The Price of the Ticket is Paid at Home: Why Our Internal Work is the Real Front Line

This has been a heavy couple of weeks. As a federal employee, I’ve felt the instability of our government firsthand. But as a Black woman in America, I know that when the system shakes, our communities are the first to feel the ground give way. On November 1st, SNAP benefits are set to be shut off, and any existing balances may be wiped clean. This is not a policy debate; it is a direct and calculated assault on the survival of our most vulnerable.

At the same time, the digital public squares where we organize and inform each other are becoming more censored. We are being reminded, in the starkest possible terms, that the platforms we don’t own can be taken from us at any moment. This is why building and supporting our own independent media—our own websites, our own bookstores—is not a luxury. It is a matter of survival.

But this battle isn't just in Washington, D.C. or on social media servers. It is happening right now, in our own neighborhoods, in near-empty polling places. Early voting is underway in Georgia for critical local elections, and the numbers are alarmingly low. We risk giving away our power by not showing up.

Let’s take a deep dive into my own city, Brookhaven, as a case study. Brookhaven has a high number of registered voters, but the story is in the turnout. The data consistently show that in local off-year elections, voters who turn out are older, whiter, and more conservative. The very people who benefit from the current power structure are the ones most dedicated to maintaining it. Meanwhile, younger voters, diverse communities, and even the legacy Black families of the historic Lynwood Park community—whose land Brookhaven was built on—are being outvoted because of lower participation. This is how power is lost. It’s not just taken; it is given away.

And what are we giving away? This year, it’s control over our light bills. For the first time since 2022, we are voting in the Georgia Public Service Commission (PSC) election. This election was delayed for years because of a lawsuit arguing that the old system violated the Voting Rights Act by diluting the votes of Black citizens. We are only voting now because the courts affirmed our right to a fairer system.

The PSC decides how much Georgia Power can charge every single month. For many Black households, a rate hike isn't an inconvenience; it's a crisis. It’s the choice between keeping the lights on and buying groceries. This is a kitchen table issue of the highest order, and it is an issue of racial and economic justice. Ceding this election to a small group of high-turnout voters is a direct threat to the financial stability of our families.

This fight for external power—for our votes, for our money, for our representation—forces us to look at our internal power. As we build our defenses against the outside world, what do we do about the wounds we inflict on each other inside our own house? What is the price of a ticket to success or even survival within our own community, and who is forced to pay it?

This is the central question of my life’s work. In my research, I’ve found that our community has its own vernacular theory for policing success, but it operates on a deeply gendered dual track.

For our men, it’s what I call the Faustian Bargain. This is the classic sellout narrative. We critique them for trading their authenticity for capital. We saw it with Jay-Z, and my digital humanities work has shown how his lyrics literally shifted from the language of the “hustle” to that of the “boardroom.” This bargain is about the soul of a man versus the demands of a capitalist system that was never built for him.

But for our women, the script is flipped. We are forced into a Sacrificial Bargain. The critiques against us are rarely about our business acumen; they are about our bodies, our sexuality, and our relationships. We are scrutinized for who we love, how we look, and whether we are playing the game correctly. And in its most insidious form, this becomes what I’ve had to name The Consolation Transaction—a painful dynamic I had to excavate from my own life, where a woman’s moment of grief or crisis is not met with care, but with an expectation of physical intimacy. Her pain becomes a commodity for a man’s pleasure.

When I share this work, this diagnosis of our internal bargains, it is often met with confusion, and sometimes, with the painful accusation that I am tearing our community down. They don’t see the love in the critique.

So let me be clear: My work is not an act of destruction. It is an act of diagnosis. A healer must first find the wound.

I am a Black woman. Mother Earth. I believe we are the source of all ideas, thoughts, and all things. If the source is being poisoned by these internal bargains that demand our silence and our sacrifice, the entire community suffers. My work is an attempt to purify the water. It is the most profound and most honest expression of FUBU—For Us, By Us—that I know.

And so, I am asking you to join me in fighting this war on two fronts. We cannot build a fortress against the world if the foundation of our house is cracked.

First, VOTE. Your vote in this PSC election is a direct strike against the systems that dilute our power and drain our wallets. Early voting is happening now. Do not wait. Make your voice heard.

Second, SUPPORT. Commit to supporting independent Black media. Follow my work here at HilerieLind.com. Buy your books from Reparations Books and Cafe. These are spaces we own, where our stories cannot be silenced.

And finally, REFLECT. Begin the internal work with me. The next time you see a Black woman being scrutinized for her body, her attitude, or her partner, ask yourself if you’re witnessing a Sacrificial Bargain in action. The next time you hear a Black man called a sellout, ask if he’s navigating a Faustian one.

The price of the ticket to a liberated future is paid for with the hard work we do at the ballot box, and the even harder work we do at home, with each other. Let’s start building a community that is truly worthy of our collective genius.