(BALTIMORE – May 19, 2025) – It is so interesting that as I am researching and writing on strategizing Black economic wealth and power in the United States for my next book, this particular day – Monday, May 19, 2025 – is Malcolm X’s 100th birthday. Honestly, it wasn’t the first thing on my mind today. What’s on my mind is presenting the very best manuscript I can muster to bring light, clarity, and solutions to the dilemmas facing my community.
In fact, a part of this struggle is a very important topic we, as a people, are often afraid to have. Last week, Maryland’s first Black governor — and the only Black governor in the nation — vetoed a Reparations Commission bill. The bill would have established a formal process to examine the historic and ongoing inequities experienced by African descendants in Maryland. Instead, it was struck down — by a man many of us once believed might lead the charge for justice.
The Letter That Changed the Conversation
In the wake of that decision, a public letter emerged from none other than Larry S. Gibson — legal scholar, political strategist, and longtime advisor to Governor Wes Moore. Gibson urged the governor to veto the bill, calling it “redundant, distracting, and too little, too late.” He framed it as a stall tactic and argued that Maryland didn’t need “another two years of study.” Instead, he said, the state should just act — invest in housing, education, healthcare, and minority business without using the word “reparations.”
On paper, his words were assertive. Action-oriented. Even urgent. But underneath, they struck a very different chord with those of us paying close attention.
For many, this wasn’t a call to action — it was a call to avoid accountability.
Gibson’s logic seemed tailored not only to deflate the reparations movement in Maryland, but to protect Governor Moore’s national political image — one that must appeal to white moderates if he has any hope of becoming a future presidential contender. The word “reparations” carries political heat, and vetoing a commission before it even began its work allowed Moore to sidestep that heat before it got any brighter.
But we have to be honest: this wasn’t just politics. It was fear. And that’s where the deeper story begins.
Dr. Ray Winbush: “Tell Me What You’re Afraid Of”
In an interview I conducted with Dr. Ray Winbush — one of the nation’s leading scholars on reparations — he didn’t mince words about the veto or about Gibson’s letter.
“Some in the Maryland General Assembly actually wanted our group to lead the study,” he said. “But it’s not just about lynching. It’s about land theft, unresolved murders, Black families stolen from their communities in Baltimore. That bill was meant to examine all of that — not just history, but harm. They missed the entire point of reparations.”
He paused.
“If the veto position was meant to avoid responsibility, that was cowardly.”
Winbush’s disappointment wasn’t just about the veto. It was about how easily some of our own leaders use strategy to mask fear.
“Jews deserve reparations. Japanese Americans deserve reparations. Native people deserve reparations. But we, as Black people, are the only group where some of us argue we don’t deserve them,” he told me. “Japanese Americans don’t question reparations. Neither Native Americans nor Jewish people. Our hesitation is rooted in something deeper — self-hatred, denial of reality, and most of all, a denial of history.”
His words hit hard.
“Disappointment is part of the reparations struggle,” Winbush said. “But it’s clear the Governor does not fully understand reparations as they relate to Maryland. Reparations is not a handout — it is justice. And we need people who are brave enough to say that out loud.”
He invoked the late Dr. Frances Cress Welsing:
“We need a national convention on Black fear — with no white people and no press. Just us. So we can name the fear we carry. So instead of opposing reparations, someone can finally say: ‘I’m afraid I’ll lose the white vote.’ That would be more honest. Say what you’re afraid of. Don’t deflect. Don’t sabotage. Just be real.”
Winbush concluded with something that should haunt every elected Black official in America:
“The only state in the country with a Black governor just voted down reparations. What kind of message does that send to the rest of the country?”
Between Political Realism and Moral Courage
This is where the conversation must go next. Because both Gibson and Winbush are elder statesmen — each with decades of service to our people. But only one, in this moment, is showing the kind of clarity this historical juncture demands.
Gibson is the seasoned insider. The tactician. The power broker who understands how politics works in white spaces. He’s playing a long game, and he knows that words like “reparations” can make powerful enemies.
But Winbush is the historian. The truth-teller. The one who refuses to sell justice for strategy, or to water down the word for the sake of electoral viability.
Between them lies the challenge of our generation: How do we gain power without abandoning truth? How do we win elections without erasing our history? How do we move forward without betraying the people who brought us this far?
The Real Test of Leadership
Governor Moore made a difficult decision — but not necessarily a brave one.
And history will remember.
Because in a moment when he could have taken a national stand for justice, he chose silence. In a moment when he could have empowered a commission to document the unpaid debts of slavery and Jim Crow in Maryland, he chose to veto the conversation.
Gibson may believe this is political strategy. But to many of us, it feels like moral retreat.
If we are to truly build Black wealth and power in the United States — not just symbolically but structurally — we must stop running from our past. We must stop fearing white discomfort more than we fear Black invisibility. And we must stop confusing silence with strength.
Malcolm X once said: “If you’re not ready to die for it, put the word ‘freedom’ out of your vocabulary.”
On his 100th birthday, I can think of no better reminder.
