As the nights become longer, and our days become colder, I feel my body slowing down, craving warmth and demanding in no uncertain terms: rest. I have spent the last 24 months, not unlike many of you, protesting almost daily, working in overdrive and drinking too much coffee. And I know I am not alone. For many of us, the constant threats to our communities and the communities we stand in solidarity with are too great not to fight.

As a queer, Afrolatinx* woman, a survivor of sexual violence, a social worker, a Unitarian Universalist and a person working to make safer communities free from gendered harassment and assault, I know that these threats are not theoretical. We have historical precedence for the horrors we are witnessing today. We can trace a straight line from families being separated at the border to the prison industrial complex to boarding schools which ripped Native families apart, internment camps, and slavery. For those of us living at multiple glorious intersections of identities, this work is not part-time, temporary, new or ad hoc. — it is permanent and constant.

We are also aware of what’s at stake right now. Especially since Brett Kavanaugh was nominated for appointment to the highest court in our land.

During the past Supreme Court term, collective bargaining rights, access to health care, including reproductive health care, LGBTQ rights, fair elections & voting rights have all been diminished. In addition, the executive and legislative branches of our government continue to pursue policies that chip away at our hard-won rights and attempts to level a historically disparate playing field. We know that this system is not perfect, and that it was founded to be harmful to people of color and other marginalized communities by taking advantage of structured and enforced diminished power.

The harm and violence we see today is not a consequence or byproduct of the creation of this nation as we know it–it was baked right in. However, this most recent season of egregious and hostile takeover of the key backstop institution in our democracy, the last opportunity for checks and balances in the United States, is profoundly and uniquely disheartening. Combined with laws meant to punish, ostracize and further marginalize those who need the most care, the new and expected orientation of the court is in direct conflict with our UU values of the inherent worth and dignity of all people, and our social justice ethos.

And a month ago, I had a personal and poignant reminder of the stakes, when I suddenly became ill and spent eight days in the hospital. Doctors swarmed around me, looking for answers. Test one, then two, then twelve, came and went with no answers. I left the hospital, gulping fresh air and eager to eat pizza again. But I also left with no answers. No formal diagnosis, no explanation. It occured to me that stress and trauma may very well have been the culprit.

And data back me up on this: Lifetime exposure to trauma is associated with elevated inflammation, liver damage, and weakened immune systems. These effects are cumulative and it is the most marginalized people who bear the disproportionate burden of these impacts and the least access to life-saving resources.

However, like so many UUs, I am blessed: I have access to healthcare, I can communicate my needs in a language my doctors can understand, my wife was able to be by my side because of marriage equality. And the personal is, in the words of Audre Lorde, indeed political. That’s why our fight for access to affordable healthcare, for continued LGBTQIA equity, and for humane and just immigration reform are more than lip service. Our work can change lives. Still I am left wondering, how can I both hold my need to advocate for justice, while also taking care of myself?

I believe the answer is together, in community, in fellowship: doing my part, but also remembering that we are a collective. A community where everyone does what they can how they can. The answer is supporting others as we carry the weight of the world together. Sharing in both the grief and the joys of doing work in progress towards universal justice and dignity.

And how might we move beyond the current vitriol and backsliding on policies? Bearing witness, engaging in advocacy, and voting are just some of our basic tactics. Social disruption makes the discourse widely public and interpersonal accountability deeply personal. Accountability, follow through and follow-up with elected leaders is an absolute necessity for justice. I am heartened too, by the grassroots movements for change being galvanized in this moment; from Black Lives Matter, to Dreamers to #MeToo, the people are fired up and when the people have the power and work together, I believe that we will win.

For some of us, this journey and fight is lifelong. For many of us, every single day is a fight for our humanity. For those of us with more access to power, acumen to influence, resources and privilege, we must stand in solidarity with communities impacted by a legacy of harmful policies. Show up everyday in public and interpersonal ways. In my case, I strive to fund work and organizations led by transgender women of color who are often left out of LGBTQIA spaces of influence and power. And everyday, I advocate for policies that will protect women and girls of color, from paid sick leave to a fully reauthorized Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) that includes enhancements for all survivors.

And you can get involved too– Urge your Member of Congress to protect survivors of sexual and domestic violence. Ask them to cosponsor H.R. 6545, the Violence Against Women Reauthorization Act of 2018!

The time is, and has been now. You have power. But we are more powerful together. The new configuration of the Supreme Court and the daily attacks on our communities demand we are engaged, organized and in solidarity with one another. But also, rest. This fight is a marathon, not a sprint. In fact, it is a relay race, with each of us passing the baton on the journey towards our collective freedom. Breathe deeply. The moral arc that bends towards justice is long, we’ll need breaks, dancing, joy and snacks.

 

Keep dancing!

 

Alicia Sanchez Gill Freemyn

All Souls Church Unitarian, D.C., member

 

Alicia Sanchez Gill Freemyn is a queer, Afrolatinx survivor, a member of All Souls Church Unitarian in Washington, DC and the interim executive director of Collective Action for Safe Spaces, where she works to make DC safer for everyone by using comprehensive, community-based solutions through an intersectional lens to eliminate public gendered harassment and assault in the DC metropolitan area. She has many years of engaging in intersectional work through various gender-based violence, HIV, and LGBTQ programs and has done crisis intervention with survivors of domestic violence and sexual assault and folks experiencing acute mental health crises, sex worker organizing and HIV housing advocacy. Alicia holds a masters of social work but life and other survivors have been her best teachers. You can find her on twitter @aliciasanchez.

 

Note: Latinx (la-teen-ex) is a gender-neutral term sometimes used in lieu of Latino or Latina (referencing Latin American cultural or racial identity). The prefix Afro in this context, refers to Afro-Latin Americans or Black Latin Americans, refers to Latin Americans of significant African ancestry. The term may also refer to historical or cultural elements in Latin America thought to have emanated from this community. Together they denote a specific identity and construction of both being and lived experience.