Activism Is Rarely Comfortable

I was an inauguration absconder.  I escaped to Mexico early morning prior to the swearing in like I was El Chapo with a map of a tunnel to freedom.  It was the first time I got on a plane to run from something instead of running to something (except for the time in college when I broke up with my fiancée, but that’s a long story).

Mexico seemed ambivalent to our country’s happenings.  Talk of “the wall”, immigration, or civil rights didn’t occur and would have seemed incongruous in a place where the sun has permanent residence; sand is your carpet; and the ocean is your soundtrack.

My fellow refugee and I didn’t turn on the T.V., read newspapers, or scroll online.  Instead, we crashed a 50-year-old Sista’s birthday party and vigorously twisted, as her husband karaokeed “Let’s do the Twist” at a…

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