Mustafa Santiago Ali
Dr. Mustafa Santiago Ali is the Executive Vice President of Conservation & Justice for the National Wildlife Federation (NWF), former Interim Chief of Programs at the Union of Concerned Scientists (UCS), and Instructor at American University. He is the Founder and CEO of Revitalization Strategies. He also serves as a commissioner for The American Academy of Arts and Sciences (AAAS). He is an award-winning writer and poet focused on social justice. Dr. Ali is frequently seen on television, including appearances on MSNBC, ABC, CBS, NBC, CNN, VICE, FUSE, BET, National Geographic, Full Frontal with Samantha Bee, and Democracy NOW! Mustafa is also a regular guest on Roland Martin Unfiltered, Black News Channel, Tavis Smiley Show, The Dean Obeidallah Show, and many others…
Editor's Note: This poem is the 69th in our Democracy and Hope Series. This series will highlight hopeful aspects about our Democracy using various genres including poems, interviews, short stories, and articles about political events
They came like whispers first, quiet on broken backs, stitched mouths, invisible like ghosts in daylight, America’s scattered unkept promises, hands empty from fields they planted, pockets robbed of dreams they dared to own. Each step heavy, bearing the weight of generational prayers unmet, their voices once shadows, dust in the forgotten folds of history.
Here are the ones you called unseen, the lost tongues silenced by ballots uncast, they who you thought were stitched in silence, who you labeled dust and ache, but today, today they bloom thunder from the cracks in the concrete.
It starts with a hum, low and warm like the belly of an old church song, the kind our ancestors knew by heart, melodies worn and patched, stitched with every No we ever had to swallow. Watch, watch as the hum becomes a song, becomes a swell, becomes a roar— every city street and backroad turned choir.
They come together, kin from every color and creed, the hands who’ve tilled soil and raised walls, they come laughing loud, carving joy from concrete, like finding a heartbeat in the heart of a storm.
They walk across the bridges built by John Lewis, planks of courage laid bare for the tired and true. They hold the battles of Fannie Lou Hamer in their fists, the fire she carried, still flickering bright in each clenched hand. Yes, we are coming—our footsteps the echo of freedom’s march, our voices the rumble of a promise reborn, and no, nothing, nothing can turn us back.
It’s a sight, isn’t it? All this power unbound, the march of those who once feared their own steps, feet like drumbeats, every footfall a reminder of the paths they’ve trodden, the miles they’ve walked on fractured ground and empty promises.
Look at them—children of shadow, brushing the dust off their dreams, lifting their eyes to the sun, teeth bared in joy that tastes like freedom on a tongue long parched.
The mothers sing freedom songs, the fathers laugh like Sunday mornings, and the children—oh, the children dance, wild in their wonder, hands outstretched to catch the echoes of what could be.
They stand in line, shoulders touching, strangers no more, souls braided in this sacred act, this quiet rebellion. There’s a fire in their eyes, a knowing carved deep as the roots they’ve planted in this soil, a truth they’ve carried like gospel: we, who have been bent, cannot be broken.
This is their America, gathered and whole, a mosaic of voices, voices that crack open the sky. They know, oh, they know—the power of the unseen when we decide to be seen, the strength of the unheard when we gather to roar.
And Kamala’s name, a prayer, a promise, rolled like thunder on lips once sealed. They are here, they are mighty, and they are endless.
So when you look, don’t just see a crowd— see an ocean, uncontainable, relentless, every ripple a story, every face a hymn, a testament to the power in the gathering of those who once walked alone, who now stand together, voices bright and unbreakable, singing the dawn into existence.
©️MustafaSantiagoAli
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