We are the descendants of our teachers, generations of Women of Color and People of Color whose writing honors our lives, our hopes for our communities, and all the culturally-rooted ways that we show leadership. Some of their names are known to many —Audre Lorde, Gloria Anzaldua, Ocatavia Butler, adrienne marie brown, Paulo Freire, Grace Lee Boggs, the Combahee River Collective, Johnnie Tillmon. Some of them live closer to our hearts — our abuelas working in the spirit realm and women who joined us at critical moments to shift our consciousness and shape our thinking.

We are from all the places where we circled up to step back: a dim Harlem apartment, Haley Farm in Tennessee, Viveka Chen’s fruit and flower-filled backyard in San Francisco, a community center in Tucson, AZ, the balcony of Trish Tchume’s old apartment in Takoma Park, the sand dunes in Death Valley, countless airport and Amtrak terminals, river walks in Colorado, and the vestibules of old Black churches in the South.

We bring with us our questions, our curiosities, our superpowers, our multiple ways of knowing, and humor to spread joy. In our big red suitcase, we carry charms that make whatever space we are in feel like ours—lavender to bring peace, palo santo for the spirit, homemade shea butter to keep us soft yet protected, and Aida’s abuela’s handkerchiefs to wipe off the bullshit.

We hear sometimes soft, sometimes bold voices singing along to Spotify playlists of Ana Tijoux, Erykah Badu, Lauryn Hill, Bomba Estereo, and Beyonce as women move into the circle. We hear sighing and snapping and yes-girl-yessing affirmations once in the circle, gentle weeping followed by deep belly laughs.

We know we are the ones who will build a world worthy of our nieces—a world in which they are free.

We are the holders and facilitators of sacred Women of Color spaces, she/her/they/them/us.

Excerpt from Calling In & Up: A Leadership Pedagogy 

for Women of Color Organizers