Perspective | Not Me, Us - A Recount of Bernie Sanders' Kickoff Rally and of the Movement Behind Him
Words and Photograph by Sebastian Uchida Chavez
Illustration by Katie Herchenroeder
It was a cold Saturday morning in New York City; the snow that had fallen the night before, and that which crept onto the morning, was building-up on the streets and sidewalks. Hundreds, thousands, and finally tens of thousands of people gathered: young and old, black, white, latino, Muslim, Christian, agnostic, veterans, students, workers, whole families, and groups of friends. That Saturday morning, the snowy roads from across the city had been traversed by an America that is unlike the rest of the world, an America forged by the histories of the world, an America that came together looking for a future to believe in.
Outside the gates of Brooklyn College, livelyvoices filled the frigid air. As the mass of people waiting for the doors toopen grew, so did the variety and depth of conversation between strangers —united not just by wait, but by the themes of material grief, outrage, and hopethat strung through their lives and which they sewed together with words. Bythe time the doors opened and everyone made their way into the quad, there wasnot a stranger in the crowd, only a class bound by a shared experience and avision of a better tomorrow.
It’s easy to think that what brought 13,000people together that morning was one man. It is also easy to think that whatmobilized millions of politically unaffiliated and disenfranchised people tothe polls in 2016 was a campaign. How can one help but think that anythingother than Bernie Sanders moved one million people to commit themselves tovolunteer for his presidential bid this time around?
When Bernie walked up to the podium thatmorning, in the historically public, working class campus he once frequented asa student, he spoke of himself not as a messiah, nor as the man who would bringinto fruition the world we desperately need. No, Bernie spoke of his upbringingin Brooklyn, of his childhood in a rent-controlled apartment a few miles awayfrom where he stood that day. He spoke of his family fleeing the Holocaust andcoming to this country, of his parents’ restless struggle to make a living, andof losing his mother before they fulfilled the American dream of having a houseof their own. Bernie spoke of moving from Brooklyn to Chicago in the 60s andseeing the ugly face of racism at the height of Jim Crow, of fighting, marchingalong Martin Luther King Jr., and putting his life on the line to combathousing segregation.
Bernie’s story spoke to the frustrations ofthe people in the crowd and beyond, to working class Americans as a whole,because it was imbued with a broader message of social and economic injustice.Although it was Bernie’s story that brought people together in 2016, it was thefundamental truth of his message that resonated with a then-latent movementthat continued to grow after the election, and which made itself present thatSaturday morning.
That Saturday morning, the crowd broke intochants of “Ber-nie! Ber-nie! Ber-nie!”.
That Saturday morning, he replied: “NotBernie, YOU! Not me, US!”
I didn’t get involved in politics because ofBernie Sanders. Like many others, I hadn’t heard of Bernie before 2016. Beforethen, I was moved into activism by the gut-wrenching poverty and misery I saw,and the gross opulence that existed alongside it. I became active in mycommunity not out of admiration for a personality or figure, but out of fearthat unless radical, mass action was taken, the select few who control theeconomic and political life of society would beckon the deaths of all theinnocent, the crippled, and the wretched of the Earth.
In 2016, Bernie spoke to millions of peoplewho, after the election, remembered his message every time they suffered or saw their loved ones suffer under a systempredicated on suffering.
That year took me from activism to organizingbecause I learned that I was not alone in my frustration and that, in union, itwas possible to change the world.
That Saturday morning I was reminded of thestrength of our movement; familiar faces reminded me of its endurance, newfaces reminded me of its expansive nature, and the tears and smiles in thecrowd reminded me of its most powerful virtue: solidarity.
The fight to expand democracy in every aspectof our lives, from the polls to our schools to our workplaces, is long and inmany ways grueling — but it is a fight we must give and one we intend onwinning.
