Tag: liberation

Wildest Dream

If you’ve heard the phrase “fuck the police” you’ve probably also heard the quip “nobody ever says fuck the fire department.” It’s usually used to explain to people who don’t quite prescribe to tear-it-all-down tactics that there wouldn’t be such a clarion call to abolish the police if they were actually protecting and serving rather than harming and oppressing.

I’ve heard this interaction and these phrases in many iterations, without ever thinking too much about it. It makes sense, on the surface. But the other day, a thought came to my mind: I bet you they were saying fuck the fire department in 1963.

Picture this (it’s 1963 so picture it in black and white, literally and figuratively). But for real, picture this: it’s spring of 1963 in Birmingham, Alabama. You are a Black child and Jim Crow Alabama is all you and everyone you know knows. But, recently, hope is brewing. Hope of a new reality, a liberated reality, or at least a less oppressed one. So you and your peers muster up the courage to join the Children’s Crusade, to peacefully protest for your rights. No one expected the police to be kind. I mean, fuck the police, right? But not only do the police come to beat you with their fists and with batons, not only to the police sick dogs on you, but the Birmingham Fire Department rolls up and starts blasting people, children and teens, with fire hoses.

In 2025, we have the luxury of proclaiming, “no one ever says fuck the fire department.” But look around, so many of our “trusted institutions” are proving that when push comes to shove, they have no problem hooking the hose up to the hydrant, opening the valve, and pointing that torrent right at the most vulnerable. Is this our ancestors’ wildest dream?

In 1963, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. referred to Birmingham as a symbol and asserted that if integration could be achieved in Birmingham, the rest of the South would follow suit. In 2025, we have no shortage of symbols: Congolese toddlers inhaling fumes in mines, masked ICE agents in plainclothes and unmarked cars, a streamed genocide in Palestine, massacred bodies lining the streets in Rio. These are all symbols of what humanity has sacrificed in the name of capitalism, or white supremacy, or the status quo. And while we’re currently in good standing with the fire department, what about the corporations, and the PACs, and the federal government? How long will we continue to let them slide?

How many times must history repeat itself before we start to employ a different strategy? Saving these institutions will not save us. Let’s get to imagining. We love to proclaim, “I am my ancestors’ wildest dreams.” What will the future say of us? We have to have a wildest dream for them to become one.

Signed,

N.A.

What Francia Márquez Reminded Me About Black Women’s Activism

Almost two years ago, I wrote an article about how newly elected Colombian vice president Francia Márquez would be great news for human rights. Yesterday, I was honored and delighted to be in the room as she addressed a group of Afro-descendant land and territory defenders from across Latin America and the Caribbean; and I was nothing short of impressed.

To be completely honest, the article I wrote two years ago was quite diplomatic. I was writing it for publication on my employer’s website, so I had to keep it cute. I praised her resume of work and her previous accolades, I connected her issues to the ones we worked on, and I kept it pushing. If anything, I just wanted to mark the history books with a subtle, don’t say I never said anything.

But what I felt at the time and didn’t say, and what I felt yesterday in her presence, is that regardless of the restrictions of executive office, Francia Márquez is the type of dark-skinned, Black woman, get shit done (dare I say radical), grassroots activist that gives white supremacist systems a run for their money.  

Last week, I was telling a friend how excited I was that I might get a chance to meet Colombia’s first Black woman vice president. My friend, unfamiliar with Colombian politics, replied, “oh, she’s like our Kamala.” “Absolutely not!” I explained, “She was never a prosecutor, she came from grassroots movements, she actually cares about her people.” Francia Márquez is not the type of Black woman that makes representation seem nominal or visual only, Francia Marquez is in the league with the likes of Fannie Lou Hamer and Lélia Gonzalez, with Tarana Burke and Marielle Franco.

Since taking office, Francia has been pioneering the region by making diplomatic connections with African countries. And she’s been very clear about the fact that she’s doing it because Black people in Colombia, and throughout the diaspora, need to shake off their white supremacist, colonialism-imposed negative views of Africa and start getting to know where they come from. She is the reason Colombia is opening embassies across the Continent. She’s also done a great deal to push forward reparations work in Colombia. But here I go again with her resume.

What struck me most listening to Francia Márquez yesterday was actually not her speech at all, it was her introductory acknowledgements. The very first words of her remarks were “Saludos a todos, todas y todes.” For those who don’t speak Spanish, while this translates to “greetings to all,” it is not a simple “to all,” rather it is proactively and purposefully gender inclusive. In spirit, it’s “greetings to the gentlemen, the ladies, and the theys.” She continued to acknowledge the “people of import” in the room: the organizers of the event, the Black defenders who were the attendees, etc. But before moving on to her speech, she purposefully and specifically acknowledged “LGBTQ people, people with disabilities, and Roma people,” all groups too often invisibilized in Colombia.

You see, there’s this really special thing that Black women human rights defenders like Francia always do that sets them apart from the rest: when they move up, they bring others up with them. Kimberlé Crenshaw coined the term intersectionality referring to Black women, referring to the specific exclusions we face because of the combination of our race and gender. And if there’s one thing living life at such a prominent intersection will teach you, it’s not to forget others. Black women human rights defenders don’t just fight for ourselves, we fight for everybody. We have a keen understanding that none of us are free until we are all free, and that freedom starts with the freedom of the most marginalized among us.

Francia Márquez isn’t perfect, and her administration surely isn’t either. But there is a magic that emanates from the place where her identity, her authentic dedication, and her willingness to utilize the power of her office converge. I think we can all learn a little something from that and use it to push liberation forward.

Signed,

N.A.