I’ve been reflecting a lot on the concept of social responsibility and what it truly means. Before it was a buzzword—and long before it was branded with phrases like “corporate purpose“—the idea of looking out for one another was just a fact of life. Embracing a sense of obligation beyond ourselves and serving in ways that honor communal interests benefits us all.
I’ve long since come to understand not everyone shares this value. Not to suggest that those for whom social responsibility is second nature occupy some innate moral high ground—rather, a natural response to adversity. In Black communities, historically barred participation in broader societal systems, supporting one is just a matter of survival.
Angela Rye captured this dynamic perfectly in a recent episode of The Journey with Morgan DeBaun: “We can’t just make decisions for what is in the best interest of our tax brackets and our businesses, because there are people who we are wholly responsible for, in our families and in our communities, who would never see the light of that particular benefit.”
There’s an implicit social contract to not only enter but to hold the door open for others. It’s why the perspectives of folks like Clarence Thomas and Candace Owens can feel like a betrayal. To be empowered by the community, only to abandon it upon gaining power, feels like a violation to an unspoken moral code. It’s no wonder then, that Black business owners over-index in social entrepreneurship—a business model which integrates social impact at its core.
For social entrepreneurs, business isn’t just about profit; it’s about innovating solutions that address systemic issues. Chief Egunwale Amusan, Austin Talbert-Loving, and Michael Phillips are among those who embody this commitment.
Reparations, Activism, and Preserving Black Wall Street
Over the course of two days in 1921, Tulsa, Oklahoma’s once-thriving Greenwood community, was ravaged and methodically dismantled. At its height, the district, known as “Black Wall Street,” was a beacon of economic prosperity and self-sufficiency, driven by enterprise and the circulation of Black wealth in the community. Greenwood’s remarkable prosperity during the Jim Crow era fostered resentment among surrounding white communities.
Fueled by jealousy and what many believe were fabricated allegations of an interracial encounter between a young Black man and a white woman, they orchestrated a violent attack. In the aftermath of the Tulsa massacre, law enforcement and government officials who failed to intervene, conspired to deny compensation for the widespread destruction. They labeled the attack a riot, blaming the community for its own devastation.
“I was not aware of the terrorism our families endured to maintain the conspiracy of silence,” Tulsa native, Chief Egunwale Amusan said. As an heir to the legacy—his grandfather Raymond Beard Sr. was a survivor—Amusan is owner and operater of The Real Black Wall Street Tour. “There’s a side to this story that often gets overlooked: the collective trauma carried by the descendants,” Amusan told ESSENCE. “When we come together, the bond we share is stronger than atoms—you can feel it, even though it’s unspoken.”
Amusan’s tours detail the legacy of Greenwood before its destruction. His mission is clear—to safeguard the sacred historical record that many seek to erase. To that end, Amusan has produced, featured in, and consulted on various related media projects including documentary and film. His book, America’s Black Wall Street, documents the history, sharing stories previously untold.
Amusan is an activist and spokesperson in the fight for justice and reparations for the descendants of massacre victims. His dedication to restoring the pride of Greenwood’s legacy exemplifies the power and potential of social entrepreneurship.
From Financial Literacy to Economic Mobility
Austin Talbert-Loving was drawn to social entrepreneurship to fill a specific void. “I saw the need to empower individuals through financial literacy, particularly within underrepresented communities,” he said. As co-architect of the The Visionary Wealth Movement, the consulting arm of the business, VWM Finance fulfills that crucial need.
Financial acumen among Black Americans is comparatively low. The insufficient grasp of essential financial concepts triggers a domino of adverse effects, further widening the racial wealth gap. It’s a problem Talbert-Loving has made it his business. He learned from experience the cost of financing naivety.
“When I was in college, I had a fiduciary financial advisor. For a while, I listened to all of his advice without hesitation. I soon came to realize that the advice he was giving me and the financial decisions I was making did not align with my goals, but rather, they were lining his pockets,” he recalled. ” I realized that my financial success was my responsibility.” Through VWM Finance, that realization is paying off in dividends.
When I met Talbert-Loving at Howard University’s Black Commerce Conference, the measured composure with which he pitched his venture reflected a maturity beyond his years. In a landscape dominated by young tech startup founders, his more traditional business model stood out. Learning of his military training, current role as a US Marine Corps officer, and background as a collegiate athlete contextualized his disciplined mindset. “I approach each pitch with one objective,” he explained, “How can I serve you by bringing value to your life?”
Being newlywed to his business partner Jaianna, he says, only intensified his motivation. Through their social enterprise, VWM Finance, Talbert-Loving offers one-on-one consultations helping clients make informed financial decisions, achieve their goals, and build generational wealth.
From Seeds of Adversity to Tilling Good Soil
Michael Phillips’ commitment to purpose-driven missions was sparked early in life. Growing up in Baltimore, he observed stark socioeconomic disparities. “I noticed at a very early age. I would ride my bike across Northern Parkway, the street that divided my neighborhood from the predominantly white neighborhood on the other side,” Phillips told ESSENCE.
“Once you crossed over it was a completely different world. It was covered with trees; they had a golf course and rolling greens. I would peek inside, fascinated,” he recalled. “You have to understand, this was just a few blocks from my predominantly Black neighborhood. We didn’t have grass in our backyard.”
That divide would be revealed in many ways throughout Phillips’ life—from his time as a collegiate athlete to later encounters with the criminal justice system, and countless inflection points between. Today, as an author, speaker, and chairman of 50CAN—a nonprofit advocating for high-quality education for children from under-resourced communities—Phillips has dedicated himself to bridging inequities through social entrepreneurship. His passion and acumen find perfect alignment in his role as Chief Operating Officer of TDJ Enterprises.
Under Phillips’ leadership, the Good Soil Movement empowers entrepreneurs with essential resources. The Good Soil Forum, the enterprise’s primary vehicle, platforms top business leaders; but “the real value,” he said, “is in the opportunities off the mainstage.” The annual forum provides attendees with wrap-around support—“everything from networking and capital investments to legal assistance and accounting advice. It covers all things business-related, regardless of what your business is.”
With a goal of helping one million entrepreneurs reach $1 million in revenue over the next decade, the event—which draws thousands of attendees to Dallas and offers seed capital grants of up to $500,000—is steadily advancing toward its objective.
