I sat on a bench on Houston Street on a busy NYC afternoon. I watched people funnel inside Russ & Daughters. They were tourists, locals, and celebrities. Martha Stewart was standing at the very back of the well-known shop. I ran up into my apartment and grabbed several cookies from my fridge, ones I’d poured years into perfecting. I was going to pitch myself to Martha Stewart. 

I changed out of my sweats and into these overalls that looked like a Bob Ross piece, pine trees and clouds painted over their surface. I took my hair down and fluffed my curls, then painted mascara over my lashes. If anything, I wanted her to see me as a hopeful, brightyoung Black woman who had a chance and a dream. I was going to give her my cookies. 

I squeezed past loud men and crammed myself into that small shop; I breathed energy into my expression and stood with confidence, then approached her.

“Hello. You’re Martha Stewart, correct?” I said in the smoothest and most welcoming voice that had ever left my lips. I was brutally aware of how I appeared; I was a Black woman approaching this rich, famous white woman in the back of a store. Did I look disarming enough? 

She gave me a sidelong glance. “Yes?”

I breathed more eagerness into my smile. “My name is Via Carpenter. I’m the founder of Via’s Cookies, a business that makes delicious cookies that can be enjoyed by people with and without food restrictions and donates 5% of its profits to struggling BIPOC and LGBTQ+ college students. I’d like you to have these.”

I gave her the cookies.

She raised an eyebrow and asked me a question, and I answered, but at that point, my nerves had taken over, and I couldn’t remember a word that we exchanged after my pitch. Never once did she smile, but her family members flanking her did. I gave her my business card and thanked her, then went on my way. What was that all for? She definitely wouldn’t eat some random girl’s cookies, and there was a perfectly good trash can outside that she could toss them into as she left. But as I ran back up into my apartment, climbing those 6 flights of stairs, I clenched my fist. I was going to make it. And the reason? Because I wanted to truly change lives.

I’d need to talk to someone closer to the cause, I decided. I needed to talk to Ben Cohen of Ben & Jerry’s.

Fast forward.

I was at the house of the Ben & Jerry’s Foundation President, sitting on his beautiful lawn. I had looked to my right, where Ben, one of the co-founders, was smiling at me. “Let’s try those cookies!”

I’d broken the first one into pieces and gave Ben my Lemmie Boy cookie.

“Wow! This is really good! I like the salt!”

I was giddy like a schoolgirl; I was sitting with someone I’d only dreamed of meeting; he was a hero in my book. He’d started and scaled a business with a foundation that gave to the same communities I cared about. “Thank you, Ben! I really put my heart into that one.” I had. The Lemmie Boy was my favorite. We talked about Gaza, we talked about the government, and we talked about cookies and ice cream. He told me stories of movements that had worked, silly things they’d done like fill up a swimming pool with ice cream, and how they’d made customer suggestions into flavors, like Cherry Garcia.  

If he could do it, so could I. 

I left that meeting with a skip in my step and got back to work on my business.

The bottom line is: I want to live a peaceful life. I want to be happy, and I want the people around me to be happy. How do I create something that works toward these goals?I like cookies, so that’s the first step. Cookies make people happy. What else needs to change so that a Black woman like me isn’t so stressed all the time and constantly fighting for a voice, a place to live, a fair chance at life? Well, the entire system. What’s at the core of a broken system? Lots of things. America was founded on the premise of dividing and conquering. Okay, let me take a step back. What’s something that directly affected me and impacted me in a way that influenced me to even ask these questions and follow a path of social good? My education. It was college that pulled me out of dark waters and placed me on dry land. Okay. So I would support minorities in their college educations, encourage them to go to school, and learn what was wrong with the system. If you have an educated populace, they will learn that they are being oppressed and want things to change.

Running a business is no easy task, and when you add the fact that you’re Black, a woman, queer, come from a low-income household, and are a first-gen college student to boot, the obstacles seem endless. Yet, the hope of change drives me. I’m a foot soldier, a soldier of love, as Sade sang in my dad’s car on repeat when I was 12. My duty with this business is to use the machine to redirect money into the hands of my community. The guys at Ben & Jerry’s told me, “You can run a business any way you want.”

Georgia Gilmore, a Black woman, funded the Montgomery Bus Boycott with her pound cakes. Greyston Bakery, founded by a Zen Peacemaker, does open hiring to make their brownies. Ben & Jerry’s helps migrant workers get fair pay, and the list goes on. I can use my sweets for revolution, and if I have the power to do anything right here, right now, that’s what I’m gonna do.

So, let’s do this. I can give BIPOC and LGBTQ+ people jobs. I can donate profits to help pay for Black students’ educations. I can make cookie boxes where half of the proceeds go to food fundraisers for Palestinians. I’ve done every one of these things. I will do more. I want the money lining the pockets of billionaires to be reallocated, because at Via’s Cookies, we’re about revolution and community. Drop that Oreo and look my way, friend. While this is the game that those white men wanna play, I’m going to take that money and feed my people.

If Ben & Jerry’s got so big that a giant ice cream conglomerate corporation is now trying to silence them, then I guess a business really can make a difference.

So while we use our dollars, it’s best we spend them with our neighbors, friends, and businesses that use their influence to make the world a better place. Stop buying from Amazon, and stop selling your goods on Amazon! Stop going to Target, and don’t stock Target’s shelves with your product! When I tell my friends to divest, they argue: But this is the only platform that works well for my music! If I get my CPG snack into Whole Foods, I’ve made it! NO! If we as a collective decided that we don’t like how Whole Foods is owned by Jeff Bezos (who cozies up next to Trump and silences journalists), and we pull our products from their shelves, turning to local grocers who carry products from our local farmers and friends, then Whole Foods will fall. Do you get it? Consumer power is running the machine. If as many people who complained about Spotify’s terrible practices actually quit using the platform, their stocks would plummet, and they’d have to scramble to change, to get us back. 

America is a business, and we the people power it. 

As long as I’m working for myself, I can create anything and put my product wherever I want. I can be a loving employer. I can pay my workers well. I can create a brand where we sell cookies and give money away to help people get college educations; where we buy our employees a long, luxurious massage (administered by a local Black queer person) as a holiday gift, because they fucking deserve it; where we upgrade to sustainable packaging that is biodegradable and recyclable. Owning a business is hard, but it can be used to change the world. As long as I have people backing my cause and redirecting their dollars from a pack of corporate cookies to mine, then we can do anything.

As this company grows, we’re going to give more, do more, and be more. I know that I’m fighting a battle here; it’s damn sweet that I’m doing it via cookies. 

Follow my instagram and head to my website to buy my holiday box. I’m donating 5% of the profits to help a young black mother in Boston get a new laptop to start her college career. @viascookies www.viascookies.com