We Stand on Their Shoulders—Now It’s Our Turn to Build

Michelle Fowle, Cambridge Indivisible Co-Founder and Co-Chair

They say there are two important days in your life: the day you’re born and the day you find out why. On November 8, 2016, I found out why.

I grew up in a bubble. Being white made that bubble even smaller. I was a glass-half-full kinda gal, believing that we were all equal and that if we just worked hard enough, we could be anything, do anything. Then, the 2016 election happened, and that belief shattered. I felt a terror so deep it took my breath away. And in that moment, it hit me—this is how people of color have felt forever, and I have failed as a citizen.

For weeks, I couldn’t stop crying. I felt the weight of generations of oppression, not because I had experienced it, but because I had been complicit in ignoring it. The brutal truth of our history wasn’t new—it had just never been personal to me before. But for Black and brown communities, it has always been personal. It has always been life and death.

I couldn’t keep sitting in my despair. I had to do something. I left my corporate career behind and threw myself into organizing. In Los Angeles, I founded Northridge Indivisible, a grassroots movement dedicated to resisting the rise of authoritarianism and advancing justice. When my husband, Andy, and I moved to Cambridge, Maryland, we started Cambridge Indivisible, bringing that same fight to the Eastern Shore. I’ve worked in the trenches of political campaigns—not because I suddenly “discovered” injustice, but because I finally understood my responsibility in the fight against it.

This fight is not new. We are up against the same white supremacy that has been here since this country’s founding. It just changes shape. And the only way forward is to build upon the work of those who came before us—those who defied the odds and refused to be silenced.

We stand on the shoulders of Harriet Tubman, who risked everything to free herself and then went back—again and again—to free others, knowing that none of us are free until all of us are free. Ida B. Wells, who exposed the truth about lynching in the face of threats and violence. Fannie Lou Hamer, who, after being beaten within an inch of her life for daring to register Black voters, still stood before the Democratic National Convention and said, I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. Bayard Rustin, the strategist behind the March on Washington, who fought not just for civil rights but for labor rights, LGBTQ+ rights, and global human rights. Ella Baker, who believed in the power of grassroots leadership, not saviors. Fred Hampton, who knew that solidarity across race and class could dismantle the system. Angela Davis, who teaches us that resistance must be constant and that freedom is a collective struggle.

They didn’t just resist—they built. And we must keep building.

This work is hard, messy, and relentless. The forces of oppression are well-funded, well-organized, and hell-bent on keeping their power. They misinform, they disenfranchise, they strip away rights, they sacrifice people’s lives for profit. They count on us to burn out, to give up, to believe that we can’t win.

We can’t let them win. More importantly, we can’t let us down.

The path forward isn’t easy, but it’s clear. We resist. We organize. We build. We don’t just fight back—we fight forward. Because when we show up, when we stand shoulder to shoulder, when we commit to the long haul, we do what they fear most: we make change.