Before I left for church one morning, I read this quote from Abigail Echo-Hawk:
“I will fight until my ancestors come to carry me to the stars."
I attend a small church named after Martin Luther King, Jr., where most of the members are much older than me. And I love it. This is my spiritual home that practices radical love. It is a church that is not just tolerant but working every day to be more inclusive to reflect the beloved community that our namesake so often spoke about.
This little church is located next to one of many affordable housing communities where I live and one thing that drew me here is the members’ authentic embodiment of the peace, fortitude, and wisdom that comes from their many collective years fighting during the civil rights movement. They have seen and been through things most of us, unless also part of that fight, will never understand. And yet they have such a sense of joy and determination to finish the assignment given to them by their ancestors to see the promised land of justice and liberation for all.
So, as I embark on my sabbatical, I reflect on this year for our housing justice movement and what hope I can offer for the years to come. And friends, my heart is heavy. We continue to face what feels like insurmountable times, especially the next four years. The truth is, like many of you, I have gone through all the stages of grief and find myself going through them again. But as I sat in church that Sunday morning, the spirit of my ancestors whispered:
“Rest, restore, and be ready because we must resist and prepare for the revolution.”
My hope is grounded in the honoring of our Indigenous and Black ancestors before us and those who are still living. They deserve all the rest and remind us that liberation starts with restoration. I dream of the day we don’t have to be resilient and call on the memory of our long fight for justice to ready us for what is about to come. Movements for justice teach us that setbacks often come when we are closest to a breakthrough. I feel the weight of this and there are times when I am scared for the people we all care so deeply about. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired and feel the exhaustion of fighting systems steeped in racism, misogyny, and other injustices.
Yet, joy comes in the morning. Joy is the resistance to the oppression we face. Joy is found in the community we build and the spaciousness we create to reimagine a world where everyone has what they need, especially those at the sharpest intersection of oppression and marginalization.
I am still here, with purpose, among the living because the ancestors have not called me to the stars yet. Instead, they keep whispering to me:
“Until freedom.”
As philanthropy, we must not look backward and try to make sense of something that may not have meaning for us. We must instead be present with community and not allow ourselves to surrender in advance. We must resist the urge to be right and as Maurice Mitchell of the Working Families Party recently said at the 2024 Facing Race Conference: “You don’t fight misinformation with better information. You fight with solidarity and organizing.”
As we approach the year’s end, I encourage all of us to rest -- deeply. Then, it’s time to joyfully co-create strategies that provide the spaciousness for our communities to dream and reimagine what is possible. Grounding ourselves in the hope that abundant grantmaking can bring, let’s commit to ensuring folks have what they need to truly build community, solidarity, and organize a clear path towards liberation.
It is possible. We are closer than we’ve ever been and that’s why the opposition fights so fiercely. But I believe there are more folks on the side of freedom and justice. They just need a radically inclusive space to belong that is free of the burdens that come from fighting for basic needs. In this space lies the possibility to actualize the joyful, liberated world we want for everyone.
Rest up. We have joyful work to do in the morning.
- Amanda Andere, CEO, Funders Together to End Homelessness
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