Anna Laird Barto

I saw Fidel everywhere when I studied in Havana in 2004. Not the man himself, but his image, broad-shouldered, bushy-bearded, on postcards and billboards, grinning slyly through rings of smoke or gazing ferociously over the horizon, finger pointed at an unseen oppressor. His words were immortalized in black and red spray paint on the ruins…

AMHERST, Massachusetts — I’m floating peacefully in a warm sea of amniotic fluid, when the voice of Ronald Reagan penetrates my subdural Shangri-La. It reverberates through the nodes and ventricles of my mother’s body like the voice of Darth Vader, causing me to somersault and burrow deeper into the womb. There I wait, weeks past my due date, growing ever plumper and more powerful off my host.

On November 4th, my parents watch the election returns on our analog TV. I

Marginalized communities have long survived by sharing skills, resources and creativity, but many of us are only now waking up to our collective responsibility. Those of us who identify as white, straight and/or cisgender have mostly enjoyed the illusion that the dominant systems will take care of us. And to a certain extent they have — at the cost of Black and Brown lives, labor and opportunity.

So what do we do? Sign another petition? Call our congressperson? Blackout our Facebook profile picture?

Mutual aid projects give us a way to help right now, while laying the foundation for a more just future.

After I graduated from college in 2004, I spent three years working as an English teacher in Oaxaca, Mexico. At the time, Oaxaca seemed like the ideal escape from the fear and uncertainty of the post-9-11 US. Three hundred miles southeast of Mexico City, Oaxaca has been cultural hub since around 1200 BC. Its people, the majority of whom identify with one or more indigenous group, have survived conquest, dictatorship, and natural disaster.

I never imagined that Oaxaca would turn out to be a trai

“What about politics?” he asked. “Do you lean left or right?”

“Left.”

K held up his forearms like goal posts, in case he wasn’t being clear.

“Hillary or Trump?” I looked him dead between the goalposts and laughed.

“Bernie!”

K lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “You don’t know about the socialist plans he has for our country?”

“Socialist plans?” I repeated loudly. “You mean like equal access to healthcare and education? Hell yeah!”

K had no comeback. He must have though the s-bomb would resolve the conflict swiftly and decisively in his favor, and now he was stuck without exit strategy.