And in the riches we find the poor,
Swollen hearts hath but forgotten
Our brothers and sisters, all the moor.

And in the caverns of our hearts,
A battle long lost fights on in vain
Forgetting our progress, forgetting our name.

And in such days as nights proceed,
Indigenous souls unite broken dreams
For which we ever remember our blatant deed.

Scribbled deep into the canyons of my palms, there rests a working text that defines my religion. An echo of actions, the definition of my religion is a lighthouse that guides me through life’s trials and triumphs. To empower such an echo, I must always be a bird with wings of lead. For, dreams can be dreamt, but origins must never be forgotten.

Always, my religion will be that of the hands of humanity.

For this religion – my religion – I live to better.

This is the feeling of living for more. It is the near-exhaustion of a desire to empower and the slow evaporation of a riverbed nesting floating dreams. In the same feeling, it is the revitalization that a smile ignites and the renewed faith that a heart instills within another heart. Together, it is an emotion that I have grown to both love and despise over these past fifty-six days.

Such a trail as the one I am on is nothing short of fascinating. You meet the most eagle-eyed, slick-handed, and get-what-you-pay-for people. But, in between each of those individuals are the genuine people who have reinforced my faith in humanity. The African-American mother in Mississippi who lost her job to the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) and since has been working three jobs to provide for her family and, at the same time, trying to achieve an education. The Mexican-American father in South Texas who is finally able to support his family because of the jobs that the very same Agreement has brought to the border region. Lost in the translation of policy, politics, and people, there is a beautiful imperfection in each life that I have been able to get to know over these past fifty-six days. In such imperfection, as we all possess, I have found the opportunity to empower; the opportunity to progress change.

From Kansas City to McAllen to Laredo to Jackson to Hattiesburg to Raleigh to Elizabeth City to Rocky Mount to a small leather seat in Concourse C at Denver International Airport at 12:04 in the morning, I find myself discovering more and more of a movement that I have set out to better understand and to more appropriately embody.

To progress change is much like trying to run in water. You are not going to find any traction until your feet meet the sand that canvasses the bottom of the ocean. And only once you have reached the bottom can you truly begin working, moving your way upward and beyond. In accordance, to progress change, one must surrender his doubt and exchange it for an understanding that achieving utopia is not the goal. In truth, the goal is to give imperfection wings and provide it with the chance to fly, to create a better life for itself and for the people around it. For the people around him. For the people around her.

I now find myself flying wing-to-wing with the very people who have allowed me into their lives over these past fifty-six days. I have seen the tears of a mother in Laredo, Texas, who over the course of three weeks became a leader in her community, baring the knowledge that she was going against the grain. In Mississippi, I canvassed neighborhoods where boarded-up houses reflected the suffering that Hurricane Katrina remained to present in the daily lives of community members; the same community members who rose up and decided that this year, this time, their voices were going to be heard. And in North Carolina, I am witnessing the face of a movement take shape; a face with eyes that will not rest until a hunger for change is satiated and a thirst for hope is quenched. Hand-in-hand, I walk with these people into tomorrow.

Indeed, as I have worded before, we are living in a changing world. Voices are being found. Hopes and dreams are being reclaimed. Power is once again being sought to bring people back together, not to divide us further apart. We are progressing into a wonderful tomorrow that will always be known as that day.

That is a day that I dedicate my life to waking in the morning of.

There is a feeling in my heart that I feel compelled to share with whoever will listen. Indeed, this is not an attempt to court your vote for my preference of a presidential candidate. It is, however, a personal reflection of the reality that I witnessed tonight during Barack Obama’s rally in downtown Kansas City, Missouri.

At twenty-one years old, I am young enough to realize that I will have my hand in selecting approximately 23 presidential candidates in my lifetime. Young, maybe, but I am old enough to realize and cherish an empty void filled and a voiceless heart of a nation that has slowly begun to sing again. Children, parents, and grandparents; whites, blacks, Asians, and Latinos – I, along with countless others, have discovered the lost harmony of America through a medium one would least expect: politics.

Hope is a category of emotions that Barack Obama has empowered me to define for myself. More so, this array of energy that races from my heart to my head encourages me to believe in not just the policies of Barack Obama, but also in his strength which will be required to make truth out of promises and days out of the nights that have long kept this country in the darkness of division.

Tonight, as the snow gradually dusted the nose of Kansas City, a gentleman approached me. A glimpse of a blue ‘Barack 08’ button that I had pinned to the nylon layer of my heavy jacket had caught his eye. He introduced himself as a proud conservative and I immediately began thumbing through the pages of my sub-conscious Barack Obama issue’s book, waiting for my cue to rebut. But it never came. Instead, he told me how hard he had been looking for an Obama pin of his own. I listened as the gentleman told me how he was tired of the division and of the misrepresentation that politics has come to be. He wanted his vote to mean more than just a vote for the expected; he told me he wanted his vote to represent a change in himself and his country, he wanted something unexpected. As he continued down the powdered sidewalk, I turned around and called back to him. I undid my blue ‘Barack 08’ pin and tossed it to him. He replied with a smile and told me his name as he continued walking.

There is a feeling, a flame in my heart that has been ignited by the vision that Barack Obama has for our country. In the shadows of this flame that will soon be history, I can see the remnants of a broken government disconnected from its very voice. But in the light that is cast ahead, there is a sea of gentle hands waiting to catch us from a leap and a choice that is not meant to be easy, waiting to bring us into tomorrow.

Join me in taking this leap into tomorrow by voting for the presidential candidate that you feel will best bring to light our potential as a people and to reality our destiny as a country.

For me, this is Barack Obama.

The canvas of the nighttime sky is illuminated by the gentle aura of the moon. The soft light brings to life the stars that touch the horizon in every direction. Nearby, I can hear the breeze rolling through the rustling leaves of the mango tree. The tranquility of the silence echoes throughout the lives that it refreshes, renewing hope and refreshing dreams for the day that will soon replace the night. Tonight, I am finally able to understand how the people of Northern Uganda maintain their resilience through the tribulations that extreme poverty and conflict has imposed on their lives.

Continue reading ‘The Hope of Northern Uganda’