Amid lots of deadlines, taking a second to breathe.
Yesterday, I couldn't get Sam Cooke's "A Change is Gonna Come" out of my head. Today, it's the Jerry González invocation of the spirits, a thanks for a cleansing, an invitation. "Vamos pá la rumba, vamos pá la rumba, ya yo me curé, y me despojé."
Trying to hold the cynic back, just for a minute.
In the morning light, you exchange knowing smiles, small comments. "It's a good day." "Yes. It is."
Not like last night, walking with a contingent of black and brown people from East Harlem to 125th St. Fireworks. Taxis beeping. People poking heads out of public housing windows to wave. Random hugs. Lots and lots of screaming. Witnessing. Communing.
Nagging thoughts pipe up in small voices as I hear the victory speech: yes, he is echoing MLK's speech, but that means we're still in the same Civil Rights Era narrative. This morning: the media talk about "breaking racial barriers" as if now we're done with racism and the fight for social justice; it took so much energy to make a Black, biracial, child of immigrant, majority-minority-state raised, African-connected, Asian-connected, organizing-connected, education-connected man Mr. President, I am afraid the momentum will dissipate.
Do we know what to do next? The work is just starting.
[h/t to wayne&wax for the grafik]
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