This is the sixteenth year we have come to pay tribute to my husband’s ancestors. There are candles to light and prayers to say and gratitude to give for the unimaginable struggle they endured. It is here that the resistance lies in eternal rest. Before the great society, when the worker was exploited by the Man, Grandfather raised his fist into the air and said “No more!” He suffered such hardship to ensure that those who came after him would be paid a living wage, that all would have access to the fruits of their labor. Now that the great society crumbles a little under the weight of war and refugees and climate change, I say an incantation to the ancestors. I mix in Catholicism and Voodoo and the old magic of the Goddess. I call upon the dead and their power over the living to defeat those who would exploit us again. It is powerful magic that calls up the resistance again, and, Oh, I feel the strength. And, at once, I am filled with awe and hope.
