A few weeks ago, as Black people began calling for a boycott of Target, Amazon, and Walmart in response to their rollbacks on DEI initiatives, I was conversing with my mother. She’s a staunchly pro-Black woman in her early 70s, a product of the Civil Rights Movement, raised in a time when activism was an everyday reality, not just a trending topic.

“Where am I supposed to get stuff now?” she asked, shaking her head.

I thought she was joking. I laughed.

“I’m serious! I get everything from Amazon. What am I supposed to do?”

I said the first thing that came to mind. “Well, I’m sure the people who boycotted the Montgomery bus system wondered the same thing at first, but they figured out how to get around,” I reminded her. “Girl! Wasn’t it your generation that taught us how to protest with sit-ins and boycotts?”

She chuckled, “I see your point. Thanks for the reminder.”

That conversation stuck with me. Because the truth is, while my mom’s generation did pave the way for modern protest movements, they also endured hardships that many of us today aren’t ready for. They walked miles to work when they refused to ride segregated buses. They risked their livelihoods when they boycotted white-owned businesses that refused to hire Black workers. Some, like Medgar Evers, were murdered for daring to call for economic justice.

So, as we sit here debating whether we can give up two-day shipping or Target’s aesthetically pleasing aisles, the real question isn’t whether a boycott is possible—it’s whether we’re willing to make the same sacrifices our ancestors did.

We’re in a strange place when it comes to activism. Black resistance is still alive, but the way we mobilize has changed. The protests of 2020 filled the streets with demands for justice, yet in the years since, we’ve watched corporations make hollow DEI pledges only to abandon them when they became politically inconvenient.

Companies like Target, which once championed diversity initiatives, are now caving to conservative backlash. Meanwhile, Amazon remains one of the largest funders of anti-union efforts, disproportionately affecting Black and brown warehouse workers. And Walmart? Their track record on labor rights, fair wages, and racial equity has long been under scrutiny.

But here’s the kicker—Black people in America wield $1.7 trillion in spending power. That’s more than the GDP of Mexico. We are not a niche market. We are an economic force. Yet, companies continue to ignore our demands, assuming that no matter how much they disrespect us, we’ll keep spending.

And historically, they’ve been right.

If history has taught us anything, it’s that collective Black economic action works. So what’s holding us back in 2025?

As my mom implied, we’ve become spoiled. Our lives are built around instant gratification—why spend hours running errands when you can order everything from groceries to household essentials with a single click?

But consider this: during the Montgomery Bus Boycott of 1955, Black people walked miles to work for over a year—381 days, to be exact. Some carpooled, others relied on Black taxi drivers who lowered their fares to match bus prices. They found a way.

Compare that to today, when the thought of deleting Amazon Prime gives people heart palpitations. But the truth is, most of us could find alternatives. Supporting Black-owned businesses, buying local, or simply being more intentional with our spending is not impossible—it’s just inconvenient. But when has liberation ever been convenient?

One of the most striking things about that viral video of a Black woman confronting Target shoppers was how many people had no idea a boycott was happening.

Part of the problem is that we live in information silos. Not everyone is on social media, and mainstream news outlets rarely highlight grassroots economic movements. And let’s be real—most celebrities, influencers, and Black media figures won’t speak on these issues because they don’t want to mess up their brand deals.

But during the 1963 Birmingham campaign, Black churches, student groups, and community leaders made sure everyone knew when and where to boycott. They printed flyers, knocked on doors, and used Black radio stations to spread the word. They didn’t rely on CNN or The Shade Room. They organized.

We need that same energy now. It’s not enough for a few woke folks on Twitter to be mad. If this movement is going to work, we have to take it offline and into our real lives—starting with our families, our friends, and our communities.

The final, and maybe most dangerous, hurdle is apathy. So many of us are exhausted. We’re working more, earning less, and watching the world spiral into chaos. The constant stream of bad news—from layoffs to police violence to political corruption—makes individual action feel pointless.

But let me remind you: the Civil Rights Movement didn’t happen because people were comfortable. It happened because they were fed up.

• The Greensboro Four—four Black college students who staged a sit-in at a segregated Woolworth’s lunch counter in 1960—knew they could be attacked, arrested, or worse. Yet, their protest sparked a national movement, leading to the desegregation of public spaces.
• Fannie Lou Hamer, a sharecropper’s daughter, was beaten for registering Black voters, but she never stopped fighting.
• Medgar Evers was shot dead in his own driveway after spending years organizing economic boycotts in Mississippi.

These people didn’t just face Twitter arguments and inconvenience—they faced death. And yet, they pushed forward.

So, when we say, “I don’t know if my little action will make a difference”—we’re missing the bigger picture.

Corporations are betting on our short attention spans and fatigue. They assume that if they wait long enough, we’ll forget, get distracted, and move on. They believe that we’re too comfortable to sustain real economic resistance.

We have to prove them wrong.

• Start small. If quitting Amazon cold turkey isn’t realistic, reduce your spending there and find alternative retailers.
• Shop Black whenever possible. Sites like WeBuyBlack and apps like Official Black Wall Street make it easier.
• Talk to your people. Your aunties, your cousins, your group chats—make sure they know what’s going on.
• Hold celebrities accountable. If they can promote liquor brands, they can support Black economic movements.
• Remember your history. We’ve done this before. And we won.

The question isn’t whether a boycott can work.

The question is: Are we willing to sacrifice for it?