The Cultural Artifact of Power: Reflections from Day 1 of the Congressional Black Caucus Annual Legislative Conference
Walking into the Congressional Black Caucus Annual Legislative Conference (ALC) is not simply walking into a conference. It is walking into a cultural artifact—a living museum of our history, a gathering of our present, and a projection of our collective future. For over five decades, the ALC has been more than a policy convening. It is a stage where the voices, strategies, and dreams of Black America converge. And on day one this year, I was reminded—not quietly but forcefully—of my power, my impact, and the clarity of my goals.
I attend conferences all the time. Policy symposia, leadership summits, academic convenings—rooms where people gather to think big and act bigger. But the ALC hits differently. It is a reminder that the very act of convening Black excellence is itself a resistance to erasure. It is a cultural ritual, a marker of identity and progress, a reminder that our work does not happen in isolation.
ALC as a Cultural Artifact
To call the Congressional Black Caucus ALC a cultural artifact is to acknowledge that it exists as both symbol and substance. It is not static—it evolves every year—but it carries with it a lineage of Black struggle, Black leadership, and Black innovation. From its inception, it has been a response to exclusion from decision-making tables, and it has grown into a table of its own, where the menu is justice, opportunity, and access.
Like the griots of West Africa, the conference passes down memory through panels, fireside chats, networking spaces, and even the casual encounters in the hallways. It preserves the language of liberation while simultaneously innovating the language of policy. Walking through the halls, you feel like you are inside a living textbook of Black political history—except this text is interactive, embodied, breathing.
Power in Proximity
Day one reminded me that proximity is power. Sitting in rooms where members of Congress, CEOs, activists, and community leaders traded insights reminded me that my journey has prepared me to stand shoulder to shoulder with these voices.
For me, the ALC is not about star-gazing. It’s about power alignment. To be surrounded by so many who carry influence, authority, and vision is to be reminded that I, too, carry those things. It is easy in seasons of transition—career shifts, personal challenges, or spiritual battles—to forget just how much power already resides within you. But on that first day, in conversations both formal and impromptu, I felt the Holy Spirit remind me: you belong here, you are equipped for this, and you are already doing this work.
There is something sacred about seeing reflections of yourself in those who lead. In many professional spaces, Black leaders are isolated. At ALC, we are multiplied. And that multiplication amplifies. I was reminded that my voice carries not just because of my credentials, but because it is joined to a chorus of others who also refuse to be silenced.
Impact Measured Differently
In most professional contexts, impact is measured in KPIs, dashboards, and deliverables. At ALC, impact is measured in presence. To show up, to represent, to occupy space is itself an act of impact. Every hallway conversation, every panel attended, every moment of connection is a seed.
On day one, I was reminded that my impact is not confined to the titles I’ve held, the programs I’ve launched, or the awards I’ve received. My impact is in the way I connect ideas to people, the way I tell stories that reframe narratives, and the way I make organizations healthier by demanding that culture, strategy, and humanity cannot be separated.
That reminder was freeing. Sometimes we get caught in the trap of “what’s next?” so deeply that we forget to acknowledge “what’s now.” My impact is not only in the roles I seek but in the roles I have already played in shaping conversations across government, academia, and culture. The ALC reminded me that the fruit of that impact continues to multiply—whether I see it immediately or not.
Re-centering My Goals
There is something about being in a space full of collective ambition that forces you to re-check your own goals. Not in a comparative sense, but in a clarifying sense. The ALC, in its essence, is about accountability. It makes you ask: are your goals aligned with legacy? Are they aligned with community? Are they aligned with impact that extends beyond self?
On day one, I found myself writing down the goals that had gotten hazy in the noise of life transitions. I wrote them not as lofty aspirations but as commitments:
To continue healing organizations by bridging leadership, culture, and strategy.
To ensure that accessibility is never treated as an afterthought but as a principle of justice.
To stand as a cultural physician—diagnosing dysfunction, prescribing strategy, and restoring health to spaces that have been suffocating under toxic systems.
To write, teach, and build platforms that remind others that leadership is not just about position but about presence, not just about authority but about authenticity.
To be a powerful Chief of Staff—one who does not simply manage operations but strategically steers culture, communication, and organizational health with precision.
To build myself as a content creator who is also a critical caption scholar—using media, writing, and narrative analysis to frame culture with depth and clarity.
To sharpen myself as a stronger qualitative researcher—digging deep into lived experiences, organizational narratives, and cultural texts in ways that expand understanding and produce actionable knowledge.
To establish myself as a successful author—not just producing books, but works that disrupt, heal, and inspire across sectors and communities.
The conference became a mirror. And in that mirror, I saw not just who I am but who I am called to become.
ALC and the Continuum of Black Genius
Day one also reminded me that this conference is not an isolated event—it is part of a continuum. The panels we sit in now are connected to the organizing meetings of the civil rights movement. The networking receptions of today are the freedom schools of yesterday, just in a different format. The policy roundtables mirror the kitchen table conversations our ancestors had about survival and strategy.
This continuum matters because it reminds us that our goals are never just individual—they are communal. Every success story that comes out of ALC is not just about one person’s advancement but about lifting the collective. When I heard speakers call out systemic inequities and propose bold policy reforms, I was reminded that my own goals must remain tethered to collective liberation.
Personal Revelation: Walking in My Power
I will be honest: heading into the ALC, I carried with me the weight of recent transitions, questions about next steps, and the residue of being in spaces that often demand much but give little back. Day one of ALC reset me. It was like inhaling cultural oxygen.
I was reminded that power is not something I have to chase—it is something I already carry. Impact is not something I have to beg to be acknowledged—it is already evident in the work I’ve done and the lives I’ve touched. And goals are not things to be questioned in insecurity—they are to be pursued with confidence, knowing that I am walking in divine alignment.
The ALC gave me permission to remember. To remember that my work is not small. To remember that my vision is not impossible. To remember that my presence in these spaces is not incidental—it is intentional.
Why This Matters Beyond Me
I share this reflection not as a personal diary entry but as an invitation. The ALC is a cultural artifact because it preserves not just my story but our story. It is a place where Black professionals, leaders, students, and elders gather to be reminded that we are still here, still building, still dreaming.
For anyone reading this who feels disconnected from their power, I encourage you to find your version of the ALC—spaces where you are reminded of who you are, what you carry, and why your goals matter. Power is not given, it is recognized. Impact is not always quantified, but it is always felt. And goals, when aligned with purpose, are never wasted.
Closing
Day one of the Congressional Black Caucus Annual Legislative Conference reminded me of something simple yet profound: I am not waiting for power, I am walking in it. I am not hoping for impact, I am already making it. I am not searching for goals, I am aligning them—with the clarity to heal organizations, advance accessibility, act as a cultural physician, write and teach with authenticity, and step fully into being a powerful Chief of Staff, a critical caption content creator, a stronger qualitative researcher, and a successful author.
The ALC is not just an event. It is a cultural artifact that continues to remind us of who we are and who we are becoming. And for me, it was a reminder that my story is not just unfolding—it is impacting, it is aligning, and it is powerful.
And so I leave you with this: what are your goals? Where do you need to be reminded of your own power and impact? Who are the communities that help you remember who you are? Find them. Write it down. Commit to it. Because your story, like mine, is already in motion—and it is meant to be powerful.