To "Us",
Physically, I'm very close to the source of it all. 1600 Pennsylvania Ave...316 steps. 2.5 city blocks. A 3 minute stroll or a 1 minute shuffle. I can be there quicker if necessary.
So, I'm here.
I'm here to knuckle up for policy or peaceful protests. I'm here through tear gas, pepper spray, and mass arrests. I'm here to lock arms and "not be moved." And I'm also here...for you, the "us" and "we" who are always the most vulnerable.
To the Descendants of Runners,
This letter is for those who like me, know that their reason for being an American is because someone before them ran towards the hope and promise they believed awaited them in the United States.
In my case, I am the proud granddaughter of a runner. Her running started early, leaving her small, rural coastal Caribbean childhood home in Limón, Costa Rica to the capital of San José. I imagine that at 17, she was running away from strict parents and boredom and running towards excitement and promise in the big city.
Dear Mamas,
WE ARE IN AN EXTRAORDINARY MOMENT
Yemaya Asesu, Asesu Yemaya … Yemaya Olodo, Olodo Yemaya …
Mama Yemaya — with all of your fierceness as the goddess of the ocean, we ask you to be gentle in this moment, for the women and children here at your shore praying for safety, for your protection, and for your love and guidance … because
WE ARE IN AN EXTRAORDINARY MOMENT
(Content/TW: Discussion of racist and ableist violence, mentions of sexual violence)
Dear fellow organizers, activists, rabble-rousers, and rebels,
Dear Incredible Solutionaries,
My dearest, sweetest Sarah,
As I write this, you're wandering around the apartment in a half-awake stupor, sipping your green tea, watching the Graham Norton show, or whatever DIY YouTube channel has struck your fancy this morning. We're doing good - more importantly, you're doing good. These first three months of marriage have been, in a word, real. I love you more than ever. And it's so good to see you up and about and smiling.
Dear Artivists,
I was sitting alone in a Georgia hotel room as the election results rolled in, and it felt increasingly surreal as the projected blue states turned red. I called my family and friends to ground what I was seeing in reality. That night, the same dream played on repeat: I wake up, look at my phone; this has all been a mistake. Relief. But when I reached for my phone the next morning, the notification screen read, “Donald Trump has been elected President of the United States.” There was no more room for denial.
My dear strangers—Muslims of the United States of America,
To queer youth of color,
It sucks to be familiar with the sense of impending doom. You might have survived being socialized cis or straight in a queer body. You might have survived institutionalized racism, the gentrification of your home, and the fight to preserve your culture. You might have survived your given family. You might have survived the realization that your home is on a minefield; dirt, grass, concrete and tiny wildlife under siege.
Dear Amazing Activists Everywhere,
The Guerrilla Girls have learned that you just have to keep doing one thing after another, no matter what. Don’t worry if it seems that you are not creating the change we all want. The key is to keep fighting. If you do that we promise that over time your efforts will add up to something, even after the disastrous election of Not My President Trump.
