The Divine Right to Beautiful Things

Understanding that people in-need also deserve joy.

Photo from back to school event at Girls Prep Bronx Elementary.

In a world that so often seems to have forgotten the warmth of togetherness, the solace of friendship, and the sanctity of shared purpose, the moments when we remember — truly remember — our responsibility to each other are not just heartwarming, they are revolutionary.

I believe that a legacy can only be passed down and stand the test of time if it demonstrates how a person gifted opportunities for joy, learning, and compassion to others. This is the true essence of what it means to be human.

My mother and grandmother, taught me that, instilling in me a simple yet profound truth: the act of giving isn’t so much about charity as it is about affirmation. To give is to affirm another's right to dignity, to hope, and to dreams.

In the spirit of that teaching, I often try to use my public reach to to lead various giving efforts. One example is a recent back-to-school event at Girls Prep Elementary in The Bronx. Thanks to a myriad of heartfelt donations, we were able to raise $20,000, and channelled that into shaping a wonderful day for many adorable young souls.

That money went to the purchase of school supplies, books bags, stress balls, and copies of my 'Wakanda Forever' children’s book for all students. It was a gift to witness the radiant glow in the eyes of those young girls, their faces painted with hope and gratitude, mirroring a similar look in the eyes of their parents as they watched on. This wasn’t just about tangible gifts. It was a testament to the fact that every time a hand reaches out in kindness, every time a dollar is split, and every time a child is reminded of their boundless potential, the world shifts, gradually but certainly, towards the better.

In the days after the events, I posted some of those photographs on social media, sharing my thanks for the many hands that reached out and donated, along with a gentle ask for continued support for similar efforts in the future. Yet, as is often the case when one unveils anything to the world of social media, heartening words and kind notes were undercut by colder voices that rang louder in my ears.

Many people, having viewed the brand of the book bags, expressed a certain alarm. Why Nike book bags, they asked, when cheaper, lesser-known brands existed? A few were more audacious, even suggesting such a choice was wasteful philanthropy. Their words hung in the air around me, thick and unsettling, and in the ensuing days of reflection, they became the lens through which I gazed at a sobering reality.

There exists, in the minds of some, a stringent prescription for how the marginalized should be aided and, by extension, how they should live.

It is as though poverty should not only rob a person of their resources, but also of their right to any touch of luxury, any whisper of beauty, any hint of aspiration. The very notion that those in need might crave, not just the functional, but also the symbolic items that reflect the world's larger desires—seems foreign to these critics. It is a sad thought, revealing more about the observers than the observed, illuminating how society often reduces people to mere vessels of charity, denying them the fuller spectrum of human dignity.

Consider the age-old saying, "Beggars can't be choosers." Within this adage lies a cocktail of disdain and historical patronization. It seems to spotlight the assertion that struggle nullifies one's right to choice, to preference, and essentially, to a full life. By imposing a ceiling on desire, we're perpetuating archaic hierarchies forged from systemic bigotry.

To put it more plainly, the underlying message this propagates is: those in need are less deserving of their dreams and aspirations.

Throughout history, a notion persists — that those whose breaths are stifled by the weight of poverty, prejudice, or disadvantage should consider themselves blessed simply to be breathing at all. This belief reinforces the idea that poverty is not just a material circumstance but a moral failing.

But poverty, in its sprawling reach and manifestations, is not the result of individual deficiencies. It is the consequence of a society that has failed to uphold the collective responsibility it owes to each of its members.

The question we must ask ourselves is not why certain individuals languish in struggle, but rather why nations with affluence, endowed with the wealth of empires, allow such conditions to persist. To blame the individual is not only simplistic, it's a conscious diversion from the deeper societal ailments that perpetuate these conditions.

When I look at a the children and families we have aimed to support, I see people wrestling with the consequences of deliberate socioeconomic suppression. From the shackles of chattel slavery to the Jim Crow era, from redlining to mass incarceration, the forces that have shaped the experiences of countless people are structural, systemic, and deeply embedded in the nation's history. Again, these aren’t stories of mere individual failings; they are sagas of institutional negligence and malicious intent.

I often consider the children growing up in neighborhoods like the ones I once called home. They witness, daily, the difference of their reality juxtaposed against a world of possibility, access, and happiness. A world often just beyond their reach. These children don’t just dream of the next meal or a safe night's sleep, but of toys, books, and experiences that others deem ordinary.

As a child living in similar conditions, the occasional toy or trip wasn’t just a momentary diversion. It was a bridge to a world where dreams are valid, where my imagination could take flight unburdened. So, why if we have the means to offer those bridges, should we hold back? Why should we limit our generosity to basic necessities when we have the power to offer more?

Joy isn’t a luxury. It isn't an extra. Joy is what makes life worth it. It's the difference between merely existing and truly living.

Every day people awake to the unspoken reminders of what they lack—less food, fewer comforts, scarce luxuries. Amid these absences, societal markers, especially brands, take on heightened significance. They become more than mere symbols of materialism; they morph into tools for self-worth, a way to navigate a world that seems insistent on sidelining them.

The gulf between receiving a Nike bag and an unbranded one may seem trivial to the privileged. One might argue, “Isn’t the essential function of the bag—to hold belongings—still intact regardless of the emblem it bears?” But this perspective overlooks the vast world of implications something such as a Nike swoosh carries with it.

It's more than a logo; it's a passport to inclusion.

Hand a child in-need a bag with no brand, and what you're unintentionally telling them is that their worth is only equal to the face value of that bag. It’s a cold utility, an object of function with no regard for its symbolic weight. You affirm their existence, yes, but do you truly see them? It inadvertently screams of charity, pity, and the transactional nature of goodwill—where the giver feels good, and the receiver is often left feeling further reminded of their condition.

When I received certain items growing up, I often wondered whether I was meant to feel seen, respected, and valued — or are I was just a means to placate someone’s conscience. I don’t want to be a part of anything that makes a child feel that way.

I’m aware that society’s relationship with brands is complex, rife with both criticism and aspiration. My relationship with brands and the larger issue of capitalism is well documented as well. But for many in-need, the calculus is more straightforward. They seek respect in a world that frequently turns instead towards saviorism. They desire not just to be seen, but to be recognized.

Luxuries some of us find simple, often misconstrued as mere material indulgences, hold a significance far beyond the touchable. They are statements, a declaration that says, "You have value. Your desires, are valid. Your place in this universe is significant." To relegate an individual to mere subsistence is to dismiss the intricacy of their existence. In these things, we often find reflections of our deeper desires: a claim to space, a reminder of personal agency, a demand for visibility.

Does giving out Nike book bags mean ignoring a community’s needs and instead showering it with lavish gifts? Of course not. But it is a call to reevaluate and dismantle the deeply ingrained narratives of who is deemed worthy of life's finer experiences. It is a plea to recognize that every soul, regardless of its earthly circumstances.

The problem is not that people in-need desire nice things, but rather the world's amazement at such desires. We have been conditioned to expect that those of us who need help should be content with mere survival, grateful for the meager crumbs thrown from society's table. However, in a world that often defines value through material possessions, where one's status and worth are weighed by the car they drive or the brand of their shoes, the denial of the right to beauty becomes another shackle on the impoverished spirit.

Beauty, in its many manifestations—be it a piece of art, a new pair of sneakers, or a Nike book bag—should not just exist as privileges for the affluent; they should be balms for those suffering daily hardships.

We must challenge, then, this perverse idea that living in poverty means renouncing a desire for more. Instead, let us recognize that every individual, regardless of their economic situation, holds a divine right to beauty. For in doing so, we acknowledge not just the shared aspirations of the human spirit, but the inherent worth of each person we meet.

Let us remember: Joy is not a luxury. It is a lifeline.