Growing up in Mississippi, my family never talked about money, but I could infer how much people had by pattern keeping at Christmas time. My uncle Chip was always good for money, an absolute delight. JCPenney's, here I come. (Laughter) Mama Adele would always give us apples, oranges, butterscotch candy, in a brown paper bag. It was a gift given with love and it meant a lot coming from the matriarch of our family. Now my parents, my parents would make sure my twin and I were fresh in the latest fashions. Girbaud jeans, Starter jackets. Looking good made us feel rich, even if we weren't. So it was interesting because I remember having a myriad of conversations about prison reform, the education system, voter rights, but a candid conversation about money, it never happened. When I went to graduate school, my world expanded. Hearing my friends talk about their overseas adventures made me envious. I didn't even have a passport at the time. When I got my first job post graduate school, I was making 70,000 dollars. I was rich. But that shopping spree at JCPenney's was no longer going to scratch that itch. I needed to do whatever I could to be legit wealthy. I think that’s why one of the many Oprah Winfrey episodes that I watched [in] the early 2000s stood out to me. On this particular episode, Suze Orman was the guest. And for those of you who don't know, Suze is an American author and financial advisor, and she has the most perfect white teeth I've ever seen. (Laughter) Well, Suze was talking about 401(k)s, and I got the basic gist of what she was saying. Save a little money now, have a lot of money in the future. Sounded great, amazing, sign me up. So I went to meet a wealth advisor, somebody I met off the internet. I just knew that this random person was going to unlock some magical room and give me all the tricks I needed to be wealthy. I mean big house, fancy cars, luxurious vacation. I was excited until I wasn't. The nondescript building in a strip mall did not boost my confidence that this was how the wealthy managed their affairs. (Laughter) I was placed in a small white waiting room and I stayed there for what felt like forever. Finally, a man came in who could not even bother to learn the correct pronunciation of my name and asked me what my goals were for the future. OK, I'm excited again. I know the answer to this. Number one, I would like to retire comfortably by the age of 60. Number two, I would like to be able to take care of my mom. His response, "I don't know why taking care of your mother is your responsibility." He then went on to speak in some financial jargon I could not understand. The entire interaction took me so aback that I vowed to share the bare minimum the rest of the meeting. I could not figure out what I was missing, but it made me question everything. Maybe I did not know what wealth was. Maybe wealth was not intended for people like me. Maybe I was reaching for too much. So I find it funny, or maybe serendipitous that I think about cash and wealth all the time now. For the last ten years, I've led an organization in Jackson, Mississippi, that takes a radically community-driven approach to supporting families, mainly Black women, that live in federally subsidized affordable housing. Our programs are strategic and holistic. A few years ago, we became concerned that we were not moving the needle on poverty. So we went to the women that we work with and we said, "What are we missing?" The answers were all different, but the underlying problem was the same. The problem was the lack of cash. No money for pizza on a Friday night was causing stress. Unexpected car repairs were leading to unemployment because people could not get to and from work. So we began to research how do you give money, not another program, to people experiencing poverty? In 2018, we launched the Magnolia Mother's Trust, this country's first modern guaranteed-income program, and the first in the world to center its efforts on Black women. (Cheers) Thank you. (Applause) Quickly, for the uninitiated, a guaranteed income is a specific amount of money given to a specific population over a set amount of time. It's typically funded by private philanthropy or in some instances, the public sector. It's not a new idea. Jenny Tillman, a mom and welfare activist, called for a guaranteed income way back in 1972, and even Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and President Nixon indicated that a guaranteed income could help solve for poverty. It's not a new idea, but like I said, we are pioneers and our efforts are working. We provide 1,000 dollars a month for 12 months to Black mothers. And our goal is simple: to provide these women with the breathing room they need by giving them the financial resources they need to dream a little bigger. We provide -- Thank you. (Applause)