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A letter From a Young Activist

To the workers, first-generation college students, and Latina women con sueños grandes, dudas, y miedos- I stand tall because of the labor and sacrifice of the people before me who decided to be courageous without guarantees and created the opportunities for my generation. 

Growing up I witnessed my parents dance at family parties and they were always the first on the dance floor. Whenever they asked me to dance I always answered with “let’s wait for the other people.” I didn’t want to be the first one on the dance floor. When the dance floor is empty, it’s exposed- what if everyone saw the step I messed up, or my outfit was criticized, or I wasn’t natural at dancing? I laugh at these thoughts now because what if my parents had been too afraid to come to a new country? What if they were too scared to show up in a space that did not want them? 

The hope from my parents carries my dreams. Their faith isn’t explainable, it isn’t tangible, but it is real. My dad worked as a busser; he cleaned more tables than he held his daughters.

My mother crafted a loving home with her bare hands and made sure we never felt our father's absence. On some days, she was a single mother, and on some days, my dad was a lonely man; most days, they had more doubts than answers, yet they did not cave to fear or discontent, and their love always remained promising. My parents were forced to put trust in a possibility. They did not know if their daughters would enjoy learning, let alone be able to attend college; they both don’t have a high school diploma and earn the minimum wage. Still, they got up every morning and worked diligently for hours without end so that their daughters wouldexperience a different reality. A life where the hands of my sisters and I did not feel like their hands of sandpaper, and that our hobby did not become sleeping from exhaustion. My parents are not defined by their labor; they are defined by the love that is poured into their work. Without the laborers of love, who would I be? What voice would I represent? 

As I graduate from college and begin my path in the labor and civil rights movement, as I take up space in politics and academia, I dance. Now, in my eyes, the presence of every worker, first-generation college student, and woman represents the laborers of love on that dance floor that I observed growing up. Dancing is about standing up even when no one else is with you; it's about being brave, being daring, and not letting fear stop you. 

I have been honored to contribute and learn from the LCLAA team during my time in Washington, D.C. It is organizations like LCLAA that see workers the way I do, not defined by their jobs, but by the love, dignity, and the care they carry in their lives. 

Mamá, Papá, gracias a Dios, sí se puede.

With love,

Ivonne Santiago 

Former LCLAA Intern