I absolutely enjoy attending Black professional-centered events.
Spaces built for us, by us, to connect, build, and grow.
From AfroTech to CultureCon to EssenceFest, these gatherings are where ideas spark, careers shift, and community thrives. But lately, what dominates the conversation is the loud criticism online.
If you scroll social media after one of these events, you’ll see a pattern of long threads about poor logistics, influencer favoritism, or a loss of focus on the culture. Constructive feedback is fair game, but what we’re seeing now isn’t that. It’s performative outrage with a pile-on of complaints that feed algorithms but starve our progress.
Let’s start with the funding gap. Black-led conferences already operate at a disadvantage when it comes to corporate sponsorship. They fight for every dollar, often working with budgets a fraction of those of mainstream events. Without those dollars, it dries up opportunities, reduces job fairs, cuts programming, and makes next year’s event harder to pull off.
Publicly dragging our own institutions reshapes the story about them. Instead of being seen as spaces of Black excellence and innovation, they’re painted as chaotic, unorganized, or “falling off.” It doesn’t matter that massive white-led festivals have their own disasters. Do you all remember Fyre Festival? Those brands still get grace and second chances.
View on Threads
Take EssenceFest, for example. This year’s criticism focused on everything from corporate partnerships to the festival’s supposed “identity shift” away from its Black American roots. Some attendees felt disconnected by a push toward Pan-African inclusivity, while others took that debate into ugly, xenophobic territory. Of course, there might have been logistical hiccups but reducing the entire event to “a mess” ignores the cultural labor behind it. Essence has been a cornerstone of Black celebration for decades, and it’s evolving.
Or look at AfroTech. This is my second year covering the event. The talk online was that sessions reached capacity too quickly, and big-name sponsors were missing. But how can we forget that major tech companies are laying off thousands, cutting DEI programs, and backing away from anything that looks “too inclusive.” Local HBCUs have been hit by the same anti-DEI policies. So yes, some booths were empty. But the energy? The networking? The innovation? Still unmatched. That’s why AfroTech needs to do a three-peat next year.
View on Threads
At these events, I’ve seen people land jobs, launch startups, and meet lifelong collaborators. I’ve also seen the hustle coexist with the party atmosphere, people making career moves in between happy hours. There’s nothing wrong with that duality. It’s part of how we build.
We hold our events to impossible standards. So instead of offering solution-oriented feedback, we turn every misstep into public spectacle. We become our own harshest critics.
These events need deeper community engagement. The people behind them, Black planners, marketers, engineers, and volunteers, pour months of unpaid labor and heart into creating something for us.
Let’s direct-message organizers with feedback. Fill out the post-event surveys. Offer to volunteer or sponsor. If you really want to see improvement, help build it.
Because if we keep trashing our own institutions in public, we’ll eventually have none left to critique. And I promise you, no one outside our community is waiting to fill that gap for us.
