This is what democracy looks like

"I'm NOT your average man! When I got a jammy in my hand!" I howled with L.L. Cool J, cruising my smokin' hot, just can't kill it '97 Mazda back to my house. Who's gonna knock you out? Well, I'm gonna knock you out. Pues, Momma said knock you out. Who's gonna do it? I'm gonna do it.

"Man, estoy bien" my little Bruce Springsteen kinder kid announced in his steel worker's voice "I got night vision goggles for my birthday, it was awesome".

I tossed and turned. It started during the last days of my vacation while sleeping in the warm mornings of the forbidden tropical wonderland. Work, money, disrespect, what do I care, why do I care. Work, money, disrespect. Images of fifth grade kids with with wintergreen mints sparking in the night in their mouths, something they told me about, something from their overnight field trip, you decorate the butterfly wing, Alec, you decorate butterfly wing, delirium, work, disrespect, MONEY. MONEY. MONEY. Disrespect.

"Buenas tardes. Buscamos firmas en contra de lay ley, saben, la ley como la que tienen en Arizona, la ley en contra de imigrantes..." I worked the crowd at Feria Latina. Folks feared me at first. Gringo lady, talking about immigration laws, asking for signatures. When the words started spilling from my mouth, they got the message. I had my best luck with young, cholo, tattooed men. No one else approached them. I knew they would get me. And they did. You just got to be nice.

"The Underground Railroad ran a registry, at this house in Maryland, you know, they took names, so people could call and find them....their relatives... they could ask if they passed through..." the fifth graders continued with their presentation, and my mind drifted, drifted to Casa del Migrante, the people that called, the registry we kept, so their relatives, you know, their relatives, would know if they passed through..."Sanctuary" the kids said, "they sought Sanctuary". Sanctuary. Such an important word. Sanctuary. I thought of the bad ass Presbyterians, yeah, never thought I'd say that, the bad ass Presbyterians that offered SANCTUARY, yes SANCTUARY, in their churches to Central Americans during the 1980s civil wars. In the United States. Driving, harboring, SANCTUARY. Felonies, jail time, SANCTUARY. You can't leave the state. Felony. SANCTUARY. It is morally correct. God or no God, morally correct. I am so lucky to know them. To know them. To look bad ass Presbyterian in the bad ass eye. It has been my pleasure. And my benefit.

So, they say the older kids don't like to sing, they like chants. What the fuck? I don't want to sing those stupid educational songs either, I just did it because it's elementary school. Fine. I tried to figure out a chant. For days. Finally, it hit me. "Show me what democracy looks like! - This is what democracy looks like!", "Arpaio, escucha, estamos en la lucha!" The rally chants filled my head and soon I was filling in the blanks with target grammar structures. They liked it. Actually, they loved it. Little activists at work. They just don't know it yet.

I hope so. And I'm leaving. But I wish them well. I do. I wish them well.