Antes de que Barack Obama se postulara a la presidencia, recuerdo que pensaba que nunca habría un presidente negro en mi vida. Y recuerdo que me sentí abrumado, incluso con lágrimas en los ojos, cuando vi por televisión a la nueva familia presidencial subir al escenario en el Grant Park de Chicago. No fue tanto la imagen del presidente Obama lo que me impactó, sino ver a Michelle y a las niñas, y a la anciana suegra de Barack, que vivirían con dignidad y respeto en la Casa Blanca.
Read MoreBefore Barack Obama ran for president, I remember thinking there would never be a black president in my lifetime. And I remember feeling overwhelmed, even tearful, when I watched on television as the new First Family walked on the stage at Grant Park in Chicago. It wasn’t so much the sight of President Obama that got to me. It was seeing Michelle and the girls, and Barak’s aged mother-in-law who would be living in dignity and esteem in the White House.
Read MoreRead MoreConditioned against healing the systems oppressing us, I sit here, too. The spice hits my tongue. I love its hotness, the dare of trying more on the next taco.
Unwavering in my tiredness, delight, anger, angst. The bigness of feelings, embraced. Familiarity with oppression is normalized, to where I am chastised for any attempt to bring relief to mi gente by asking those in power to remove their heavy feet off our necks. But we keep asking, demanding, resisting, and flying.
