The storming of Cities Church in St. Paul wasn’t just an isolated moment of protest—it was a window into the machinery of modern activism and the people behind it. At the center of the disruption was Nekima Levy Armstrong, a self-described “scholar-activist” who’s made a career out of radical rhetoric, public agitation, and—according to financial disclosures—paying herself handsomely in the process.
Armstrong, who led a taxpayer-supported “civil rights” nonprofit called the Wayfinder Foundation from 2019 to 2024, took home more than $1.1 million in compensation and benefits over six years. Meanwhile, the organization she ran—supposedly dedicated to fighting poverty—distributed just over $700,000 in grants during her entire tenure. That means more of the foundation’s money went to her personal paycheck than to the actual communities it was created to serve.
But it doesn’t stop there. While her foundation raked in over $5.2 million in revenue, much of it from deep-pocketed donors like the Walton Family Foundation (yes, that Walton family—Walmart), the return on social investment for Black and Latino communities seems suspiciously thin. The Wayfinder website—now conveniently defunct—championed a “Community Activist Fellowship” that promised to “disrupt systems of oppression.” What it really appears to have disrupted is financial transparency.
And now, Armstrong has turned her attention to organizing church disruptions, targeting a Sunday worship service because she claimed—without proof—that one of the pastors was affiliated with ICE. This is the level of recklessness that masquerades as “resistance” these days. And it’s not new for her.
She’s praised convicted cop killer Assata Shakur as a “brave” and “revolutionary” figure, protested Target for dialing back its DEI programming, and founded a cannabis company—Dope Roots, naturally—while continuing to position herself as a spokesperson for the oppressed.
This isn’t activism. It’s a business model.
It’s a model that works by cloaking radicalism in nonprofit jargon, leveraging social justice buzzwords to attract foundation money, and then using the credibility that money buys to instigate political stunts like storming houses of worship. And the kicker? The institutions funding it all—from Walmart-linked philanthropies to BLM’s national network—either remain silent or oblivious when these “community leaders” cross the line from protest into provocation.
Armstrong’s behavior raises obvious questions: Can someone who praises violent fugitives and disrupts religious gatherings be trusted to lead community programs or oversee home health care? Is it ethical—or even legal—for a nonprofit executive to collect a six-figure salary year after year while grantmaking lags behind?
And perhaps most fundamentally: When did the fight against poverty become so profitable?
