Our Black Year (15 page)

What all this history highlights is that we have immense buying power. Just smartly spending even a few dollars on quality Black-owned businesses would accomplish so much. That's one conclusion of a study that Northwestern University's Kellogg School of Management conducted. We enlisted their assistance via Steven Rogers after the group of wealthy business owners bailed on us. In another example of his commitment and generosity, Rogers lined up Thane Gautier, a recent Kellogg grad and Graduate Fellow of the Levy Entrepreneurship Center, to set up a team of students to conduct the study, which Thane managed even though we couldn't pay for it.

One piece of data the group uncovered was that the buying power of African Americans was estimated at about $913 billion in 2008, which is equal to the spending power of the sixteenth largest country in the world, Indonesia, below that of Canada and Turkey, and above Australia and Poland. The $1.2 trillion projection of US Black buying power in 2013 would make African American buying power equal to that of Canada. Of course, back in the 1940s African American buying power was much greater than Canada's. I'm not sure what that says about the economic growth of Canadians and African Americans, but I think you can conclude that conditions need to improve for African Americans.

Although finding actual data on how much African Americans spend on Black-owned businesses is difficult, the Kellogg analysis placed the figure between 2 to 5 percent, which would bring “only pennies on the Black dollar” to the Black community. Two percent of $913 billion spent
with Black-owned businesses yields $18.3 billion. Five percent brings about $46 billion. What's left is $894 to $867 billion.

You're about to get a lesson in the value of pennies.

Consider a conservative 2 percent spent on Black businesses, as the Kellogg analysts did. Even that seemingly small amount can generate a lot of money. The Kellogg team calculated what would happen if Black households with substantial disposable income—those with a total after-tax income of $75,000, or roughly 2.65 million families—boosted their spending from 2 percent to 10 percent on Black-owned businesses. By spending just one of every ten dollars at a Black-owned business, these households would generate $14 billion in revenue.

How many Subway restaurant franchises do you think that would buy?

That's the intriguing hypothetical scenario the Kellogg team considered. They took that $14 billion, divided it by the amount it takes to open a Subway franchise—at anywhere from $81,300 to $203,000, it is one of the most economical, compared to other major restaurant chains—and found that those funds could open somewhere between 69,000 to 172,200 stores. (That lower figure is more than twice the number of existing Subways in the world.)

“Further,” the report noted, “each Subway store employs 8 to 13 people. Using the model we have created, the conservative estimate of 68,965 stores can create 551,724 to 896,551 new jobs.”

Half a million to nearly a million new jobs, simply by redirecting just $1 of every $10 of Black buying power in higher-income African American homes. Think about that. It's true that a fast-food restaurant job isn't exactly like being the chief financial officer of a multinational company or the superintendent of a wealthy suburban school district, but work with me here. What if a Black teenager got a job at a neighborhood Subway instead of hanging out on the corner after school? What if that teenager worked hard and became a manager and/or got tuition reimbursement to go to college and major in finance? Now multiply the possibilities by 551,724 or 896,551 or any number in between.

Imagine what could happen if all Black households, not just higher-income folks, spent 5 percent of their after-tax income on African American–owned businesses—another scenario the Kellogg team considered. The answer: $32.2 billion. That's right. Over thirty billion dollars would be thrust into the African American economy.

So do something for me right now. Pull the spare change out of your pocket or purse, or take a look at that change in the jar on your dresser. Consider what a small change in your spending habits—pun intended—could create. And then have that change be your change. Simple, right?

Chapter 6

C
HICAGO STILL FEELS LIKE A FOREIGN PLACE TO ME. And during the months when the area is subject to wind, snow, single-digit temperatures, and gray skies, that foreign place feels like Saskatchewan. Remember, I'm from Miami, possibly the sunniest spot in the Sunshine State. In Chicago the hours of sunlight shrink so much that in December the city is nearly dark by 4 p.m. Even after fifteen years I haven't adjusted to the misery of Chicago winters, and John, the lucky guy, gets the distinct pleasure of experiencing my wretched moods from Halloween until well past Easter.

But then the weather starts to break, which means spring is on its way. John and I have our own phrase for it: The Dew. It's our capricious, catchall explanation for renewal at this time of year.

When The Dew arrives, it brings with it the anticipation of the season that liberates me, makes me feel frivolous, and reminds me of home: summer. Our private joke—and we're one of those goofy couples who have an infinite supply of them—is to attribute any unexpected pleasure to The Dew.

But this year The Dew and spring were particularly sluggish to arrive and, when they did, it was different. Something was siphoning our bliss, and its initials were EE. The momentum had stalled. Yes, we'd gotten encouragement for our efforts, but we'd also received our share of ugliness.

The most recent hit came from an unlikely source:
Ebony
magazine.

Back in July of 2008 an informal chat with reporter Adrienne Samuels was The Ebony Experiment's first official meeting, and it inspired us to move forward. Every time our confidence waned or somebody didn't call us back, we'd think,
Yeah, so and so hasn't called back, but who cares,
Ebony
is going to cover us. Once
Ebony
gives us a big splash, folks like so and so are going to be calling
us
!

After our initial meeting Adrienne sent us e-mails over the next few weeks saying she wanted to do a story, had gotten approval for it, and would talk to the higher-ups about sponsorship and partnership. But by that October things started getting weird. People at
Ebony
stopped communicating, despite my entreaties. Friends with connections tried to intervene with higher-ups at the magazine, but that didn't work either.

Then, less than two months before our January launch, I realized what might be happening. Maybe it was just as Steven Rogers had warned us: Some businesses would be afraid of The Ebony Experiment. From the perspective of Adrienne, the writer, the project had obvious appeal. But the corporate honchos—those concerned about advertisers and sponsors and about being accepted into the Mainstream Media Club—might have viewed The Ebony Experiment as militant and something to be avoided at all costs. We had thought they'd embrace us because they would see how The Ebony Experiment fit neatly into
Ebony
magazine's ideals of hope and pride in Black people and its role in bringing to light the issues the rest of America would prefer not to confront.

Man, were we ever wrong. They were ignoring us, hoping we would go away.

Things deteriorated from there. On March 11, two days after the front-page
Chicago Tribune
story and the day after a live interview on MSNBC—our first major national television appearance—we were still celebrating when we got an e-mail from
Ebony
's legal department, informing us that a lawsuit would be filed in federal court at the end of the day if we did not change the name of our project.

We'd gotten word from a very reliable source that Linda Johnson Rice, chairman of Johnson Publishing, had received calls from major advertisers
asking whether the magazine was affiliated with our project. She could have said no and left it at that, or she could have said “no, but we think it's a way to open an important dialogue in the Black community,” or even “no, we think it's silly, but it is newsworthy and we have a responsibility to cover it.”

Instead, in what seemed like an effort to appease advertisers who may have been nervous about
Ebony
's perceived affiliation with us, she threatened a lawsuit that could kill EE. I know advertisements pay the bills, but those ads are based on subscribers' loyalty, which stems from the relevance, reliability, and quality of content. She could have provided balanced, insightful coverage of The Ebony Experiment while still making it clear that the magazine and movement weren't affiliated. In fact, that coverage would have enhanced the integrity of the magazine and presumably drawn more readers, most of whom probably would have been interested in EE, and this could have led to more advertising interest. Seems like a pretty simple winning strategy to me. Plus, plenty of Black organizations have the word Ebony in their name and aren't plagued by infringement or affiliation concerns. Why should it be an issue for us?

At least now I knew why communications had ceased. I was a little scared but not deterred. And I was adamant: We would not back down. We started making so many calls that I'm surprised the phones didn't catch fire—to my brother, Eduardo, as well as our public relations team and lawyer friends.

Based on the information we obtained, I arranged to call Linda for what I thought would be a private conversation. Instead, she put me on speakerphone with her attorney present. I should have hung up right then. Through my tears, I made offers to place statements or disclaimers all over our website, issue a press release, and call a joint press conference.

“Please, Ms. Rice,” I remember saying at one point, “if you do this, you'll shut us down.”

I won't go into all of the awful things she said, but her cold tone clearly communicated that she didn't care about our project. She felt that
Ebony was her name, and she didn't want us using it. She wasn't budging, and I was done begging. That was it. We hung up.

I wanted to hold a press conference to detail what had ensued and start an e-mail campaign encouraging people to send nasty notes to the magazine and to cancel their subscriptions. But then we thought about
Ebony
and its place in our lives. It's the flagship publication of an iconic, Black-owned company that so many African Americans—including me and John—grew up with and cherished.

Although our friends agreed that we should fight, our public relations people warned us that this was a battle we could not win. They suggested we change the name, as did the attorney who had set up our foundation and registered our trademark for The Ebony Experiment.

“Why can't you guys just change the name?” she said. “What's the big deal?”

It was late on a Wednesday afternoon. John had left work early and was home with me. Eduardo and our trademark attorney were in their respective offices in Atlanta and Detroit. We'd convened an emergency conference call to plot our next move, and we didn't have much time.

I sat in a corner of the dining room blubbering. John had put the phone on speaker because I kept pacing around the floor.

“That's my fucking name!” I said. “Why did we get into this if we are not willing to fight?”

After a few seconds John came over and sat with me. He took my hands.

“Sweetie,” he said, “how much worse would you feel if we lost the fight and they shut down the whole thing? Where would we be then? We have to remember why we started this journey in the first place.”

I held John in my eyes a long time. Sometimes he's so clearheaded I could kick him.

“Okay, baby,” I whispered. “Okay.”

I'm not sure what was more painful: the dashed hope—based on the magazine's early enthusiasm—that
Ebony
would provide comprehensive, fair coverage of our project, or that EE's most ominous threat came from
a Black business, one built on Black unity, culture, and pride and wholly sustained by Black consumers.

An hour before the deadline, Eduardo sent an e-mail to the legal department saying we were considering a name change and asking for more time. A few minutes later we gave birth to The Empowerment Experiment, and Eduardo sent the dreaded white-flag e-mail. The magazine gave us three months to discontinue all use of the word Ebony in our project.

I hated myself. Fortunately, we had no time to wallow in self-loathing. We had to start implementing the change. That night, we asked our web designer to rework the site. We also created a press release and prepared ourselves emotionally for the big lie. Publicly, we suggested the old name contributed to the inflammatory talk of racism that drew attention away from our true focus. Or, as I told one reporter, the new name “better articulates what's in our heart and what our endgame is.”

As it turned out, the media types didn't care that much what our project was called nor did they pry too deeply into why we changed its name. The Ebony exorcism was yet one more in the series of lessons learned during the year.

Because we had to revamp the site to accommodate the name change, I also made enhancements to leverage all the traffic we were getting—several thousand hits a day, mostly because all the major press websites would include a link to our site in their coverage. The Ticker, which displayed our cumulative spending, was placed on each page of our site. I created a new page called “Our Favorite Finds,” which listed about fifteen businesses and entrepreneurs we had discovered, all of which we could confidently deem EE businesses. Karriem was the poster child—or maybe poster man. Others included Jordan's Closets, a resale clothing boutique for children located in Bronzeville on the South Side; Park 52, a classy restaurant and jazz club in Hyde Park that had become our new hangout along with a WineStyles franchise, an upscale wine shop and bar in the South Loop; the African American–owned BP and Citgo gas station franchises in Rockford and Harvey—two distant towns with large
Black populations; Agriculture Crop of Style, an upscale men's clothier also located in Bronzeville; God First God Last God Always, our dollar store; Quench, our local healthy fast-food diner with seven locations throughout Black Chicago; our new wine, Heritage Link Brands, an importer of South African wines from the few Black vineyards there; Afriware, a local store that sold Africentric gifts, books, garb, and art; a Black-owned Little Gym franchise, a professionally staffed physical-education facility for kids; our dry cleaner; a movie theater; Covenant Bank; and Kimbark Liquors.