In a matter of weeks, the coronavirus has triggered a global pandemic that has completely upended our lives, drove the U.S. economy into a tailspin, and created a worldwide public health crisis. To say this feels surreal is an understatement. That a microscopic virus could cause catastrophic effects to millions of people and bring the world to a complete standstill in 2020 is hard to phantom. Yet, here we are, facing an unprecedented crisis with no end in sight. But, as the saying goes, when America catches a cold, black folks catch pneumonia. According to reports, the looming recession will hit black and brown workers the hardest. Meanwhile, the president has used xenophobic language to polarize the pandemic and Republicans are devising a plan to bailout billion-dollar companies.

The Burden of the Rona

The crisis, however, feels a bit heavier on working-class people of color who faced discrimination and hardships when it comes to buying homes, paying off student debt, and achieving upward mobility pre-Rona. But we’re not at war against an invisible virus; nor are we fighting against the man in the White House or the racists in Congress. Rather, we’re up against the systems of oppression that were designed to empower and protect rampant corruption and corporate greed. It’s those systems that have caused the wealth gap between black and white families to continue to widen, while healthcare officials put profits over people and gentrification is displacing entire communities. It’s the same system that enslaved our ancestors, exploits undocumented workers, and locks generations of people into a cycle of poverty. The coronavirus and subsequent economic downtown only unmask and exacerbates the inequality people of color faced their entire lives.

Although black and brown folks are monetizing their creative genius and pursuing entrepreneurship to create happy and comfortable lives that fulfill their personal definitions of success, there are still many more in these communities who are falling behind. Many successful black entrepreneurs have been fortunate enough to cultivate a profitable side hustle or bring a million-dollar idea into fruition, but not enough — not because some people are less special, talented, or motivated, but because overcoming systemic hurdles gets lost in the challenge of trying to put food on the table, pay rents and mortgages, and just get by.

How I Became Woke

While these isms (sexism, racism, classism, etc.) have always existed, the true weight of them hit home when back in 2005 when I witnessed the first-ever national crisis and the epic failure of government during the Hurricane Katrina crisis. Like many millennials, it was the moment I became “woke.” A year later, I traveled to the Lower Ninth Ward, a black, low-come community in New Orleans that was neglected and forgotten after the storm. I spent the week of my 2006 spring break gutting homes, sleeping in an abandoned school, and showering in outdoor stalls. Afterward, I returned to my dorm room knowing that the days my classmates and I spent in New Orleans were not enough to keep African American families from being displaced. Nor was it enough to fill the gaping holes left open by the state and federal government.

In 2007, we returned to New Orleans only to discover that not much had changed in the Lower Ninth Ward. Again, we dedicated another week to working with locals and Common Ground Relief to rebuild the city. But still, it wasn’t enough. At that moment, I realized that the fight against government corruption, systemic oppression, and poverty required a lifetime commitment. I was also reassured that my purpose in life was to be a voice for that community and all disenfranchised groups around the world.

Letting Their Voices Be Heard

Around the same time, I launched “Let Your Voice Be Heard! Radio” as a college sophomore at SUNY Old Westbury. The goal was to be a platform for the student body and to inform, educate, and empower my peers on civic, political, and cultural issues.

Fast forward 14 years later, and thanks to an abundance of support from all of my present and former co-hosts, correspondents, friends, family, and listeners, we are still producing new episodes each week. The show has undergone countless changes and a digital evolution that has transformed us from a radio show to a social media-focused live recording. Under normal circumstances, we record new episodes every Sunday at WHCR 90.3 FM “The Voice of Harlem” while taking comments and questions from our audience in real-time on Facebook and Instagram LIVE.

Just weeks before the novel virus, my team and I rededicated ourselves to the show’s mission — to educate, inform, and empower — but with a new look, feel, and approach. We changed the name from “Let Your Voice Be Heard!” to “Be Heard Talk” and recommitted ourselves to being a voice for people of color and allies to unpack issues related to race, politics, and culture. Each week we challenge the status quote and devise and advocate for a political agenda that serves our communities. However, we always find a way to sprinkle in a bit of trap music, Beyonce, and flavor on the unseasoned news in mainstream media.

In addition, “Be Heard Talk” is an outlet for me to channel my passion into purpose; it’s my small contribution to society; and it’s my way of holding myself accountable to the goals I set more than a decade ago. And now, as we turned the page to a new chapter, it’s my way to communicate to the world that I am and will always be dedicated to hearing and uplifting the voices of those who are silenced.