Tangling and Threading
Reflecting on inheriting courage, across generations.
I opened the trunk to my aunt’s car, eager to launch my luggage onto the soft black fabric and rush to the airport. To my surprise, a box of fuchsia and pearly white flowers, tangled up in one another’s thorns, lay there instead. Beside the flowers, a large colorful sign read “We want legal pathways, not mass deportations.”
My aunt and hundreds of community members had held these flowers as they marched outside of Miami’s immigration court five days before. Miami’s unusually cold air had kept these flowers intact. They were a physical reminder to me of her brave acts of solidarity. After carefully laying my suitcase next to the roses, I shut the trunk with pride.
I often like to place my hand on a structure and imagine all that it has witnessed since its inception. Whether an ancient column, a wise olive tree, or a modern vehicle, the structures that hold us bear witness. With my hand on the cold car exterior, I felt pride for what this car, which has passed through various members of our family, has witnessed.
Before the car belonged to my Aunt Ellie, it belonged to her brother, my Uncle Patrick. He used to fill the trunk with all sorts of signs, boxes, and mischief. My Uncle Patrick was often up to ‘good trouble.’ Restless in this maddening world. He acted courageously and with an infectious smile.
There is a picture of my uncle’s joyful courage in my bedroom. In it, he’s yelling into a megaphone, with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He was protesting the first Trump administration and standing in solidarity with migrants. I meditate on photographs of my ancestors nearly every night. Their courage, and their ability to see that our freedoms are intimately wound into everyone else’s, continues to drive me forward.
On the first Sunday in February, I honored what would have been my Uncle’s 47th birthday. Ever since he passed away, nearly six years ago, his birthdays have served as a gut check for me. I ask myself each year, on his birthday, two questions: Am I being brave enough? Am I weaving communities with joy and love?
In 2019, when my Uncle Patrick co-founded the Miami Freedom Project, an organization to transform Miami’s political culture, I am told he wrote on a whiteboard ‘Be Not Afraid.” Bravery was to be the foundation of his organizing.
In the past few years, we have witnessed the rapid unraveling of our social fabric and an acceptance for the unacceptable. Large corporations and violent state-run forces seek to tear us apart. But, for many, the comforts of our lives make courage appear too inconvenient. Too uncomfortable. Too messy. And, I sense that some of our movements for social justice have been stripped of spirit and mercy. Acting mercifully takes bravery too.
How can we thread courage, love, and mercy together in this maddening world?
I spent my uncle’s birthday with the next generation of our family, my 16-month-old niece, Bella. She’s all parts precocious, curious, and comedic. Bella joined me on the couch to watch old videos of my uncle. Tears streamed down my cheeks and Bella stared in amazement, as if she was taking mental notes.
I hope she was.
I show her these videos not only because I want her to know his infectious laugh, but because I want her to inherit his courage.
The brilliant civil rights activist Valarie Kaur speaks to this. As the ancestors of the future, she asks us: Will your descendants inherit a legacy of your courage and joy, or your fear?
Our courage, to me, is the inheritance we should spend more time building and investing in.
Acting with courage was never supposed to be comfortable. It’s friction-filled, gritty, challenging, and confusing. But, we are here because of our ancestors’ bravery. It’s our responsibility to continue weaving that thread of courage forward.
On my flight home from Miami, I cross-stitched fuchsia threads through white cloth. Hole by hole, my needle jumped and punctured the fabric. I thought of the torn social fabric of our world. Our collective and individual exhaustion. And weary hope.
I then thought of the courage that I feel threaded into me. From my ancestors, from my aunt, from strangers standing beside their immigrant brothers and sisters. This bravery passes through us, into our communities, and towards our descendants.
What is the courage and the care, the bravery and the light that you choose to thread? What kind of stories will your descendants share with their children? Will these stories fill them with bravery?
Recently, my friend Anam has been offering writing prompts in her incredible Substack. Inspired by her, I invite you all to an action prompt:
I like to think of Valentine’s Day as the New Years Eve of love. This month, I invite you to gather some friends or neighbors, and share dishes that feel like love. Discuss or reflect: What are your resolutions for how you will show up with courage both for your loved ones and strangers alike? How will our acts of love ripple across generations and weave us closer together.