Rest in Peace, Rev. Jesse Jackson and Thank You for Listening

1985. I first met Rev. Jesse Jackson at an anti-apartheid demonstration in Harvard Square that I attended with my parents.

It was the height of Eritrea’s war for independence and I was raised in a proud Eritrean immigrant family who saw it as their responsibility in the diaspora to advocate for and amplify Eritrea’s right to self-determination.

As Eritreans and Pan-Africans, they had always shown me that we were all connected and a part of the global Black struggle. We knew our struggle for independence and liberation was interconnected. Our quest for independence as Eritreans was connected to the struggle of Black Americans fighting for equality and justice and it was connected to the fight to end apartheid in South Africa.

We were all connected. And I was raised to speak up and tell the world.

So I did.

Adei (my mother in Tigrinia) told me who this man was, the man at the podium who once marched and stood with Dr. King, who spoke up for Black South Africans, and who should now know about Eritrea.

She told me to tell him about Eritrea.

She gave me a slight nudge into the crowd and pointed to him. I pushed through with her business card which had a drawing of an Eritrean mother and child.

I remember the sea of legs I pushed through, clutching the business card. I remember looking up at him and saying excuse me. Then he picked me up. And I asked him to help tell the world about Eritrea and how we’re fighting for our independence.

Next thing I know, someone mailed Adei this picture, taken from the crowd by a stranger.

Fast forward to 2002. I would meet him again in Washington, DC as a graduate student when he came to speak at my law school, Washington College of Law.

Not knowing if I would ever have this moment again, I brought that old 1985 photo that my mother had blown up to 8x10 for her wall. I knew it was a longshot, but I didn’t know if I had a future life in Washington yet, and had to sieze the moment.

So before he left campus, I rushed to his staffer, James Gomez, and told him the story of that moment from 20 years ago.

His eyes widened and he quickly rushed over to the Reverend to meet him.

I thanked him for his leadership and asked if he could sign my photo. Not because he was a celebrity, but because in that incredible moment so many years ago, I had no idea how it would shape my sense of self in the world.

He happily agreed and urged me to keep in touch with James and his Rainbow Push family .

“Keep hope alive,” he would write.

We took a picture that day too, but it is buried somewhere with my law school files.

I would meet him again and again over the years as I worked on US-Africa policy in DC, and kept it professional and cordial.

Then its 2017.

I’m in Miami to speak on a panel on behalf of my then employer, UNICEF USA on diaspora partnerships with Latino and Caribbean communities. Reverend Jackson is the keynote and we’re all in the same green room before the event starts.

I tell him the story of yesteryear and finally ask for a photo together, as I realize nearly 40 years have passed at this point since I first met him and never took another picture over all those years.

These random meetings with Rev. Jackson shaped my entire sense of self. I discovered at a young age, the power of speaking up - as he did throughout his life, but also as I did in that brief 1985 moment.

My 7-year old self discovered a tiny, but mighty, voice that had something to say. My mother encouraged me. He listened. And I held on to that moment.

This small testimony is an example of what finding your voice can look like. In the short exchanges, or in the thread you weave throughout your life to create your narrative and your mission.

I didn’t have to remember this moment, or share it with him later in life. I could have ignored it or shied away from sharing it.

By holding on to my experience and inviting him to revisit it, I felt stronger, taller, and more visible. Because that’s what I gave myself.

And so in his passing, we remember his ability to speak up, be heard, be seen and made visible. Not by anyone else’s doing but his own. By his unwavering commitment to his life’s mission and the voice that it required he use.

We learn and remember from him.

His life’s journey and commitment to fighting for Black people transcended generations, countries and communities. He was a fierce advocate for African-Americans, for Black people globally, and for the historically marginalized.

To watch and learn from the giants among us, to draw from their visionary might and commitment to justice, and to spend even a few minutes in their presence is humbling, inspiring and empowering.

His legacy has always been that of fighting for the rights of Black people, here and there, and I’m grateful that I could share my community’s story with him each time we crossed paths.

Rest in Peace, Reverend Jackson