In a stunning turn of events that even the most ardent cynics might consider theatrical, federal officials gathered in a swanky conference room, adorned with noble flags and the faint aroma of designer coffee, to announce what they proudly dubbed a ‘historic victory’ for Black residents of Alabama. The applause was deafening as they unveiled their grand plan to settle longstanding discrimination claims that—get this—stemmed from the tidal wave of injustice served upon these communities after extreme flooding events had turned neighborhoods into swim parks. You see, while rivers may have risen, so too did the bureaucratic charm of federal officials, who have creatively deemed this flood of injustice not worthy of the usual legislative paddling. Instead of addressing the root causes of systemic racism and neglect, they opted to resolve the issue with payouts that, quite frankly, could barely cover the cost of a family dinner at the local Denny’s. As cameras flashed and well-meaning politicians patted themselves on the back, the announcement was accompanied by an impressive display of PowerPoint slides showcasing how wonderfully they have “listened” to the community. Terms like “holistic solutions” and “listening tours” floated around the room like confetti, making clear how deeply these officials had truly immersed themselves in the local culture—as if a Zoom call could replace decades of lived experiences. In a separate but completely unrelated development, local residents were left aghast after being told that progress was now being made. “Some money is better than no money,” said one resident, who wished to remain anonymous after being inundated with a steady stream of mail claiming the settlement money would finally arrive just after their first child graduated high school. “I’m just happy to see someone else getting some recognition for our plight. It’s about time folks in these pristine suits get some ‘credit’ for all this hard work.” The government’s ingenious plan to apply a band-aid over an extensive systemic issue didn’t escape the notice of local activists, who popped out of the woodwork like dissenting mushrooms after a rainstorm. “Isn’t it just lovely?” said one impassioned community organizer, “to drown in debt and despair while they hopscotch over the real issues? Perhaps the next time it floods, we should just hold a town hall and ask the rainclouds to consider diversity in their precipitation patterns!” As the press conference concluded, officials assured the public that while they couldn’t promise that the weather would cooperate, they were optimistic that their feeble commitments to uphold fairness and equity would surely weather the storm of criticism that followed the announcement. Amid the cheers and celebrations, a discreet note was passed around, stating that the next time the rain fell, local residents could join the federal officials for a celebratory boat ride—because there’s really nothing quite like bonding over a few waves of flooding. Alabama’s future was clear: as long as the rain kept falling, so would the empty promises, washing away the dreams of true equity. But at least the suits could have a party, right? Priorities!