Legacy

Without Dr. King, his mission, and the community he fostered, I would certainly not be in the position I am today

Before there were official national celebrations of Black History or Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., my family—like many Black American families—celebrated those whose past struggles allowed us to live in the relative freedom of the present. Through books, music, art, storytelling, and “Black excellence,” we honored our ancestors. I grew up knowing what they had endured, where they had excelled, and that their sacrifices were not all in the distant past but had continued through the generations–including those just before my time.

I carried the hope of those generations on my back as I stood on their shoulders throughout college and career; by breaking barriers and being the “only” and the “first” in classrooms, conference rooms, and organizations. I built a record of excellence because I was born into it, prepared for it, and expected to achieve it.

Without Dr. King, his mission, and the community he fostered, I would certainly not be in the position I am today—and I doubt Michigan or the Democratic Party’s politics would be where they are, either.

When I was first encouraged to run for Michigan Democratic Party Chair, I had been successfully working in Michigan politics for years, bolstered by that same record of excellence. I had been an organizer and Communications Director at the State House, directed the Obama operation in Michigan, and spent a couple of years as a Deputy Clerk and Register of Deeds in Oakland County. I had won elections, managed professional staff, developed systems to improve workflow in political organizations, navigated choppy political waters, and was eventually asked to help pen a memo that described what needed to change about the Party in the wake of several tough cycles for the Democrats in Michigan.

The first time I considered putting my hat in the ring as a candidate for Chair, there was another candidate already—a former state legislator I had helped get elected when I was at the House—who was vying for the job. Folks wanted us both: him for the stature of an elected official, his political relationships, and his ability to raise money; and me for my ability to organize, run campaigns to win elections, and manage staff and budgets. He became Chair and I took the role of COO. This arrangement, I’m sure, feels all too familiar to other Black women across industries.

As COO, I built programs, managed the budget, hired and managed staff, and, to put it simply, did the work of running the Party. During that time, we recovered from the devastating loss to Trump in 2016 and developed our now well-known, full-time organizing strategy, Project 83. We overcame serious financial setbacks as a Party and began a string of victories across the state including the 2018 victories for Governor, Attorney General, and Secretary of State.

Even with this excellent track record, when I ran for Chair (and even into my first term), questions loomed about whether I was right for the position. “She’s a great organizer, but…” Could I raise the money? Could I handle the media? Could I lead?

In February of 2019, when I won the election, I was watching those who are now my team tear down and pack up the convention. One of my staff came up and said, “They don’t want to hold you up, but the venue staff would like to have a photo with you, they are very proud of being a part of this today.” As I saw the broad smiles and received the congratulations from folks I expected would see our convention as just another work day, the potential and pressure of the task before me came into focus. I had become the first Black woman to hold the position of Democratic Party Chair in Michigan (only the second woman and the second Black person--the first having been a co-chair of the party for two years), and as my ancestors had before me, I was now carrying the hope of the future.

Our positive momentum from 2018 continued. In 2020, Michigan turned blue for Biden while Democrats swept the statewide partisan office and defended all of Michigan’s congressional seats. In 2022, we re-elected the Governor, Secretary of State, and Attorney General, won all of the statewide partisan offices, flipped a historically red Congressional seat, maintained the majority on the Michigan Supreme Court, and—for the first time in decades—Michigan Democrats won majorities in both the State Senate and the State House. Though we didn’t get the outcome we wanted in the Presidential election in 2024, we were able to elect the first Black woman to the Supreme Court of Michigan, pick up an additional seat on the court, elect Elissa Slotkin to the U.S. Senate, and win numerous local elections across the state.

This is why representation matters. This is why Black Excellence matters. Because when we fail, we become the reason the next one isn’t chosen. But when we excel, we open doors and pave paths for the next person, or the next generation.

A lot of folks will be pulling quotes from Dr. King today, attempting to consolidate his legacy into a few sentences about unity or equality. I’m not here to tell you—or even attempt to tell you—what Dr. King’s words mean, what he represents to America, or what his legacy is or will be in the years to come. Instead, I’d like to take the opportunity of this celebration of his gift to our country to share with you what he and his words have meant to me: an opportunity to embody a dream for the future.

Dr. King has influenced all of us for the better. The impact of his life and legacy on me is that he has enabled me to carry hope through the years.