Snatch Back: YMI on Building Black Futures

What does it mean to protect Black space in a moment set on erasure?

In this episode, we sit down with Rev. Sean Palmer, Executive Director of the historic YMI Cultural Center, for a grounded, wide-ranging conversation about Black institutions, cultural memory, and the high-stakes work of building Black futures together.

Sean invites listeners to see Black cultural centers not as static organizations, but as living organisms shaped by joy and grief, strategy and spirit, history and imagination.

The challenge: To steward legacy without freezing it in time.

In a moment where Black space is under threat through policy, funding decisions, and cultural amnesia, Sean weighs in on what it takes to lead with both courage and care. From dismantling plantation logic in cultural center leadership to naming the danger of siloed Black organizing, this conversation is both a reckoning and a roadmap.

The YMI’s role? Preservation and possibility. Memory and movement. As Sean puts it: “This is a place of Sankofa. We will go back and fetch it—and we will take it into our Afro future.”

About Sean: Rev. Sean Hasker Palmer is a seasoned higher education leader with 20+ years of experience and a national expert in Black Cultural Centers. He currently serves as Executive Director of the historic YMI Cultural Center in Asheville, NC, following eight award-winning years at UNC Wilmington's Upperman Center. A member of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc., and a Commissioner on the Gullah Geechee Corridor, Sean is also Vice President of the Association for Black Culture Centers (ABCC). He is the former supply pastor of Chestnut Street Presbyterian Church in Wilmington, NC, and he is pursuing his Ph.D. at NC A&T. Sean has been working on a book that combines poetry and preaching entitled Black and Therefore Beautiful: Meditations for My People.

🎧 Ready to help snatch back what's owed — with interest? Hit play.

We'll see you same time, same place next month. Until then, peace.

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:03

We're profoundly, profoundly interconnected. We don't always live that way, we don't always acknowledge it. But if we're going to heal, we have to live it, experience it, and create institutions that celebrate it. Can we create a we when no one's on the outside of it?

SPEAKER_00 0:20

Welcome to the Uplift with Zedek, real talk for real change. Before we jump in, a quick reminder of why we're here and what we hope to achieve. We're here to build authentic community relationships and help fuel social transformation in Nashville, North Carolina. We believe collective liberation is not only possible but probable as we share, listen, and learn together. We're here for the process. However, the views and opinions expressed in this program are those of the speakers and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of any entities they represent.

SPEAKER_02 0:49

Welcome to the uplift. My name is Libby Kyles, and I'm the executive director of Zedek's Social Justice Fund. And today, today, today, in honor of the wonderful Dr. Martin Luther King, we have a rare treat for you. We are sitting down with the, I will say new executive director, although he's been in hot Asheville for a year, Sean Palmer.

SPEAKER_03 1:16

I think you were about to say hot seat. And I love that. Happy MLK Day to everybody. And as we restart the Ashefield chapter, very excited about that. I'm also a clergy or that licensed ordained Baptist clergy in the Progressive Baptist Convention, which is the convention that he created out of the civil rights movement. So it is providential, if you will, to be here with you on this day.

SPEAKER_02 1:51

Awesome. Thank you so much for joining us today.

SPEAKER_03 1:54

Yeah.

SPEAKER_02 1:55

I I'm gonna just dive right in. So you have now been at the YMI for a year.

SPEAKER_04 2:01

Yes.

SPEAKER_02 2:02

Is there anything that you would like to highlight about this past year?

SPEAKER_03 2:07

I mean, the uh YMI is such a beautiful and interesting organism. I want to call it an organization, but the level of perseverance really means that it's more of an organism. It's an institution that has had a breath and life of its own all the way back into the 1800s. It is older than anything that we really know. Um, it's older than the NAACP, older than almost all of our Greek or all of our Greek organizations, many of our HBCUs, most of our churches and their denominations. Sometimes I am taken aback and have to take a breath when I think about the depth of the organization. I think one thing I've learned is that the organization is both beloved and I wouldn't say hated, but uh definitely has a bit of a storied past um where folks are critical of its ability to move forward. So I think the nuance is living both in its triumph and its sorrow. But that's the norm of most black institutions.

On Stewardship Amid Erasure Politics

SPEAKER_02 3:13

Of course it is. And and given that one of the founders was Isaac Dixon. Yep. And one of the things I loved about Isaac Dixon, so you don't know this, but I used to be a fifth-grade teacher. Come on, teacher. And I taught at Isaac Dixon Elementary School. Come on. And one of the things that was so instrumental about Isaac Dixon was when the black community needed something, whatever that thing was, Isaac Dixon made it happen. So when the black community needed a place and a space to be able to care and make it reliable for themselves, the YMI came about, right?

SPEAKER_04 3:47

Yeah.

SPEAKER_02 3:47

Thinking about the history of the YMI, how does it feel to now hold that history in your hand and carry that baton forward?

SPEAKER_03 3:59

Uh, in this moment, both dangerous. And I say dangerous because it is easy to carry things that are cultural things that are artifacts from our past into the future in this moment and find them being taken out and erased and questioned and put up on shelves. Because this is a moment in history and in time where a racer through the eyes of racialized politics is really doing a number. It's not just undoing DEI, what we diversity, equity, and inclusion. This moment is undoing civil rights work. Yeah. And that work is much is a bit older, and folks don't really want black folks to have space in the world because we have asked for space in the world. So there's a bit of danger in this moment because funding is so critical, appreciation is so critical, the politics of this thing is so critical that if you get it wrong, you could do real damage. Yes. So I think there's a there's a part of me that is thinking about what it means to be both brave and dangerous at the same time. And to inherit the legacy of, say, Sojourner Truth or Harriet Tubman or Frederick Douglass, and to live in a place where you might not, we don't know what tomorrow will bring for our organizations and what fight they will fight tomorrow that will be different from the fight today. I think that is one unique piece. The second thing is I realize I'm holding something that is dear and near to the community. I realize that this has been kept together with a lot of love, care, moxie, a lot of um intentional strategy and politic to make sure that this center lives into perpetuity. And whether it has been in black hands or white hands, even though Asheville is no perfect community, Asheville seems to have a sense that the YMI needs to be a part of its legacy. I don't know how long that will last, given benevolence in this moment and how the world works. But I realize that that has been when I look at this, when I'm a steward of history as a person who taught Africana studies at the college level, what I see is a vast difference in terms of what I see here versus a place like Wilmington or even Raleigh Durham. But what I would say is the black community has been allowed to have things. And it's almost like the YMI is just one of the things because I could argue that you got smaller versions of YMIs in almost every legacy community. And that might not be intentional, but that is unheard of if you're in Columbia or if you're in where I'm from, from Columbia, South Carolina, or if you're in Durham or Wilmington. Yes, there are sides of the town, there are places of the town, there are places where black folks live. Folks put up a little marker and say they we wish they were here once upon a time when they were colored, but they have not been allowed to keep things and to have spaces to galvanize and to have community. And so I'm grateful that I am in a city, and I think I thought about that a lot before I moved here. I'm grateful to be in a place where folks are okay with letting black things live to some degree. It's a complicated history.

SPEAKER_02 7:07

It is a complicated history, and you know, a lot of the ways in which we in Asheville have black spaces came unexpectedly because our communities were geographically segregated for a reason, right?

SPEAKER_04 7:21

Yeah.

On Cultural Work Lessons

SPEAKER_02 7:21

They didn't realize that the Shiloh community would become what the Shiloh community is. You know, whether we talk about Stevens Lee, as I grew up in Asheville, so y'all, you don't get to see this, but we are right now in the boardroom of the YMI. And so as I look out and I look around, I know that in this area, these were all black-owned businesses. Yeah. Right. And so the storied history for the YMI is vast. And holding it together did not come without its adversity. I'm curious to know, are there lessons that you learned in your work at Duke University or in Wilmington that you brought with you that supported you as you've journeyed through thus far this year?

SPEAKER_03 8:06

Yeah, I I would argue that um I would argue that when I decided that I was going to do cultural center work, it was really early on. I went to college to be a doctor. I was supposed to be a pediatrician. My family tells a story that um I tested into the upper level classes, but I did not enjoy it. And I got to the university, I was, I mean, I got to McAllister College in '94 and felt like I did not know enough about my own people. And I took a class, I basically took every black professor they had. That's how I came up with my major. So I switched out of my major right around junior year. I did a major in English with double minders in religious studies. As you can imagine with black folks, black folks scream at you when you move from the STEM to the humanities and they say, What you gonna do with that? There's there's no money in that. There's nothing you can get out of that. At the time, I had no idea what I could do with those with that degree. That being said, my whole life has been loving black folks. My whole career, I dream in black people every day. The legacy of what I get to do, the joy of what I get to do, is that I get to dream and tell stories about black people every day. And I don't take that lightly. I want to say this to anybody listening who's got children interested in this stuff. They can make six figures doing this work. We're not gonna stem our way out of the racisms and the political environment. Like, we don't get anything from erasing our past and not knowing the depth of history. So when you ask the question, what are the lessons that I learned? I learned the cultural center cannot be a place that mimics the plantation. That is first.

SPEAKER_02 9:47

Can you say that again for the people in the chat?

SPEAKER_03 9:50

The plantation and the cultural center cannot look like twins. The reason I say that is because people forget that African Americans were sometimes chosen as overseers in spaces. And when we go to work, the plantation is the first business of definitely the South. It creates most business structures and the way in which we hypersurveil our coworkers and staff members. It is the way in which we have to treat people when we're fire and we don't get to use restorative justice practices. And I watched a number of folk who came in and out of cultural center work, hate, like really trying to discover their own selves and ended up hating being in the cultural center because the cultural center reified not just the horrors of slavery, but every stereotype that could be imagined, meaning horrible supervision, no vision, no money, um, low pay, long hours. What I have tried to do in my career as a manager of cultural spaces and as a vice president for other directors who are running cultural centers around the country, out of ABCC, which is the Association for Black Cultural Centers, is that I have tried to tell folks like the first thing is we have to disengage the plantation. If cultural centers are going to live, they have to be places that breathe joy into learning, joy into community. We can't think that we're doing something for the community, like we are giving you something. We can't approach it with this kind of paternal attitude that I think a lot of us have embodied because that's the way we get it. We have to open these spaces to be intergenerational. We have to make these spaces fun. Yes. Fun and cool and interesting. And I've learned that when cultural centers really dig into kind of embodiment of blackness, when we embody cool, we embody new and hip, but also in it like also old school, when we allow our practices to vacillate from the newest of practices like hip hop to the oldest of practices like you know, spirituals, we get the best. Cultural centers are where all of those dance. I use the term paracaresis. Paracoresis is a term I got from seminary, and it just means dance together. Things work together, they are inextricably tied together. And there is a paracuresis between intergenerations. There's a paracoresis between Gen Z, who uses 304 to mean something totally different. Um, but there are fit to be tired for my grandparents that all that like you can go to almost any black community in America and hear those things, those terms used. So that is the thing that I take with me on this journey. I have also learned that civil rights strategy has to be used in cultural center management. Civil rights strategy. A lot of us, we have not studied the civil rights movement. We do not know that you cannot play every role. You cannot be Malcolm X and Martin Luther the King. You cannot be Rosa Parks and Fannie Lou Hamer. You've got to choose your role and you've got to bring other people into your community to have other roles and know that when they do their thing, that their thing will be tied to your thing, but your thing is your thing.

SPEAKER_02 13:01

Is your thing.

On Collective Organization

SPEAKER_03 13:01

Is your thing. And not only that, the strategies of the civil rights movement remind us of the level of subversiveness that black people use in everyday life. So, Twitter, as an example, we have to know that our social media is not just about putting out cutesy things. Our social media has to be a strategy of getting folks to learn things, to understand what we're doing because we're up again, all black institutions are up against the stereotype threat of being said they're not doing enough. They're not reaching the community, they're not doing all the things, they're dysfunctional. We are all hitting those moments. We are also up against the threat of that black folks feel that the white man's ice is colder, which means that all things white are amazing and all things black are dysfunctional. I want to undo those notions every day in cultural center management. I want to undo those notions when I think about the role of, say, my other peers around the city, whether we're talking about my daddy taught me that or RSA, across the street, Eagle Market Street. We all have a role to play in our city. Moja has a role to play in our city, yes. And they can use the building, they can be inside the building, we can collaborate, but their role is significantly different. And I trust them to do their work as experts as they should trust me to do my work as an expert.

SPEAKER_02 14:20

You can't see it, but my heart is like beaming right now because that is a lot of the conversation that we have in Black Ashefield. Yeah, is the fact that it can't be one organization that does it all, but we all have a role to play. And when we trust that each organization, each leader is competent in the role that they play, the symbiosis is beautiful.

On YMI's Future

SPEAKER_03 14:43

Yeah, I agree. I think, I think it's how we understand the NAACP. Walk with me, walk with me, churn. That's what they would say on the coast. NAACP, we go to, we think of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, founded out of the Niagara movement as the seminal only organization that did work in civil rights. But if you go a step further than probably what those textbooks say in your classroom, or if you actually read the textbook, or if you actually go and pull another book, you would know that there were a number of organizations, both local and national. There were black women cooking pies to keep the movement together. They were selling pies to make sure that folks had transportation in Birmingham and other places. There were black folks who were the first, whether you're talking Little Rock Night, who were the first to go integrate places, knowing that those spaces were going to be hostile from day one. There was SNCC who said, no, like the way y'all are doing this is incorrect. We can no longer allow our bodies to be beaten and they develop into the Black Panther Party. And again, like as James Cohn has said in his book, Martin and Malcolm in America, you don't get the kind of civil rights justices that we get with just one approach. You need all of the approaches. All of them. All of the approaches. Like it would be the equivalent to saying in the club, I need all my bad on the flow. Right. And that is really what we need in this moment. We need churches to help. We need churches to keep Black History Month alive in the church and to teach children as a third literary space how to read poetry, do the announcements. We need that continued level of leadership in the church. Stop taking the things out of the church and just making church about praise and worship music and a sermon. The church has an educational purpose. You won't have a church if you don't do it. The same is true of our arts organizations. Our arts organizations have to live. Our fraternities and sororities have to make sure that they are at scholarship and training up kids who are ready to go to college is a part of their mission, but not leaving behind the kids who not who choose not to go to college. Same with masonry, same with all the different programs that we run across the city. One challenge that we have is that we are too siloed in the nation. But specifically in Asheville, if I had one major complaint about Asheville, is that the mountains have taught us to distrust one another and not to marvel at the beauty of God. And I say that intentionally. They wanted to create a society, which we know now as maroon societies. That wasn't to make us silos so that we don't like the other side of town. And what I see with organizations in our city, as probably the person I might call ourselves the big brother organization because we're the oldest in the country. But what I see with our fellow organizations is that if I'm not at the table, then the table does not exist. If no one called on me, if we're not doing it, the pie and the tea can't be made. The pie and tea will be made, beloved. It may not have the recipe that you have, but the pie and tea will be made. There's a story of a prophet who thought he was the only prophet in the land in the Old Testament, and God hides him in the mountains. And he starts complaining about being the only prophet. And God says, go out on the cliff of the mountains. And I'm paraphrasing, but he says, go out on the mountains, and he starts showing him all the different prophets across the land. God is speaking to him in a small voice after keeping him safe in the mountains. He says, Now I want you to know something. You're not the only one. None of this is about us. This is not about me. This is about a community, and this is about being a bridge over troubled water. This is about doing the work that I'm called to as a social justice advocate. And that work is done collectively. We do not get anywhere without collective organization.

SPEAKER_02 18:48

That was refreshing. And you talked about that third space, that third place. And I feel like I read that in The Mountain Express. So in the article, you talked about that third space, and you know, that place where all black folks can show up, whether you are a teacher, an artist, a politician, whether you're queer, whatever the thing is, you are, you are black first.

SPEAKER_04 19:13

Yes.

SPEAKER_02 19:13

And one of the quotes you made in that article was that cultural centers without community ties are on the verge of death. What does a live look like for the YMI five years from now?

SPEAKER_03 19:27

Ooh, you okay. I love that. I love that you did your research. What does the YMI look like? One of the challenges of Asheville is that there are lots of black microcommunities. And when I say that, those micro communities, like as you pointed out, are siloed by their by some variants. The easy variance is you're not from here. There is a cumya benya mentality. I use the gulla folks as my way to describe that because I really believe most black Ashvilians. Are from Gullah Country. And so come here, been ya, come here meaning that you have come here from somewhere else. And binya meaning you have been here for at least a few generations. So I see that being one major factor in Black life, but that's not the only one. We have a large, queer black population that often finds itself only in white spaces and kind of on the margins of blackness because they are afraid that they won't be accepted. Unfortunately, we're not Atlanta or Atlanta, for those of you who like, you know, perfect English. There is a progressive nature to our city that reminds me of, say, San Francisco and the Bay Area. But there are black folks who go, I can't go to the, I can't be a part of the black community, end quotes. Because in their mind, black means churchy, Greeky, or poverty, or wealthy, right? Like one of those. So depending on what kind of black you are, right? We have a number of black folks who are married interracially. You will see them, but you will not see their spouse. So then you got a you got a Greek black population, and you got a church black population, and then you got a political black population, and you got a professional black, you have a we have a small black professional class, but they're here. And then we have an overwhelming poor black community that is trying to get out of poverty and trying to figure out why their intergenerational wealth was taken from them. All of that being said, is that it actually makes everybody marginalized. Zoranil Hurston said it this way when she was talking about the characters in Ralph Ellison's book. And I think this is true of a lot of us who are living in Asheville, probably feeling like we are held hostage to the mountains. There's sorrow dammed up in the corners of our eyes because of the pain of not being black enough in some way. Too rich to be black, too poor to be black, too distrustful of the church to be black, too charms and rocks to be black, too light to be black, too dark to be black. And that is a dysfunction that keeps us from having community. So that they have space and they are reflected back to themselves in this place where the 6%, 6 to 10% may not see each other except if they live in the concentrated communities and still may not trust each other. So this has to be the place for the recovering addict. This has to be the place for the professional who has just moved here. This has to be the place for the politician who is trying to make things happen. This has to be the place for the young person who has no idea that race is going to complicate their lives. This has to be the place for the radical. This has to be the place for the nonprofit exec who needs to go, whoo, child, can I see y'all? I need to see, I need to eat with y'all. We need to fellowship about this. This has to be the place for folk who have faith in the Lord in so many different ways, whether they're Buddhist, Christians, or Muslims, or they're following a spiritual path that allows them to think of African divinities as the place where they land. This has to be the place for somebody who puts all of that together and who puts none of it together. If I could peer into our Afro future, the first thing that I would say is enhancement of not just the YMI, but enhancement and commitment to this community to make it a black cultural district. And I'm using that language intentionally as we think about like, well, what is this block? No, the block is a black cultural district. And it needs to welcome home businesses of African, from Afro-Caribbean to African. We need all of those shops on the block. I need all my bad on the block. So that is the first thing is to interrupt the gentrifications plural that are happening and the lack of imagination that is happening. That is one thing. That's where I want to be a partner. I don't want to be an adversary to any person, from Mount Zion to Eagle Market Street to Noir Collective, to any business that was once, it is now displaced and that cannot come back here. We want to find places for you. And I got four, I got storefronts all around me that will make place for folks who want to run their business out of here. We need to commit to a black cultural district so that people can learn about Afrolatchia and Afrolatchan and black folks in the mountains and then go other parts to the Shiloh, to Montfort Point, to Stomptown, to Southside, to Burton Street, to West Asheville to learn about the culture. We need to be that front porch for our community. I would also say at some point, somebody's gonna give me some money to make a freedom schools here. I've taught in freedom schools. My son has been in freedom schools. I sent college students to work in freedom schools when we got it in Wilmington. I am a part of the Ella Baker Project. I believe that black parents do not have enough access, black parents and grandparents, because I want them, I don't want to leave out our grandparents and aunts and aunties, uncles who are raising all these children. There's not enough programs in the summer. We know based on what Birmingham has done, we know based on what Baltimore has done. We know based on what New York has done that major cities have committed to youth and youth young adult programs. I don't want to redesign something that is already cooking. I want to create a summer program, a summer enrichment camp in our building. We got the space where kids can come and learn about their history, heritage, and culture while I'm paying staff, college students, probably from the local colleges that are around here, who come home every summer and don't have anything to do.$700 a week in summer camps is not okay. And I hope that that would jumpstart other kinds of programs that would commit to families of all sorts who are raising black children and who need a place to take them so that they can see themselves. And that would be a place for grandparents to also come and sit and teach black children about the things that they don't know so that the recipes are not lost forever. This is a place of Sankofa. Also, we got some things that you know that we're already doing. So music is alive. We had 16 genres worth of music, 32 artists presented last year, I think is what I said in our in a part of our annual report. We want to be a place of the arts and imagination and exploration of our history, heritage, and culture. We invite all who join that mission. So, like, folks, come if you, you know, if you got an interest, as my pastor said, Lottie Dottie and everybody. But we would hope that we would be an engine for hope in our communities, plural and for the city. And really, as a national artifact, we need to be the hope for black cultural centers who are on the verge of dying nationally.

SPEAKER_02 26:33

National hope.

"Keep Your Head Up"

SPEAKER_03 26:34

Yeah. The national hope is here in Asheville. So year one is down. Year two is about legacy and legacy communities.

SPEAKER_02 26:41

Awesome. On a personal level, is there one moment that is letting you know that you made the right decision to relocate to Asheville, North Carolina and lead this amazing organism?

SPEAKER_03 26:53

Yeah. There is one moment. And I'm gonna try not to get emotional as I talk about it. So Goombe is a heavy lift. No one, most people do not understand that the Goombe's of the past give it all of the new ways things work or not. It was not, we were going into an unknown. Because no one in the building had done Goombe except for Alexandria. And Goombe was has been always been tough because it's it's meant to be a fundraiser, but it really is a benevolent act of cultural innovation and joy in our community. On the first night of Goombay, Thursday night, Kelly, Jolly, and Will Boyd were in the building. Um, and they we did our, we said we're gonna start in jazz, we're gonna start in jazz. Melon had given us some resources to really build out some jazz programming, and that's where our jazz programming is coming from. It's the brain trust of Kelly Jolly, Alexandria, and Melon Funds to kind of seed that money. And shout out to the Ellison's family for also helping us to realize this imagination. But the first night, we did not know that folks, we only, I think we only had 10 tickets sold at the time of the thing. And then every, like, then the room was full. And Kelly began singing. Um, we have Ethiopian food laid out from Odyssey. And Kelly began singing, and she moves to a song closer to the end of the second set that is about keep your head up. And I remember her going over and over again in this kind of call and response nature. And I can, you can see the whole room just kind of rising. Like we were elevating in the space. And I looked up and tears just came down the sides of my face because I realized so very often people are trying to snatch the dreams of black folks. And I was reminded in that moment to keep my head up and that this was the place that I needed to help other people keep their head up. And so this journey around having your hand in the mouth of the alligator or the tiger is real for us in cultural center work because we are trying to snatch things back that don't belong to the alligator. That moment reminded me that I was on the right path. I could hear spirits say to me in my ear, this is what you are meant for. And so every event post has reminded me of that. Folks standing up, just reveling in jazz music that reminded us to keep our head up. This is a place of Saint Kofa. We will go back and fetch it and we will take it into our Afro future.

SPEAKER_02 29:20

Thank you so much for being willing to share your time, your wisdom, and your joy with us.

SPEAKER_04 29:27

You're welcome. Glad to be here.

SPEAKER_02 29:29

Sean, for those people who want to get more involved, yeah, who may want to donate, or who just might want to come and learn more about programming and be a part of the YMI, tell us a little bit about how we can make that happen.

SPEAKER_03 29:40

Yes. You can follow us on Instagram, YouTube, Facebook. Our events calendar on our website is up to date. If you would like to volunteer, we have a volunteer section under our career section. Uh, we are also looking for an operations director. If you have operations and finance experience, and if you'd like to, you know, like to help people get connected, I need a networker. That's you come find me. Also, like if there are other roles that you think you can play in the development of our center, we'd love to be in touch with you. I get ideas pitched to me every day. So set up a meeting and time with me. My schedule is usually free from 10 to 3. You can always pitch a good idea to me. We're getting ready to open up our Kuji Chagalia organizations and residents. That program is meant to help organizations who are budding or need space because so many black organizations don't have space that is free or low cost to meet. And so we want to make sure that folks are applying to that program. If you're an artist, you can apply to Kumba Artists and Residents, and that link is online as well. And Alexandria runs that program. But we are booked all the way through 28, 2028 with artists in man in rotation. But again, like everything is online in our network. And then if that doesn't do it, we know old school is gonna call us by phone. And our phone number is on the is on the website. We are short staffed right now, but we will get back to you in the time that God gives us. And then lastly, if you like to volunteer, let me know. Come on, find us, come and find us. I got 29 volunteers right now on the roster. Always looking for more.

SPEAKER_02 31:06

All right. Thank you. Thank you. See y'all next time.