Madam Vice President
artist: @kara_walker_official
It’s hard to capture in exact words how I felt the moment I saw Vice-President Elect Kamala Harris rise up on stage in Delaware to adoring cheers, socially distant honking, and Mary J. Blige’s “Work That” pop anthem playing in the backdrop. She had a spark in her eye as she introduced President-Elect #46 in her satiny cream power bow blouse, peeking out from the lapels of her white power pantsuit as a nod to women suffragists. Her megawatt smile looked like it might erupt into a cascade of girlfriend giggles at any second. I took a moment to take it all in. You always hope you’ll live to see this day – this joy – but until it happens, you never know. It still took my breath away. Seeing and feeling is believing. (Electric might be the exact word, actually…)
“All across the nation little girls woke up, especially little Black + Brown girls, who so often may feel overlooked and undervalued in their communities, but today just maybe they are seeing themselves for the first time in a new way: as the stuffs of President + Vice President.” – President-Elect Joe Biden
I blinked back tears of gratitude, cupping my hands to the sides of my now wet, brown cheeks as I witnessed this historic moment – in real time – in my lifetime. With my elbows on the edge of my living room chair, I leaned into the light – her light – magnetized to her rockstar, political phenom force energy waiting to be unleashed. Women and young girls across our great nation were dancing in the streets. On outdoor porches clinking sloshing glasses of bubbly with neighbors. Hoisting their young daughters into the bright blue sky. Lounging on their living room sectionals high-fiving, holding and hugging each other hard. All exclaiming as they pointed to their large screen TVs, “See? You can be anything you want!”
artwork: @colorsofhoney
Earlier that morning, we were on the water kayaking on what was an unseasonably gorgeous, summer-in-November kind of day. I needed to look at open sky and open lake, waiting to exhale to unhinge my tightening, clamped heart. I needed to parachute off the roller coaster week of non-stop, nail-biting, heart-stopping state race alerts. Our half-brown kid and his three pals were skimming the water in matching orange kayaks, finally feeling like normal teens. (Wait, what exactly IS normal anymore, anywhere, or ever again?) With their iPhones tossed behind in a rush, landing in the dock lock box of extra jumbled life jackets for safe keeping, they were tech-free, belting out songs with full-throated, middle school boy abandon as they dashed and splashed their way to the Flats and down the Cuyahoga River. Crouching patiently under the rusting industrial bridge, they were lying in wait as if to ambush a full-on freight train timed just right to screech on the track inches above their heads. Giggles erupted as links of cargo cars came screaming past at just the right moment. We felt alive, so alive, losing track of time as we stayed buoyant on the sheet of Lake Erie liquid glass, lulled by the crisp ripples lapping on the sides of our kayaks. The air and light felt brighter and fuller, like a dormant spring finally emerging from a starless black hole.
“My own hope as a mom of a half-brown kid? That our young boys would grow into young men in a world where humanity, curiosity, taking care of each other, and listening to each other still mattered.
Where kindness and empathy still mattered – even and especially in politics. We’re all part of the human project, one that we’re designing day by day through our own living examples and everyday actions.”
I had my iPhone zipped in my yoga hoodie right pocket as friends and family started texting CNN’s projection with Biden-Harris as the winner in Pennsylvania. It was so heartwarming to see the boys experience the Biden-Harris win together. It seemed symbolic to be on the open water, a pool of promising slate blue infinity in the middle of nowhere. Away from the noise and cleansed by the purity of the rising moment. I felt water on my cheek, and knew it wasn’t the lake spray from my paddle this time.
source: marinij.com
source: newsindiatimes.com
Kamala was born in 1964 to two immigrant parents – her mother, Shyamala Gopalan Harris, a native of India, and her father, Donald Harris, a native of Jamaica. Kamala’s story reminded me of my own when I read the moving LA Times piece capturing her family’s American dream and first-generation, multicultural journey. Her mom, a scientist and researcher, was supposed to enter an arranged marriage in India but defied social and family pressure to follow her own life vision in America, meeting and marrying Harris’ father instead. Her father, an emeritus economics professor at Stanford, and her mother were both active in the civil rights movement.
source: @geenarocera
“So, I’m thinking about her and about the generations of women — Black women. Asian, White, Latina, and Native American women throughout our nation’s history who have paved the way for this moment tonight. Women who fought and sacrificed so much for equality, liberty, and justice for all, including the Black women, who are too often overlooked, but so often prove that they are the backbone of our democracy.
All the women who worked to secure and protect the right to vote for over a century: 100 years ago with the 19th Amendment, 55 years ago with the Voting Rights Act, and now, in 2020, with a new generation of women in our country who cast their ballots and continued the fight for their fundamental right to vote and be heard.
Tonight, I reflect on their struggle, their determination and the strength of their vision — to see what can be unburdened by what has been — I stand on their shoulders.” - Vice-President Elect Kamala Harris
source: etonline.com
source: marinij.com
I love the pictures of Kamala and her little sister holding hands while her young mom looked on. I imagined their dad taking the photo. It reminded me of photos from my childhood, when my family would do the same thing in front of our sand-colored bungalow during my father’s early residency days at Toledo Mercy Hospital. My mom would buy a huge bolt of fabric at Jo-Ann Fabrics to make a pantsuit for herself and two matching mini dresses for me and my big sister. If I got lucky, I would get to pick out the fabric, but generally speaking, my taste for fabrics were too flashy or bright (a.k.a. her code for “too American”) according to my own immigrant mom. As a comeback cancer thriver myself who’s still waiting for her third surgery now on pause due to Covid, hearing Kamala share memories of her own mom was moving.
“Long before ‘take your kid to work day,’ my mother often took us to her lab in Berkeley. She has two goals in life: to raise her two daughters and to end breast cancer.” - VP Elect Kamala Harris
It’s funny how having an unusual first name galvanizes you. It’s like being born into a unique-kid-name club or a brand from the get-go. I think that’s why I felt a certain admiration and cultural kinship to Oprah, Barack, and now Kamala. They didn’t even need a last name! Their first name was like some kind of built-in stage name or shorthand. Like Beyoncé, Gaga, or JLo. (Maybe this is why I’m drawn to all things brand as a Brand Strategist?) I imagined each of them on their first day of elementary school on the playground by the swings. Or at the first day of school roll call at their miniature desks having to spell out their first and last names for their new classmates and teachers as their brown cheeks burned white hot under the surface, flushed from all eyes laser staring and burning holes into them. (Why couldn’t I be a Heather Smith? Or Ashley Baker? Or some cool name like the ones from “The Young and the Restless” or “General Hospital?!” I would lament to my younger, first generation, immigrant, late ‘70s kid self. Having to slowly repeat your name in a refrain with extra enunciation and patience all your life forces you to stand tall and step into your life story, every time, again and again.
source: latimes.com
“Each of us are born a brand and a unique story, often inspired by our ancestry, cultural heritage and family legacy or journey.
I can relate each time any new kid is introduced with a “funny” name. Showing up and sharing themselves for the first time (or in our cases, often multiple times) to the world can be hard when you are just trying to connect or belong or fit in like other kids. It doesn’t end in second grade.”
What’s happening more and more is that identity is becoming increasingly nuanced in this global human family of ours. First and second generation kids are undefinably and undeniably in their own checkbox or at the very least, redrawing and redefining the box itself. A digital neighborhood where our phones act as the virtual doorway to very different worlds. For some, like me, this is exhilarating. For others, not so much. They want these doors to stay closed, to keep “us” and “them” or “other” from becoming “we.”
source: @harpercollins
source: @harpercollins
I picture a more modern, multicultural Other Brown Girl counterpart to the classic “Frozen” sister duo, Elsa and Anna. I suddenly kept picturing brown girls like my older sister and me, named Bing and Jing. Or like Kalmala and her younger sister Maya as lead characters – OBGs seen, heard and celebrated in an altogether modern, multicultural way. You know, a new storyline that includes kids with “different” names? Good thing Harper Collins is already on this with “Kamala and Maya’s Big Idea!” The book is based on a true childhood story from Kamala and her sister Maya Harris, a lawyer and policy expert. Written by Kamala’s niece, Maya’s daughter, and Phenomonal Woman founder Meena Harris, and illustrated by Ana Ramírez González, the empowering tale is about two sisters who work in their community to create meaningful change in their neighborhood.
“Keep the faith…Spread the faith.”
– President-Elect Joe Biden
I was born on Christmas, nicknamed Jing for “Jingle Bells” by my sweet dad. Knowing Biden’s tragic, unexpected passing of his first wife and daughter when she lost control of the car getting their Christmas tree reminds me of how bittersweet and fragile life can be. And how having a deeper purpose can pull you through. I got emotional hearing Biden reference “And He will raise you up on eagle’s wings…” We played this hymn at my father’s funeral when he passed from liver cancer many years ago. Don’t we all want to be higher, better versions of ourselves? To feel uplifted, knowing there is light and better days ahead? Cold Play was one of Beau Biden’s favorite bands. When I heard Cold Play as I watched the Biden and Harris families embracing on stage gazing at fireworks, I was moved to hear CNN’s Dana Bash share that Cold Play’s Chris Martin played an acoustic version of “Sky Full of Stars” at Beau Biden’s funeral.
It’s comforting seeing this level of empathy, openness, and remembrance, feeling a palpable, reassuring, quiet, steady, strength when our nation needs healing and uniting the most. Biden’s work with Cancer Moonshot, his bid for presidency, and his pick of Kamala as his historic VP inspired by his late son Beau is a loving legacy and reminder to all of us that every setback and painful chapter is a comeback waiting for its moment. Through steady resilience and unshakable optimism during the darkest of times – in his lifetime, in my lifetime, in our generation – Joe and Kamala give me new hope. To shoot for the moon. To seek and stay in the light – wherever it brings us.
So here’s to a new day, a new story, a new choice, a new beginning. And a new kind of everyday activism and democracy – for all of us. Here’s to honoring and transforming deep pain and dark moments so that it can become kindling for a kinder, brighter flame that never, ever goes out.
source: @joycohair