Born on the 4th of July

To all that is gestating

My son was born on the 4th of July.

It felt like a joke from the universe.

I found out I was pregnant the day before the 2016 election when Trump won the first time. I spent much of the time I was pregnant at marches on Market Street and around Lake Meritt and at the International arrivals of SF airport chanting and demanding that innocent people from Muslim countries be released to their families.

A day dedicated to the “greatness” of America was not the day I had in mind for my child to be born. My first labor pains came fast and furious at 8am, so holding him in for another 16 hours was not an option (though I admit, it did occur to me).

Later that night as I held my boy in my arms, the sounds of exploding fireworks muffled by the thick hospital walls, I felt grateful to have something else to celebrate. I felt the heaviness and darkness of the moment combine with my keen sense of responsibility to raise this “American” boy with values of curiosity, kindness, and care.

Not long after he was born I first heard the speech from Valarie Kaur asking:

“What if this darkness is not the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb? What if America is not dead but a country that is waiting to be born? What if the story of America is one long labor? What if all of our grandfathers and grandmothers are standing behind now, those who survived occupation and genocide, slavery and Jim Crow, detentions and political assault? What if they are whispering in our ears “You are brave”? What if this is our nation’s greatest transition?”

This morning I asked my son, what freedom means to him as an almost-8-year-old. We talked about how many people around the world and in the U.S. don’t have the freedom to get the food and medications they need, or the freedom to work, or the freedom to travel to see their mom or dad or the people they love. My son brought up Harriet Tubman who he learned about in school this year. He shared with wide eyes how far she had walked and how how she had even gone back to get so many other people after she was already free.

I think about that too. A lot.

I feel immensely proud of the thoughtful kid my son is and is becoming- one that is sensitive and kind and paying attention to the world around him.

So here’s to all that gestates during hard moments. Here’s to the ways we must define and redefine what freedom means to us. Here’s to this sweet boy that ignited something inside me that has pushed me to be a more courageous version of myself ever since.

Here’s to the long labor of America and the ways we all show up to shape it.

Jen

p.s. I was honored to collaborate with Valarie Kaur on this video her team created about an ICE raid in LA. Check it out on IG or watch it here. I spent hours working on the art but still had a face filled with tears when I saw the the final video paired with Valarie’s poetry. Here is the fundraiser to donate to Celina’s family.

p.p.s. So much of what is going on in politics has to do with the broken systems of white supremacy that have ruled this country. I was lucky enough to take a phenomenal class last fall with Dr. Rosales Meza and I just found out she is leading the class again. I highly recommend checking it out. It’s called Decolonial Shadow Work: Unlearning the White Colonial Mind and it’s a 12-week journey for anti-racist, spiritual white leaders, matriarchs, healers, visionaries, & guides.