As someone who for all her childhood lived or schooled within a few blocks of Operation P.U.S.H., I think “Jesse Jackson” and it’s pretty overwhelming…
As someone who as a child walked long Englewood blocks with my grandfather, a ride or die Jesse Jackson advocate, going from house to house, petitioning and fundraising, passing out gum, and making balloon animals.
“Because just a dollar or even just your name means you hear what I’m saying”…
Endless petitions, endless treats, endless hope. Piles and piles of picket signs. Over and over again. And yeah that shit stuck. I forgot who said it earlier today on FB, but it struck a chord. It was some version of before we all start with our Jesse Jackson thinkpieces and partial anecdotes, just go ahead and ask yourself what you’ve done and what you really know about the why and when of what things mean…
I tell people that I was born crazy and that there is nothing I am more proud of. Because I got to color picket signs, pass out balloons, roll my eyes because why aren’t we going home yet, and walk with a grandfather who, indeed, was crazy enough to sue the Chicago Police Department all the way up to the Supreme Court for the right for him and me and all y’all to stand on the street, hold your signs, and protest. And we can do this because he won.
Run Jesse Run!
Keep Hope Alive!
I Am Somebody!
