritize cases. It allows prosecutors to criminalize victims instead of rescuing them.

And it allows America to sleep at night.

One survivor put it plainly:

“When I went missing, nobody came looking. When I was found, they didn’t ask who hurt me. They asked what I did wrong.”

Another shared:

“I was 14 years old, and they said I chose that life. No child chooses to be sold.”

Trafficked in the Digital Age

Today, traffickers don’t need dark alleys or shady corners.

They have smartphones.

Online platforms now account for approximately 25% of trafficking recruitment. Social media has become a primary hunting ground. Traffickers pose as friends, boyfriends, talent scouts, or helpers offering escape from unstable homes, poverty, abuse, or neglect.

They study their targets. They exploit their pain. They promise love, money, protection, or opportunity.

And when the trap snaps shut, the world is already conditioned not to care—especially if the victim is Black.

The Lie That Protects the Crime

For generations, law enforcement, government institutions, and white America have relied on the same lie to justify their inaction:

She wanted it. She knew what she was doing. She wasn’t innocent.

That lie has been used to excuse indifference toward Black women and girls, as well as Hispanic and Asian women and girls—but Black girls remain the most dehumanized, the most criminalized, and the most ignored.

Human trafficking does not exist in a vacuum. It thrives in racism. It feeds on misogyny. It survives through apathy.

And silence is its greatest accomplice.

Say Their Names While They’re Still Alive

Human trafficking prevention is not about hashtags or colored ribbons. It’s about believing Black girls when they say they are missing. It’s about searching for them with the same urgency afforded to white victims. It’s about dismantling the systems that profit from their disappearance.

Because awareness without action is performative.

And mourning after the fact is too late.

If you or someone you know may be a victim of human trafficking—or if you notice suspicious activity—help is available right now:

National Human Trafficking Hotline: Call 1-888-373-7888

Text HELP or INFO to 233733

Confidential online reporting available through the National Human Trafficking Hotline

Final Word

Black girls are not disposable.

Black women are not invisible.

And their lives are not collateral damage.

Until this country learns to protect Black girls while they are still breathing—human trafficking will remain not just a crime, but a reflection of America’s moral failure.

And history will remember who stayed silent.

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What Has America Become?

By Maurice Woodson

America has never held the moral high ground it claims. That myth was sold through textbooks, films, flags, and force. The truth is far darker.

When Adolf Hitler was shaping his vision for Nazi Germany, he studied America. He studied chattel slavery. He studied Jim Crow. He studied segregation, racial hierarchy, and how a democracy could legally dehumanize Black people. Nazism did not emerge in a vacuum—it borrowed heavily from America’s playbook.

And now, disturbingly, we have come full circle.

What we are witnessing under Trump is not an anomaly. It is America unmasked.

ICE—functioning like a modern SS—roams cities in packs, on foot and in vehicles, terrorizing communities. People are abducted, detained, caged, and disappeared for the crime of being non-white. American citizens included. Due process ignored. Humanity denied.

On January 7th, ICE shot and killed a woman in Minnesota. Murdered her. She was a peaceful observer of ICE misconduct. This was not an accident. This was not justified. This was state violence.

And let’s be honest about why this incident exploded nationally: the victim was a white American woman.

This is not an isolated event. It is only visible because whiteness was involved.

Meanwhile, America continues its long tradition of global violence—bombing countries, abducting leaders, invading nations, stealing land, oil, and resources. Boats are bombed. People are killed on suspicion alone. No hearings. No trials. No accountability.

This is empire behavior. This is not democracy.

Trump governs as if he’s cosplaying Game of Thrones, mistaking cruelty for strength and chaos for leadership. In less than a year, he has bombed eight countries without congressional approval—or even congressional knowledge. Civil rights, human rights, women’s rights—trampled. Black history erased from libraries, museums, and government websites. Indigenous history erased alongside it. Even the Holocaust reduced to “two sides.”

America is now openly anti-healthcare. Anti-science. Anti-climate reality.

We have no allies. NATO watches the United States the way the world once watched Nazi Germany—with distrust and alarm.

Trump owns the Supreme Court. MAGA Republicans control the House and Senate. Incompetent, unqualified, hate-driven billionaires and loyalists occupy every level of government—from the DOJ to the FBI. Power concentrated. Oversight dismantled. Corruption normalized.

And here is the most dangerous truth of all: this does not end with Trump.

As long as MAGA ideology, Christian extremism, white supremacy, and billionaire oligarch influence remain embedded in American politics, this is what America will be. A nation drifting further from progress and closer to the darkest chapters of history.

What America has become feels less like a beacon of hope—and more like a return to medieval brutality and 20th-century fascism.

The question is no longer how did we get here?

The question is: how much worse will we allow it to become?

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