Change. That word—three syllables that shake the bones of a nation built on sandcastles, fragile and crumbling under the weight of its own contradictions. Does America have the capacity to endure the tremors that come with shifting toward justice, toward equity, toward liberation? Or is this land of promises perpetually caught in a cycle of progress followed by relapse, a pendulum swinging between hope, despair and the realities of systemic oppression?

But to endure change is to not just welcome the fire of transformation but to stand in its blaze, to let it consume what must be gone, and to rise from the ashes anew.

Let me speak plainly, though the question demands a complex answer. America was born of rebellion, stitched together by the hands of those who believed in the audacity of freedom, even while they denied it to others. That irony—America’s first inheritance—is why the capacity for change is both our burden and our blessing. But to endure change is to not just welcome the fire of transformation but to stand in its blaze, to let it consume what must be gone, and to rise from the ashes anew. This has been my prayer as of late. 

So, does America have it in her? Or are we just smoke and mirrors, chasing a fleeting dream of equality, a mirage we can never quite grasp? I still hold onto the radical hope that we do. That the fabric that makes us a melting pot and tossed salad can one day truly rise from dark ashes. 

Look at history. America has shown glimpses of change, yes. But the real question is: Can we make it last? We know how to stir the pot, but can we cook the meal? We’ve shown we can rise in moments of crisis, but endurance—that’s the rub, isn’t it?

Endurance means we can’t settle for the pretty speeches, the band-aid reforms, or the token gestures. Endurance means reckoning with the full scope of our flaws: systemic racism, economic inequality, environmental degradation, an unjust school system keeping the disenfranchised on the margins. To change is to uproot, to shake the very foundations. And foundations, especially those steeped in centuries of oppression, don’t give up their ghosts without a fight.

Yet I must believe in the possibility, even when it seems like we are trapped in cycles of false dawns. Change in America, like poetry, is about rhythm. There are crescendos, there are pauses, there is free flow, there is rhyme-scheme, but there’s always a beat that pushes us forward, no matter how slowly.

I think about the children in my classroom—bright-eyed, resilient, most first-generation, unafraid to ask the hard questions. They are the litmus test. Do they believe in this country? Can they see themselves in the promise of what America could be? Is there the presence of mirrors and windows and sliding glass doors with the educators in front of them? If we can raise a generation that not only demands change but expects it, perhaps we will see the enduring qualities of transformation take root…and ultimately take hold.

But we must feed that fire with truth, with action, with the kind of love that is fierce and unrelenting. Love that dismantles the systems designed to keep some of us low while others rise. Love that dares to dream of a world where freedom isn’t rationed, where justice isn’t a privilege but a birthright.

So, does America have the capacity for the enduring qualities of change? I believe she does, but only if we—every one of us—commit to making it so. It’s not about waiting for the tides to shift. It’s about being the storm that turns them.

This is a revolution of spirit. And revolutions don’t happen overnight. I have coined the phrase in my recent keynotes and writings that every revolution begins on the heels of resistance. It requires a long breath, a steady hand, a resisting nature, and a heart that beats with hope even when the road seems turbulent.

Change is possible. Endurance is required. The question is: Do we have the will to see it through? 

We must. We can. We will. In the words of my friend of whom I’ve had the honor to recently share space with…in the words of the iconic Dolores Huerta, “Si, se puede.”