Last week, I attended the National Urban League (NUL) Conference in Nashville, the nation's largest gathering focused on civil rights and urban advocacy. I came home with sore feet, tons of photos on my phone, new friends, a pocket full of business cards, and exciting possibilities for HeartSmiles, the Baltimore-based nonprofit where I lead fundraising for youth development, career readiness, and life-skills programming. And I came home with something I wasn't expecting. Hope. Hosted by the Urban League of Middle Tennessee, this year's conference posed a timely question: "America at 250: Is the American Dream Dead?" My answer? No. In fact, I came home believing our best days may still be ahead of us. For nearly three decades, I've attended national conferences—sitting through keynote addresses, networking receptions, panel discussions, and more hotel banquet meals than I care to remember. This one was different. It may have been the best conference I’ve ever attended. From Generation Alpha to Baby Boomers, there was something for everyone. It was not simply because of the speakers. It wasn't because former Vice President Kamala Harris, or Representative Jasmine Crockett (D-TX) gave remarks. It wasn't because Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist Nikole Hannah-Jones had a message for the Target sponsors (I was impressed with their financial support, but I'm still not shopping there until they issue an apology to Black America). It wasn't because Attorney Van Jones had the room hanging on every word, or because actress and comedian Kym Whitley had us laughing, or because gospel singer CeCe Winans was there. It wasn't even the incredible production led by NUL's Rhonda Spears Bell, Senior VP and Chief Marketing Officer. I'm stating it because somebody cared about the little things. Someone understood that conferences are about more than information—they're about creating an experience. Every morning I'd walk to the Music City Center with my coffee in one hand and my conference badge swinging around my neck. Before I even reached the entrance, you could hear soul music playing through the outdoor speakers across from the Country Music Hall of Fame. Soul music. I caught that immediately, because it's my favorite genre, and my antennas tune in whenever I hear Gladys, Sam, or Otis. It changed the mood before people even walked through the doors. Some folks were singing down the street. It felt more like a family reunion than a conference. That seemed so intentional. The conference merchandise? Ten and fifteen dollar quality T-shirts. Can we talk about that for a second? Whoever made that decision deserves a raise. Usually conference T-shirts cost so much you start wondering if the organization is throwing in stock options with the purchase. The NUL team made sure regular people could actually buy something and take a piece of the conference home. That told me everything I needed to know. They were thinking about us. NUL CEO Marc Morial Is Playing Chess, Not Checkers I've admired Marc Morial for years, but getting a chance to briefly chat, get a photo, and spend several days watching him up close reminded me why he's been able to lead the NUL for so long. He is brilliant without being inaccessible. Strong without being theatrical. Personable without trying too hard. Unmistakable NOLA—his hometown. One thing became crystal clear: Marc Morial is not playing checkers when it comes to Black America. He's playing chess. In his State of the Urban League Address, he and his wife, journalist Michelle Miller, walked to the stage from the back of the room as "More Than I Can Bear" by Kirk Franklin played. The Holy Spirit was activated. He began by telling the audience: "We are gathered to eulogize racism, we are gathered to bury hatred, we are gathered to lay violence and destruction in the ground where they belong. We are gathered to sound the requiem for division, for hunger, for homelessness, for poverty, and for all the ills that afflict our people in this nation. We're gathered to put an end to the movement that has gripped this nation." Whew. At the end of the speech, he invoked the words of Kendrick Lamar—"We gonna be alright"—while it played throughout the ballroom. It anchored a message of resilience and hope during these challenging times. Yes, sir. Black American households don't say Marc Morial's name enough for me. We should. His leadership and devotion deserve that level of recognition. When we took a photo and he told me, "God bless you," and I returned the words, it felt sincere rather than routine. Leadership isn't just standing behind a podium. It's consistency, showing up year after year. It's helping people believe tomorrow can be better than today. One thing he reminded us of nearly took my breath away: Black America's buying power is projected to reach $2.1 trillion this year. Read that again. Two. Point. One. Trillion. Yes, I know buying power isn't the same as wealth. I know Black America still faces enormous economic disparities. But we have to stop acting like we have no power. We absolutely have power. The bigger question is: what are we doing with it? The Numbers Tell Two Very Different Stories The annual State of Black America report was one of the highlights of the conference. This year's contributors included Maryland Senator Angela Alsobrooks, Governor Wes Moore, journalist Don Lemon, Baltimore Mayor Brandon Scott, Lisa Rice of the National Fair Housing Alliance, and others. Some of the statistics made me smile. Black college applications increased. Black women-owned businesses continue to grow faster than almost any other group in America. I love news like that, because sometimes you'd think all we're doing is struggling. We are not. We're innovating, graduating, creating businesses, building. Then came the other side: the wealth gap, employment losses, billions of dollars that have disappeared from Black communities as people lost jobs. That's why so many of us say "Buy Black" when you can. Not because every Black-owned business is perfect, and not because we should never shop anywhere else—but because ownership matters. Circulating dollars matter. Building wealth matters. You Learn Something New Every Day Can I admit something? I thought this Black American knew Nashville. I didn't. When I thought of Nashville, I pictured cowboy boots, whiskey, country music, Elvis, and tourists. I knew Tennessee had a rich civil rights history, but in my mind that history belonged mostly to Memphis. I hadn't fully appreciated Nashville's role in the movement, or that some of the coolest Black people I’ve ever met, make up almost 25% of the population. Walking on Rep. John Lewis Way, which runs through downtown past the Country Music Hall of Fame, hit me differently. We were walking the same streets where young people organized the sit-ins that helped change America. History was under my feet. There was also the fabulous National Museum of African American Music (the only museum in the United States devoted to preserving and celebrating the many music genres created, influenced, and inspired by African Americans), right on Broadway amid Nashville's honky-tonks. R&B group After 7 held a meet-and-greet there following their performance on a rooftop venue, warm Tennessee air and all. The women I met were warm, welcoming, and gracious—I understand now why so many Black people have a soft spot for Dolly Parton. My experience with some of the White men I encountered was different. From hotel interactions to restaurants, I often sensed an arrogance that caught me off guard—an old sheriff-in-a-sundown-town energy. That's not an indictment of every White man in Nashville. It's simply what I experienced. Learning to read different American environments matters, not only for awareness, but for safety—and that’s real. Maybe I just crossed paths with the wrong people, because Mayor Freddie O'Connell, who gave welcoming remarks, seemed progressive enough—he noted that Nashville is a city where "good trouble" found its foundation. The Hallway Conversations Matter Just as Much One thing I've learned after attending conferences is this: The biggest opportunities rarely happen on the stage. They happen in the hallway. Waiting for coffee. Standing in line for lunch. Riding the elevator. Walking back to the hotel after a long day. That's where conversations turn into collaborations. It's where you meet CEOs trying to solve million-dollar problems, board members looking for fresh ideas, fundraisers searching for new partners, and young professionals trying to figure out their next step. For me, that's always been the magic. This year was no different. I came home with new friendships, meaningful conversations, and exciting possibilities for HeartSmiles that never would have happened if I had simply attended the sessions and gone back to my hotel room. Another moment that made me smile was running into John Hope Bryant. I've respected his work through Operation HOPE for years, and despite being pulled in a hundred directions, he graciously stopped so we could take a picture together. Those little moments matter—they're reminders that the people we admire are just people. Ben Crump and CEO Morial Reminded Me Why We Can't Stop Talking One of the conference's most emotional moments came when Attorney Ben Crump stood alongside the families of Nolan Wells, Tyler Smith (Lexington, KY), and Daniel Erving (Dallas, TX). Nolan Wells should be packing for college. Instead, his family and the others are begging for answers. In a room full of reporters from across the country, only Don Lemon and WLOX in South Mississippi went live. Others disappear before most people even hear the names. We can't let that happen. Remember George Floyd? The world knew his name because ordinary people refused to stop sharing his story. Justice often depends on whether we keep talking. So today, I'm talking. Van Jones Delivered an Important Message Every conference has that one speaker—the one who has people putting their phones down because they don't want to miss anything. For me, it was Van Jones. He reminded us that Black America has fought its way into politics, into sports, into entertainment. Then he told us where power is moving now: technology. Artificial intelligence. Biotechnology. Silicon Valley. He called technology "the new lunch counter." I had to lean in. The industries that will create trillions of dollars over the next generation are not the industries where Black Americans currently have the strongest presence. We don't just need more consumers of technology—we need more creators, engineers, founders, investors, and owners. Jones also offered a thought I loved: Black people have already mastered AI. Not artificial intelligence—Ancestral Intelligence. The wisdom passed down through generations. The creativity born from overcoming obstacles. The resilience that cannot be programmed. Now that's the tea. The audience didn't need an explanation. You could hear people saying, "That's right," before the applause even started. We all knew exactly what he meant. A Little Music Never Hurts Conferences can be exhausting. Sometimes you need to laugh. Sometimes you just need good music. After 7 took the stage one evening, and before long, people who had spent all day talking policy, philanthropy, and politics were singing every word. I looked around and thought: this is Black America too. Not just the struggle—the joy, the music, the hugs, the laughter, the reunions. Sometimes we forget that celebrating each other is part of the work too. Young People Are Valued NUL states that "young professionals are the heart of the Urban League Movement," and they showed it at the conference by celebrating their leadership. It was wonderful speaking to many of them from all over the country who are optimistic about the future and continuing to support the movement. Community & Family Day Was Beyond Notable As much as I enjoyed the keynotes and celebrity sightings, the Community & Family event made my heart smile. Children leaving with backpacks. Families getting health screenings. Volunteer lawyers helping people for free. People registering to vote. Fresh roses handed to women, courtesy of Home Depot, just so we could smile. Watching kids run around smiling reminded me why organizations like the Urban League have survived for 116 years. This wasn't charity. It was dignity. It was community. There's a difference. Before I Let You Go... If you've never attended a National Urban League Conference, put Los Angeles (July 21–24, 2027) on your list for next year—even if you only make it to the free events or the virtual conference, which starts the day before the in-person one. Find and support your local affiliate: volunteer, give an in-kind donation, offer employment opportunities, or make a tax-deductible donation. As I boarded my flight home, I thought of a conversation, a lesson, or someone who believes our communities are worth fighting for. That's what I brought home. And now the work continues. Black America has come too far to turn back now, and we're entrusted with galvanizing others to keep building. We may be a little bruised right now, under pressure, and I think way too many people have been locked out of the American Dream. However, five days surrounded by people building businesses, mentoring young people, fighting for justice, investing in communities, and refusing to quit, I came home believing something. Somewhere between the hallway conversations, the young professionals eager to serve their communities, the CEOs dreaming bigger than their current budgets, and the families filling backpacks during Community Day, I realized hope isn't something you stumble across. It's something people build together. That's what I saw in Nashville. Hope isn't a feeling. Hope is a decision. A decision to keep building, to keep mentoring, to keep voting (especially this November), to keep believing, and to keep showing up. I know I will. ________________________________________ You can visit www.nul.org and watch the conference's sessions, along with obtaining a copy of the State of Black America Report.