When we think about the 12% Black middle class in America, we see that there has been a rise in middle-class income from 2021 to 2023, reaching upwards of $100,000 or more. According to Brookings Institution, the Black middle class is the fastest-growing segment within the Black community, with significant expansion since 1965. However, as income has increased, a substantial wealth gap still persists. Median Black net worth reached a high of roughly $44,900 in 2022, but this remains about one-tenth of the median wealth for white households, which stands at $250,400.
This brings us to the homeownership gap, where equity accounts for over 90% of wealth gains for Black families between 2012 and 2022. Yet, a 30% homeownership gap between Black and white families limits overall wealth accumulation. One ongoing consequence is that Black children born to middle-income parents often grow up to earn less than their parents. We are seeing this now as Gen Z struggles to find jobs and achieve financial stability. Because of this, recent discussions surrounding Zohran Mamdani and his proposal to lower the estate tax exemption from roughly $7 million to just $750,000 are more than alarming.
This shift places Black middle-class families at a heightened risk of losing generational assets, particularly their homes. Wealthy individuals may not face the same burden, as they are often skilled at protecting and repositioning their assets to minimize tax exposure. One commonly discussed strategy is the “buy, borrow, die” method, where individuals leverage their assets to borrow money, reinvest those funds into additional assets, and continue this cycle over time. Upon death, these assets are then passed down to their heirs. This approach is often associated with high-profile figures like Beyoncé and Jay-Z.
But what about the Black middle class?
After news of Mamdani’s proposal circulated across social media, conversations on Black Twitter began to revive the idea of rebuilding Black Wall Street. Black Wall Street refers to the prosperous African American community in the Greenwood District of Tulsa, Oklahoma, in the early 20th century. It became a symbol of Black economic self-sufficiency and entrepreneurship. Greenwood began developing in the early 1900s, with Black settlers moving to Tulsa during the Great Migration. At its peak, it was a fully functioning Black-owned community, complete with businesses, professionals, institutions, infrastructure, wealth, and culture. Residents owned banks, land, churches, barbershops, grocery stores, hotels, theaters, and more—creating a self-sustaining economic ecosystem that became one of the most successful Black communities in American history.
That community had its own economic ecosystem, which earned it the nickname “Black Wall Street” because it was reminiscent of Manhattan’s Wall Street in both economic activity and affluence. However, following the Tulsa Race Massacre, during which white mobs destroyed Greenwood and more than 1,000 homes and businesses, survivors began rebuilding parts of the district. Small businesses returned, but the scale never reached its pre-massacre heights. By the 1960s, Greenwood remained historically significant but struggled with systemic segregation and disinvestment. During this time, there were prominent figures such as O. W. Gurley, J. B. Stradford, Buck Colbert Franklin, and A. J. Smitherman, to name a few.
Now, the question circulating is: What would Black Wall Street look like today? If the goal, as some perceive it, is the erosion of generational wealth within the Black community, it is no surprise that these conversations are gaining traction on public platforms. In terms of opportunities, the digital economy and social media could give Black entrepreneurs global reach. Access to crowdfunding, angel investors, and venture capital could also help fuel startups. However, while this sounds promising in theory, there are still significant challenges.
Redlining and housing barriers persist, as banks continue to show bias and mortgage access in historically Black neighborhoods remains limited. With policies associated with Zohran Mamdani and broader corporate restrictions, high compliance costs, zoning laws, and city regulations can slow business growth. Estate and inheritance taxes—where generational wealth is typically transferred—can further erode family wealth without careful planning. The systemic wealth gap is also far from closing. While many corporations offer seminars, conferences, and workshops targeted toward Black women, the reality is that access to capital remains nonexistent. In many cases, these initiatives function as marketing or promotional expenses for the companies that host them.
So, could Black Wall Street rise again? The answer is yes—but it would look completely different from what it once was. Unfortunately, it is unlikely that this generation will be the one to fully realize it. When a generation is heavily investing its time and money into platforms like Zeus Network, which produces shows such as Baddies, it raises questions about whether the collective focus needed for such a movement is currently in place.
There are, however, many African American men and women finding success independently, even if their achievements are often minimized or overlooked. Until there is a shift away from waiting for the wealthy to provide opportunities—and toward actively supporting, funding, and promoting independent creators—progress will remain limited. Without that shift, the idea of a modern Black Wall Street may continue to live primarily in conversation, circulating on social media without ever fully materializing into something tangible.