We are not free, until they’re all free.

The world feels like it’s on fire.

People are killing and people are dying. My heart is more and more tender these days, and with three children I’m feeling more too. I’ve had the conversations, I’ve called the offices, I’ve shared news. I’ve unplugged to recharge, and now that I’m here, I continue to pray and send healing to those who need it most. I witness the privilege I have in this body.

Being a daughter of Khmer refugees who experienced genocide in the 70s, it’s in my DNA the pain, suffering, and hurt that my family has endured. Witnessing it over and over again in Palestine, Sudan, Congo, I stand in solidarity. But you know what, it’s not about me. It’s about the innocent mothers, fathers, children, pregnant bodies, elders, animals, beautiful land, and so much more who are dying at the hands of greed and power.

We are not free until they’re all free.

Here is a poem I wrote May 11, 2021 and recently discovered it again.

Fire running through my veins.

It burns & seems like it can’t get out.

A puncture to the skin.

An explosion like an eruption from a volcano.

She screams like

Kali-Ma.

Spit fire from her tongue.

Dany Srey-Snow | May 11, 2021