By Ella Isherwood, Age 10

Ruth Bader Ginsburg was an inspiration to me and her life is an example for our world to follow. I started to research her when I was eight years old. I was astonished to see all she did in her life, even though she had to fight for every opportunity. People underestimated her because she was a woman. 

She was a trailblazer. 

Ever since I started learning about RBG I knew I wanted to be a lawyer. I saw the way she used law to make a difference, to support, and fights for people. She knew what it was like to be held back and treated like she wasn’t equal. RBG wanted to fight so others didn’t have to be. She didn’t do it for money or fame. She did it for equality and justice. In her first case she said that the client did not have to pay her, she would just do it for free. 

She never backed down from a fight she saw was fair and just; no matter how long that took or how hard it was. RGB fought for not just for herself but for everyone; black, white, women and men, no matter their religion or background. She wanted to have justice and equality for all. RBG wanted the world to be a better place and she was going to fight for that. I will follow that example. I am part of her legacy.

RBG is still with us. We will feel her as we stand up for people who are not treated equally. We will remember her example when we help others have opportunities. We will stand together as one. That is what RBG wanted. 

 Love, Ella  

Due to ongoing conflict and starvation in Venezuelan, nearly one million displaced people are living in Lima, Peru. The situation is desperate and only getting worse during COVID-19. But you have helped us find a way to support and give people a safe place and a community to come to.

Now, we bring you the stories of the lives you are changing. Beginning this Friday we are introducing our new short docuseries, Hope House Stories.

You will get a look inside the Hope House in Lima and the families who have found refuge there. There are stories of survival and overcoming. Loss and hope. And what is possible when a community forms across two continents.

Tune in Friday on our social media to catch Episode One!

By Alicia East

We couldn’t fly to New York City to hug a pregnant widow. We couldn’t sit across the table from each first responder and say, “You didn’t have to do it, but you did it anyway. Thank you.” We couldn’t pull over to embrace a stranger and say, “I know you’re hurting. I am too. But we’re gonna make it through.”

So we said it with our flags.

We flew our collective national grief in stars and stripes from our balconies, our cars, and our mailboxes. At my school in the quiet foothills of Colorado, we taped them up in our door room windows.

As dark and painful a time in history as it was, it was healing to see what Mister Rogers taught us to identify as the “helpers.” The ones who labored for days to dig survivors out of the rubble, took down a plane before it could reach its target, and returned up the stairs when everyone else was going down.

We learned their names and honored the stories. We wrote letters to the mothers and fathers they left behind.

With our flags, we honored them. 9/11/2001 brought in a collective reverence for service, gratitude, and sacrifice.

From my perspective, the flag represented standing for unity and love instead of giving into fear. Malala’s dad said it was an ideology that shot Malala. To me, the flags spoke to the ideology behind the attacks, too. They said–with all the stubbornness that runs in our veins–that our spirit would not be defeated. We will not hide. We will not hate. We will not give in to fear. We will still LOVE each other with gritty optimism.

Those flags represented America at its best–a place that offers a safe harbor for people from any religion or nationality. Still.

But there was another meaning to the flag, too.

For some, there was a darker and more exclusive meaning to the flag. I didn’t understand this as much at the time. While I saw people rallying around a common purpose, there were some rallying against a perceived threat, which got conflated with a skin color and a religion.

And so it goes that we were perpetuating the very ideology that caused the wound we were trying to heal. The true enemy was then what it is today: fear, hatred, and cynicism.

I don’t remember hearing much about anti-Muslim violence that popped up immediately following the attacks. Whether that’s because I was sheltered or naive, I’m not really sure. I knew (or was aware of knowing) exactly zero Muslims. I do remember an acquaintance refusing to fly on a plane with men who were/or were perceived to be Muslim.

On some level, I do remember feeling they were justified in their fear, which grieves me now. And knowing this was a comparatively mild situation gives me a pang of sadness and compassion for those men and for everyone else who experienced that and worse.

If I flew the flag today, it would be in agreement with the first sentiment, although when I see it flying beside Confederate flags or in the background of propaganda-ridden rallies, it seems more associated with the second.

For some, the flag isn’t about being defiantly and optimistically opposed to the fear that would divide us, but about giving in to it. It represents an “us versus them” mentality, which is a great irony for this “land of opportunity.” Maybe it’s time for the poem on the statue of liberty to be engraved where we really need it–not just to welcome people onto our shores but to welcome them into our homes and hearts. What could the world be if each heart could receive the “poor, the tired, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

It’s only when it’s darkest that you can see the stars.

Times like 9/11, like our current climate, have always given opportunity for people to either fight for their most optimistic ideals or to give in to their basest fears and retreat to their private corners.

The idea that the flag represents only a narrow portion of the country rather than a unified whole isn’t new. But we each play a part in living out what it means to us. If I flew it today, it would come with a long list of qualifiers, but it still sparks a tender ache of patriotism for America at its finest.

It’s the way New Yorkers became one big family after 9/11. The way the heroes we read bedtime stories about sacrificed to hold this country accountable to its ideals. Harriet Tubman. Martin Luther King. Susan B. Anthony.

I remember that iconic photo of the first responders raising the flag atop the rubble. The adage we’ve heard and repeated in various forms still rings true: “When it’s darkest out, you can see the stars.” And the stripes.

While the temptation will always, always, always be there to fear, there is always, always, always reason to hope.

We may not be able to say with words everything we want to say to our neighbors and friends and people we disagree with. So let’s say it with our love.

By Alicia East

I knew exactly what was coming when I watched the Jake Blake video and still couldn’t help myself from saying out loud “No. Please don’t do it. God. No!” 

I had already seen “shot 7 times in the back” and “three kids in the car.”  

He had reportedly been trying to break up a dispute and was getting back into his car. That’s all he was doing. Say he MAY have been a threat. Call it noncompliance. Call it whatever you want. There is no justification. It’s on video plain as day in broad daylight. 

And I already knew, before watching the videos, what the difference was between him and the 17-year-old who shot 3 people and then walked toward police with his AR-15 flopping across his body while people yelled that he was the one. 

The police ignored him. He went right up to their vehicles. He was arrested the next day. The. next. day. 

Jake Blake had his back turned–no weapon in sight. He was shot 7 times. in. the. back. 

The videos confirm what we already know. Jake Blake was threatening not because of a gun. He didn’t have one. 

Likewise, the videos of the 17-year-old Kyle Rittenhouse, show what we already expect: he was ignored even though he was obviously armed and had just shown without question that he WAS a threat. 

What was the difference? You will read this well after the fact and without having seen the videos and I don’t have to say it. You already know. 

I’ll say it anyway: Jake Blake is Black. Kyle Rittenhouse is White.

And who does Rittenhouse align himself with politically? You already know.   
If we all know it without having to see or say it, then it’s a predictable pattern that can’t be explained away. 

I’m tired of the videos, but energized by the people putting their platforms and careers on the line for something more important. Even Jim Gaffigan, the “supposedly apolitical” (his words) Catholic did it! 

I’m tired of people I’m close to willfully closing their eyes because it doesn’t affect them, but energized by those who use their privilege on behalf of others.  

Jake Blake’s kids were in the car. This could be your dad. Your gentle, kind dad who I hear chasing and tickling you as I write. It could be your Uncle Sean. It could be Ronald. 

I understand the cynicism about politics. I really do.

But this is different. 

I’m considering what to do besides vent to an audience that can’t even read yet. There will be something. You might be joining us in strollers and carriers and you won’t understand it all. But you’ll feel love and unity in whatever we decide to be a part of. 

At an absolute MINIMUM, we will vote. It would be embarrassing not to. The Venezuelans didn’t get this chance before their country got taken down with a wannabe dictator at the helm. We have the hard-won chance. I’ll be damned if I don’t do at least that. If I sincerely respect John Lewis and Dr. CT Vivian, it would be an insult not to. 

And if these are the issues topping my mind, you don’t have to see my ballot to know who has my vote: you already know.

___
Hi, I’m Alicia. I started writing daily letters to my 3 young kids at the beginning of the pandemic. Their world will forever be shaped by this period in history whether they remember it or not. In addition to writing about it, you better effing believe I’ll be voting like our democracy depends on it. I sincerely believe it does.  

As teachers across America head back to school, there is another group of essential workers in our communities who understand what they are facing.

This week, a group of Something New volunteers who work at our local hospital sent a message to our teachers – we are in this together.

Thank you to our teachers, medical workers, and all of our essential workers for continuing to carry the torch during these difficult times. Join us in showing our appreciation for our community by giving a word of appreciation or thanks and, most importantly, by wearing our masks!

By Alicia East

We were told it was disrespectful to play our beat-tastic music for such a somber occasion. It was too loud. Too irreverent. But we still did it. 

The first year, I wondered if the naysayers were right. It was, after all, a commemoration of a day violent enough to be called Bloody Sunday. But we were doing it for an audience of one: Congressman John Lewis. Our friend Sheyann Webb-Christburg (there she is in the pearls) was with him at the front of the procession as they rounded the block toward us from Brown Chapel. 

He “shed a little blood on that bridge”

But that was far from the tone when he danced with us [hyperlink]. It was such a thrill when he broke away from security and approached us. They must’ve had a heckuva time keeping track of him as he got swallowed up by happy dancing teenagers. And he danced–joyfully!

That was all I needed to know. Every year after that, our frowning companions on the sidewalk didn’t bother me. I danced, too.

Good trouble 

Turns out, as one of the ones beaten bloody that day, he didn’t think it was disrespectful at all. Maybe after a morning of long speeches and stuffy suits, it was just a release for him. Far from irreverent, I like to think all of us dancing together on that street corner showed reverence in a way the lifelong activist understood–a nod to the “good trouble” that had precipitated us standing on that bridge in the first place.

To good trouble!