“They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were seeds.” Quisieron enterrarnos, pero se les olvidó que somos semillas.
This powerful quote, often attributed to the struggles of marginalized communities, originates from Greek poet Dinos Christianopoulos, who was sidelined by the literary community in the 1970s for being gay.
The human rights movement, like seeds scattered across the globe, will rise again. We will break through the concrete—concrete and steel reinforced with lies, hate, and fear. Muhammad Ali reminded us that what truly matters is not how many times we are knocked down, but how many times we rise again.
(I had the honor of having lunch with the Champ in 1988 at the National Black Mayors Conference in Atlantic City—a moment I’ll never forget.)
Years ago, I visited a young man battling addiction at a treatment center in New Mexico. I was the only visitor he had who wasn’t a family member. Nearly two decades later, I ran into him at a demonstration commemorating the so-called Zoot Suit Riots in Los Angeles—more accurately, a series of racist attacks by military personnel on the Mexican-American community.
As we spoke, he reflected on his journey out of addiction. “Leno, you don’t know what it’s like to hit rock bottom,” he said. I replied, “I’ve been there, too. I’ve faced the loss of loved ones, heartbreak, unemployment, and the dark, dangerous alleys of despair. Once, the bottom fell out from under me, plunging me even deeper into hopelessness. But I was fortunate—others reached out, saw my outstretched hand, and helped me find the light again.”
We are entering difficult days. We will need to be smart, strategic and resilient. Every day, we will be tested in a country where the irrational are steering the ship of one of the world’s great democracies.
I remind myself of the many struggles I’ve witnessed, from Chile to Argentina, China, South Africa, Estonia, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Guatemala, Uganda and Mexico. I lived in Nicaragua during the final nine months of the Somoza dictatorship. I have seen the pain of young men damaged by the Vietnam War, returning home only to face hatred. I have seen the FBI attack civil and human rights movements. Let us not forget the lynchings of the past, often justified by a distorted interpretation of a book called the Bible.
In Chile and Argentina, those rounded up under brutal regimes stayed strong, holding onto hope even as they faced torture and death. They wondered, late at night, who among them would be next. Yet, they never gave up—and neither can we.
Couple days ago, I drove 14 hours round-trip to visit the family of a man killed by a racist rancher near Nogales. On that journey, I noticed the rules of the road—lanes, speed limits, guardrails, and warnings for dangerous curves. Yet today, those in power often break not only the rules of the road but also the very ethics of life.
Winning does not always mean being right or just. Our government has embraced unjust laws and policies in the past—some took decades to reverse.
I want you to know I am committed to taking better care of myself. I want to run with you toward a future filled with what is right and just.
All we need is a little water, blessed by love and hope, to help us break through once more. Then, we will take our rightful place in the sun, moon, and rain. The winds of the four directions will carry forward our prayers, our drumbeats, our songs, and chants for freedom and justice—for everyone, everywhere.
