I think that what we have to do is move that pendulum so that everyday people, people who aren't getting their fair share, people who are suffering, develop the power to move that pendulum so that they have access to what they need in their to to flourish, to live freely, to live with basic necessities, with hope. Right.

Hello. Welcome to We're the Leaders We're Looking For, a podcast from United Way of the Wine Country, produced with tech support and direction from Brant, Hoekenga and TIV Branding. We are here to share the voices of our neighbors, changemakers and everyday leaders who are building a region rooted in belonging, resilience and justice. And I'm Lisa Carreño. I'm president and CEO of United Way of the Wine Country. Thanks for joining us. And let's get started.

Today's conversation is an invitation. An invitation to listen beyond the noise of policy debates and headlines and to remember what dignity, courage and love look like when they are lived day after day on behalf of people whose voices are often excluded, erased, or actively silenced. My guest today is Renee Saucedo, coordinator of the Sonoma County Sanctuary Coalition, a leader whose wisdom is rooted not in abstraction but in proximity—proximity to immigrant families, to farm workers, to neighbors living with fear and uncertainty, to people who are too often spoken about but rarely spoken with.

Rene's leadership is grounded in respect, dignity, compassion, and an unwavering commitment to justice for all. It is marked by a rare and singular courage, the kind that shows up not for personal recognition, but because lives are at stake in a world that teaches us to stay quiet, stay safe, and stay within the boundaries of what feels acceptable and comfortable. Renee reminds us that real leadership often asks something else of us: to listen deeply, to risk our comfort, to stand alongside those who are not at the table, but whose lives are shaped by the decisions that are made there.

As you listen today, I invite you to connect with your own inner warrior, not the warrior of domination or certainty, but the warrior that is rooted in love. Ask yourself: who is worth fighting for in my life? What values am I willing to defend? Where am I being called to show up with greater courage, compassion and integrity? This conversation is not just about immigration or policy. It's about what it means to be human together, especially in moments when fear tries to divide us. Renee's story reminds us that leadership is not something bestowed by title or position. It is something we practice again and again when we choose dignity over indifference, courage over silence, and justice over convenience. I'm honored to share this conversation with you. Thank you so much.

What a beautiful introduction. I don't think I've ever received such a beautiful introduction. Thank you, Lisa.

Well, you've earned it. Really. Thank you. So our first question throughout the season has been sort of a simple one, but not necessarily an easy one to answer. What story of your life reminds you of why you do this work?

I can't pinpoint just one story. I think that it was probably a combination of stories, and included in those are growing up as a little girl in San Francisco and having my abuelita Salina taking care of my brother and I while my mom was working. And those years where my grandmother was our caretaker, I felt like, as the oldest child, I was a caretaker for her as well—as someone who was a monolingual Spanish speaker and had left her life in southern Mexico to come to San Francisco to take care of her two grandchildren. So I was one of those kids who served as the interpreter for the adults everywhere. Everywhere. Right. The market.

And from a very young age.

Very young. Yeah. I was 6 or 7 is what I remember. And I remember even that young the moral outrage when my grandmother's interests weren't served just because of the language or the cultural barrier. You know, like being at the doctor's office with her and seeing her crying and trying to interpret for her and the doctor and just thinking, why should my grandmother go through this and have her young granddaughter facilitate such a sensitive conversation?

And I remember the responsibility of it. And, of course, as children, we do it out of love. So I didn't feel like it was a burden. But at the same time, I felt like it wasn't... somehow I just knew that the gravity of certain situations required something more than a seven-year-old being the conduit of information and advice. Because as people who have experienced that know, it isn't just about interpreting; it's about buffering relationships between your caretaker, your parent, your grandparents, and the outside world. And I felt hugely responsible for my grandmother's well-being, and I felt it was so unjust that she had to rely on a young child for her well-being.

I think that also on my dad's side—because she was my mom's mom—on my dad's side, my dad and my grandparents, his parents, had a huge influence on me. You know, my dad was first-generation Chicano, raised in San Francisco's Mission District. Throughout my life, my dad always talked about what he had experienced as a child and what I should expect to experience as far as having to prove myself and working doubly hard, and not meeting people's expectations because they would have certain assumptions about me.

And my grandfather, actually, his father, Manuel Saucedo—I love talking about my family, so thank you for the question.

Absolutely, I do too. Yeah. We're in good company together.

Yes. Our ancestors brought us here. Right?

That's right. Yes. We stand on the shoulders of giants.

That's right. And so this is one way that we honor them by talking about them. My grandfather, I think, was the most radical in the family, even though there were no activists. I think I was the one and only. But my grandfather Manuel would tell me the story of how his brother in Colima founded the Communist Party, and he was the one who loved to have conversations with me about how Mexican migrants were under attack in this country. He had a very high level of consciousness and rebelliousness, which I appreciated and identified with.

So it was a combination of those experiences. But one of the most dramatic things that happened to me in particular, I think, that radicalized me, Lisa, was the fact that I spent my childhood living in Mexico City, actually part-time in Mexico City, part-time in Mérida, Yucatán, because that's where my mom was born and where she grew up. Living there opened my eyes to racism against indigenous people, what poverty looks like in Latin America, and what struggle looked like.

I mean, I remember watching... I have this image of the nurses, in particular, who sewed their lips together in protest against the Mexican government at the time.

Wow. Yeah.

When we moved to Mexico City, it was just a few years after the student massacre in the 1968 Olympics. There was such a high level of political consciousness. I didn't know how to characterize that as a child, but I felt it, I saw it, and I knew that oppressed people were fighting for themselves. And from a young age, I knew that I wanted to stand with them.

I really couldn't characterize that politically or ideologically, but I just remember as a child having a high level of compassion and a sense of moral outrage that families were living in huts with no running water and dirt floors. Women were working inside people's homes, cleaning the homes of middle-class and upper-middle-class families, and were treated worse than the dogs. It just really shook me. Yeah.

So when I returned to the US to live here full-time—although I was very privileged, I got to go back and forth, so I immersed myself always in my Mexican culture—but coming back to the US, I think that really made me want to do the kind of work that I'm lucky I get to do.

Yeah.

And, you know, there are other things. I mean, we all experience racism in different forms. And I remember instances with teachers who would say things to me and, again, it just played into that perspective that I had developed throughout my childhood and youth that we had to stand as a community against oppression, against humiliations. Humiliation is a big word for me, you know? The humiliation experienced by my grandmother, the humiliation experienced by my parents, my grandparents, indigenous people, and poor folk in Mexico and here. I wanted to use my privilege to combat that humiliation so that no one had to feel it.

I feel that. Yeah, I bet you do.

That's why we took similar paths, you and I. We have really similar lived experiences. Different prompts for moral outrage, different prompts for the wound that you feel when your empathy becomes compassion for people who are experiencing oppression and violence and humiliation, but really very similar responses.

I was in Tampa watching things there, experiencing things there in my family's homes, especially my grandparents' home in Tampa. Watching the news, watching the civil rights movement and the antiwar movement and the growing women's liberation movement, seeing them in that house and how it affected my grandmother and my mom and her sisters and my uncle and all of us cousins and kids. You know, same. I was little, I was 6 or 7 years old when I was already starting to feel and not necessarily making sense of that right away, but really feeling it.

Absolutely. Isn't it interesting, too, though? I don't know if you had this experience. I have siblings, I have two brothers. And, you know, we grew up pretty much the same. But for some reason, I developed that sense of moral indignation and a passion for combating suffering and pain and humiliation. My family has always been very supportive of my work, but I also just find it fascinating how people who are raised in the same family and experience pretty much the same things kind of take different directions.

Yeah, definitely. Yeah, my brother Chris and I, you know, witnessed and experienced very similar things, but we led really different lives.

Yeah, yeah.

When have you in your life had to pause and listen deeply and see things with new eyes?

All the time. I have to check my privilege all the time because I have class and education privilege. I have immigration status privilege. And so, working with low-income, undocumented indigenous women every day to support their leadership and support them in their work around social change, I have to check myself. I have to check myself all the time and be careful about where I'm coming from and what my expectations are.

Yeah, I can't put myself in the shoes of undocumented women because I haven't lived their experiences. So I have to make sure that I am as sensitive and loving as possible to make sure that I don't say or do anything that is disrespectful or undignified in any way, because they are my leaders, right? They are my leaders. And so I have to check myself all the time.

Yeah, I get how important that humility is to trust building.

Absolutely. Absolutely. I have to check my ego sometimes, you know? Why am I doing this? Is it because I want to feel good about myself? Am I really contributing something to the development and leadership of the women I work with, the undocumented immigrants I work with? Yeah, humility is important, and we have to actively practice it.

So what practices help you stay rooted in your values, especially when the world feels overwhelming and it's easy to become distracted, if not dispirited by it all?

Well, I have the privilege of being very close to the community which I claim to support. So there's a level of daily accountability. And it's easier... oh, I'm so lucky. I'm so lucky because it brings me so much joy, too. I've received much more than I have ever given from the people that I've worked with. So that connection and that level of closeness and accountability, I think, definitely keeps me grounded. It would be very hard for me to be swayed by elected officials or anyone else to take a position that is contrary to the people I work with, because it would just be unfathomable—unfathomable to do that.

And, you know, I've learned in my 62 years that balance is important, that it's not just about my relationships as part of my work, but what is important are my relationships also outside of my work, including my family. And doing things that aren't necessarily that important, you know? Treating myself to the movies, or going out to eat and trying new restaurants, and exercising. I'm taking this great dancersize class that I was telling you about, and those things are important. Oh, they're so important.

So important.

They keep me sane.

I'll go further and say that it's one of the ways that you let yourself know that you love yourself. That, too, makes it possible for you to do the work that you do and sustain the work that you do.

Absolutely, because we do—as you know—we do this work out of love. And I express love to others much better when I love myself. So part of loving myself is taking care of myself. It's challenging, you know, because as a privileged brown woman, I see the suffering, I hear it, I hear about it all the time. And so sometimes there's a part of me that thinks, why should I have this lightness in my life, right? This levity in my life when there are other people who are suffering all the time?

And I just have to manage that. I have to manage that because in the past it has turned into overworking, and that really doesn't help me, and it doesn't help anyone in the community that I serve. So, yeah, but that's real. That's real for me.

Yeah. What have you learned to love even when it's hard?

To love myself. Love myself with all my imperfections, and remembering that I have strengths that I can offer as part of this historical continuum of social justice and struggle. And that I can't be strong in all areas, and to be able to forgive myself for mistakes and for not being completely adequate in all areas.

Yeah. When you look back at your younger Renee, what advice would you give her from your 62-year-old self?

I would say enjoy the ride. It's not just about getting to the victory. It's about enjoying the process. You know, enjoy the relationships that you have during that time, during those times. Enjoy the moments. And it's not that I haven't done those things. I have enjoyed them. You know, I always bring food into the mix, right? Whenever we have an action or a gathering, it usually revolves around food and storytelling and sharing. And I enjoy that. To me, those aspects of the work are not really work.

No.

You know, it's just life, right? Building a life together.

Yeah, yeah.

And I tend to have a joyful personality anyway. But yeah, I would tell the young Renee, don't worry about the criticisms so much. Just do your thing. You know, do it respectfully and with integrity, and that's all you can do. And you can't control what other people think. And if people disagree? Well, that's okay. It's okay. That's the biggest lesson that I've learned, I think, and it makes the work a lot more peaceful.

Yeah.

Because if you're making meaningful changes, then there are going to be people who feel threatened and who disagree and who criticize. And it's not about developing thick skin. It really is about letting go and allowing people to think and feel whatever they need to think or feel, and then I just continue on my path.

That is powerful wisdom. That is really profound and powerful wisdom.

Yeah, I think now at my age, I'm a better community organizer than I ever have been because I don't take everything so seriously. I don't worry about everything, and I'm more conscious about sharing these feelings with the women I'm organizing with. I'm better able to give perspective, I guess. Like, it's not the end of the world that this elected official said this or that about us, you know? Take it like this. Or okay, so we had a setback—it's a learning experience. You know, these social changes take time. If they are significant, they take time. And let's not forget that.

Because I've seen it in California. It took us ten years to pass the driver's license law for undocumented drivers. Right. And I remember during that time, because I was a lot younger, thinking, "Oh, is this a big waste of time because they're never going to do it?" And here we are, pushing and pushing year after year. So I think that once you've lived those experiences, it comes in handy to be able to share those lessons with others.

Right. You begin to recognize that looking at a setback, for example, as a failure is a choice of perception that you can change. And when you look at that setback instead as an opportunity to learn and grow, we're choosing to move outside our comfort zone to dissect what happened here so that we can strategize and plan for how we approach what we want to undertake next. It simply becomes just another bend in the river.

That's right. Yeah. That's right. Because social movement is about moving forward and then being pushed back, and then moving forward and being pushed back. Right. And I think that we have to remember that, remind ourselves through history. That's one thing actually that I uplift myself with, besides doing the non-work things. I love to read or watch films about the heroes and sheroes who have already passed, because I see their courage and how inspiring they are and how they sacrificed so much. That helps me a lot. It inspires me. I think it's important to analyze and do all of this so that I can do the work for the long haul. I've been doing this work for about 40 years, and I don't want to stop, so that's a good sign. You know, we have to pace ourselves.

You know, let's pause here because you've alluded to the work, but we haven't really talked very much about the work you're doing right now. Do you want to share that?

Yes. And I think it's a good example, too, of remembering history—what history teaches us and what other movements teach us. With the Sonoma County Sanctuary Coalition, I remember a year and a half ago when we formed the coalition, we came up with our initial agenda, and we formed it right after Trump was reelected the second time. On our agenda was: we need to pass a non-collaboration policy, not just a resolution. We need to have an ordinance so that county employees don't share information with ICE, don't collaborate with ICE, don't aid ICE in any way, especially during these times.

And you'd be surprised how much pushback I received from folks, including close allies. You know, "We've been asking for this for years, it's been over eight years. We're just not going to get it, Renee. Don't even give people hope that we can get it." And I think it was a combination of relentlessness, a willingness to work with others who we have not historically worked with, and the use of creative strategies and tactics that really gave us the victory a couple of weeks ago.

It wasn't a perfect victory, but it was one nonetheless because we were able to pass an ordinance—a law that will be codified—that says that if you're a county employee, you cannot collaborate with ICE. And that's huge. County property cannot be used for ICE enforcement operations. That's huge. You know, an additional $1.5 million for immigrant services. That's huge.

We still have to achieve that the sheriff stops sharing information with ICE, because that department is the department that is causing many people each year to be reported to ICE and then ultimately deported. But we're getting there. We're getting there. And I think that it is a lesson to those who have lost hope, especially in the local political system. It's a lesson that the community, when it comes together, can exert a lot of power—can exert a lot of political power, even if we are perceived as not having a lot of political power. Undocumented indigenous women are not perceived as being powerful politically because they can't vote, but look at everything that they're doing. I'm just proud to be part of it.

I agree. What does it mean to you to see no stranger in your work and in your community? You've just alluded to the importance over the last year and a half of widening the tent, and I'd love for you to talk about how being expansive in your approach to community building has affected how you work and who you work with.

Yeah, and I think that this has to do with your previous question, too—it just came back to me. One thing that I've learned over the years, besides forgiving myself, is that there are no permanent allies and no permanent enemies. And what I mean by that is that I think when I was younger, I would take things so personally and would view people as one-dimensional, in the sense that if they opposed something that we were working on, for me, it was an example of their character.

I think that now, I am more loving towards people who oppose us, in that I am able to see or notice that people have fears and people have insecurities. We may not get them to where we want them right away, but I dehumanize them a lot less. I don't do that as much anymore. I used to. I used to.

So, yeah, in that sense, I do think that there's an important role for community organizing to play to pressure the decision-makers to do what we want them to do, to do the right thing. And at the same time, while we are doing that, there is no need to villainize or dehumanize anyone. In that sense, I've had people on the side of the opposition—my opposition, the opposition of the people who I work with—who then later I collaborated with, you know? And I had to learn how to do that.

The other thing, too, is that, coming from a place of love and hope, we don't have to discard certain people's participation just because we have issues with it. A concrete example is that over the years, I have worked primarily with Latino communities and Latino-led organizations, and there is something very straightforward and easier about doing that. Because when you bring in white folks in particular, the Latinx immigrants tend to defer to their privilege. They tend to stay quiet. And the white folks, because of their status in our society, tend to control or dominate conversations and campaigns.

So what I've learned is it doesn't mean that we become separate and don't take advantage of those white allies. What we do is we have to have difficult conversations about power dynamics and who is speaking and who isn't speaking, and also to create the structures so that you make sure that the stakeholders—those most impacted—are the ones guiding the vision and making the most important decisions, right? And that allies are being just that: allies.

I think after experiencing that, having those difficult conversations, reminding people that we are placed on this racial hierarchy by society without judgment, but just putting it out there and identifying it, has really helped in broadening who I work with, who we work with, and having respectful relationships, which in turn makes the work more powerful.

Yeah. Transformational.

Transformational. Absolutely. So one example is when I lived up north in Humboldt County, the Board of Supervisors there was not willing to pass a non-collaboration ordinance. So we put an initiative on the county ballot. And there was a dynamic because the Latinx community up there was just beginning to exert its political power. We had to have a series of conversations as far as who was going to lead that campaign. And I think that because we did that and people's roles were extremely clear, we won. We won that initiative. And it is the most protective sanctuary law in the state.

Wow. Yeah. What a powerful model. Yeah. Thanks for sharing that.

Yeah. It's not easy. It's not easy. But, hey, community organizing and community empowerment is about relationships and strengthening and deepening those relationships. So if you're trying to make meaningful change, of course you're going to have conflict and tension. So the best thing we can do is learn how to resolve that and be able to continue arm-in-arm, rather than there being resentments and anger because of inequities.

I hear in what you're sharing how important it is to have the courage to lean forward into uncertainty and discomfort in conversations that are going to be about hard historical, current, institutional, systemic harm.

Yes.

And significantly, to suspend assumptions and judgments. Just lean into, "I don't know what's going to happen when I do this, but I know I need to do this," right? And bring your values with you—always bring your compassion. Bring your grace. Bring your humility. Bring the bravest love you can bring to the conversation, and trust that the people that you're in that conversation with will show up in a similar way.

Absolutely. Tension and discomfort are inherent in any meaningful change, I believe. And it's kind of ironic because I grew up as the peacemaker in my family, right? So now as a community organizer, I promote tension. How can we shift or change systems and practices and institutions that are entrenched without that discomfort?

Sometimes it can be painful over the years, right? I mean, there are people, friends, who don't speak to me anymore. It's not fun to have people dislike you or talk about you. I don't enjoy it. But at the same time, again, it's that level of accountability that you have towards the community that you are working with. The values of transforming the oppression and the humiliation that currently exists, I think, have to drive you to have the courage to say, "Well, these systems and cultures and ways of doing things, even if you're going to dislike me, I have to say they have to change."

Sometimes people don't get over it, and you just have to accept that, and you have to feel comfortable that at least the people whose side you are on—because I do believe that you have to pick sides a lot to make meaningful social change—the people whose side you're on feel like they are benefiting and are happy with the outcome. And that, to me, is what is important as a community organizer.

I'm not a mediator, for example. If the undocumented workers, the women, the families who I work with think that something is unfair in their lives, who am I to say, "Oh, but wouldn't you feel just as happy receiving this other thing or less than what you want?" I'm not a gatekeeper.

Yeah.

And unfortunately, I think that we have plenty of gatekeepers. We have plenty of people who want to maintain the harmony, but it's a false harmony. It's a false peace because the people who have historically been humiliated and on the side of suffering continue to suffer, and the people who have benefited from the way the system is set up right now continue to feel as comfortable as they always have. So we need to disrupt that. You need to cause discomfort. And it's difficult, but in my way of thinking, it's necessary and it's what we need to do.

Yeah, I totally hear that. It's what you feel called to do.

I do, because of my privilege, Lisa. Because of my privilege, the least I can do is call out the system that is producing these inequitable results.

Yeah. Setting things right.

Setting things right. Yes.

Yeah. And what a beautiful way to spend my life.

Agreed.

I can't think of any better way to spend my life, actually, because even though I piss some people off—pardon my French—it's a beautiful thing to be on the side of people who realize that they can make changes, significant changes for themselves and their loved ones. It's beautiful. There's nothing more exciting, right? You know, to see the women of Almas as part of the Sanctuary Coalition—women who don't have papers, right, who have everything to lose—get up at the podium and tell the Board of Supervisors, "This is how your decisions or lack of action are causing pain in my life," right?

And then after the hearing, I get the heat: "Well, Renee, why can't we just be civil and nice?" Because with being civil and nice, nothing has changed. You haven't changed anything. So we have to turn up the volume a little bit. Of course, nonviolently. We've got to turn up the volume so that you can hear these women. Yeah. And it always works. It always works. And they get angry, but that's okay. I can live with that. I can live with that.

Yeah. The questions that we have for folks that we interview on this show come from Valerie Kaur's work from See No Stranger—her book See No Stranger from a couple of years ago, and her book Sage Warrior. She talks a lot about how, in the world of her culture and her faith as a woman raised in the temple, the belief is that we are one with all that is, and "you are a part of me that I have not yet met."

Yes.

And I wonder, in light of all that you've shared about your community organizing work, when you reflect on that idea—*you are a part of me that I have not yet met*—what does that mean to you in action vis-à-vis the community that you center in your life, the allies that you invite into the company of the work that you're doing, and the people on the other side of the change that you are working toward?

I have always felt that we as humans are connected. And so when I see people suffering, I suffer too. When other people are humiliated, then I am humiliated. And that is here in the US, it is people in Iran, Palestine, Mexico, Sudan, wherever it is. I feel connected to people who are suffering. I also, over the years, have learned to not dehumanize the people who I perceive as causing the suffering. I must not dehumanize or villainize.

However, I also in life see power dynamics. And so it's not even personal. It really is about who holds the power serving which interests, right? So if Trump and his millionaire friends want to serve certain interests that collide with the interests of most people in the world, and Trump is causing extreme suffering at all levels, I'm not going to say I love Trump because I'm connected to him. Although I was reading the Dalai Lama once, who said, "Think of your worst enemy and think that in a prior life they were your mother." Wow. That blew my mind. But anyway, I thought about that for a while.

But the Trumps of the world hold certain power over the majority of other people. And so I think that what we have to do is move that pendulum so that everyday people, people who aren't getting their fair share, people who are suffering, develop the power to move that pendulum so that they have access to what they need in their lives to flourish, to live freely, to live with basic necessities, with hope. Right. So that's how I look at it, really. It really is, for me, all about power and who wields it.

It doesn't mean that we're still not connected or that we have to dehumanize—although, jokingly, we dehumanize Trump all the time, right? He's a very wounded person. Very. But look at the Pope. I think that he's been making these comments lately against the war in Iran and other places because he is in a powerful position and he sees the suffering that Trump's power is causing. And so he is combating that with the privilege and the power that he has.

For whatever reason, the best way for me to spend my life is to build the power of people who historically don't have power in this society, who have been perceived as marginalized, not worthy, and disposable. And for some reason, my whole life, I find that notion despicable and inhumane. And so that's why I stay connected to those communities—to workers, to undocumented migrants, to women, you know, the cast-outs, the people who are scapegoated, who are perceived as having no power.

I think it's important. I think it makes us better as a society, because if we don't challenge corrupt power, then the majority of us are going to continue to suffer.

Well, it makes us complicit with it, right? There's no such thing as neutrality.

That's right.

And inaction is a form of complicity that contributes to our detriment, to continued suffering and sorrow.

Right. And I think that we live in a society that tries to teach us that we have no power to make change, that we have to accept what is happening, that there will always be marginalized people, and who cares about them anyway, right? We're a very individualistic, competitive society in the United States. So it does take courage to go against that culture and say, "No, I want to model the opposite of that. I want to stand for the opposite of that," even though I'm going to get severe pushback, which I have in my life.

Yeah. I feel like you have answered all of the next four questions I have for you. Let me tell you what they are. These four questions are about being the warrior. The first few questions that I asked were really about being the sage, you know, about inner wisdom, practicing revolutionary love. These questions are about courage, action, and transformation. So this is what I was going to ask you, which I think you've answered, but I'd love for you to reflect further.

What's a moment when you've had to speak truth to power? How do you move through fear or exhaustion when the fight for justice feels heavy? What does it mean to you to fight with love and not against people, but rather against injustice? What systems or narratives are you actively working to transform? Yeah, I think we have touched on a lot of those. What would you like to add? What speaks to you right now? What comes to mind?

I think that what comes to mind the most is being encouraging and supportive to those of us who have additional privilege in our lives, for whatever reason or for no reason. The fact that we have that additional privilege, I think, calls us morally to be more brave because we don't have to make as large of a sacrifice as other people do. And I don't know, for me, it's not about having more courage than someone else. It's just about taking action for the people who I feel connected to. That's really it.

So, you know, if the people who you referred to a little bit ago as being disposable to institutions and systems that have been set up and virtually run themselves, largely because of the ways that we've been acculturated and conditioned to participate in them without realizing it...

Right. Right. Yeah.

Yeah, yeah. I just think that we have a greater obligation to continue this historical continuum of struggle for social change—to support the people who are working hard to uplift their lives and face these formidable foes of corrupt power, you know? I think that we have a moral obligation to put ourselves on the line much more because we can take the consequences, you know? And look at the people throughout history and our ancestors who have made those sacrifices and had fewer resources.

And with fewer resources.

And thanks to them, we are here.

Yeah. Right?

So, I just think it's part of the human evolution.

Yeah. Yeah. Who or what helps you return to love when you feel disconnected or discouraged?

My heroes and sheroes, family members, historical figures. You know, Ella Baker. Oh, I just love her power. I have to show you a mural of her from my recent trip to Atlanta.

Oh, beautiful.

In Sweet Auburn, right? Right where Atlanta's Black Wall Street once was.

Nice.

Gorgeous mural. It's really cool.

Beautiful.

Yeah. I look to them, really, for wisdom, for strength, for inspiration. I look to them. I have my Dr. King book at home. I have my speeches of Malcolm X book. I go to those and remind myself—not that I'm comparing myself to them by any means—but the level of commitment that they had and the level of sacrifice that they had, you know, it makes what I'm doing seem insignificant, but it inspires me to be better, you know, to step up.

Yeah.

Being with my family and my loved ones helps. But again, being around the people who I work with every day and seeing their courage—especially the women stepping up and speaking out and saying things like, "Yeah, this government can deport me, but here I am. I'm doing this for my grandkids and for the people who are going to come behind me, who shouldn't have to suffer the terror of not knowing whether or not they're going to be separated from their loved ones," you know. Wow. That courage inspires me to keep going every day. How can you not step up and stick your neck out when people like that are doing it? Truly.

There are folks who are listening to our conversation who are probably wondering, "What can I do? How can I be a part of the work that you're describing—building belonging and community resilience, connection, justice for everyone in our community? Full stop. Whether they have legal status here or not, whether they are people who live in my neighborhood or are related to me or not, I feel called to support them and connect with them. But where do I start? How do I do that?"

I would say, first of all, follow that curiosity. Put it into action. Don't stop at just thinking about it. Look into what are the groups that are close to you doing the work. You don't need to start something from scratch, you know? There are plenty of organizations and groups who are already doing the work, and it's just a matter of finding the group that you feel most comfortable with—feel most comfortable with their vision or their strategies and tactics.

The Sonoma County Sanctuary Coalition is one avenue for people to get involved. We have a list of participants of 600 people now, dozens of organizations, labor unions, a lot of congregations, faith leaders, undocumented migrants. And people are getting involved at whatever level they feel comfortable because there are different roles for different people to play. So, do a little research, see what groups are out there, see what interests you the most, maybe where your skills and talents will bring the most into certain groups, and just try it out, you know? And we don't need to control everything. We don't need to see successes right away. We just need to show up, you know, and support the people who are most impacted.

Well, thank you for that. We're going to put a link in the show notes for the Sonoma County Sanctuary Coalition and encourage everyone to... it just takes a little bit of courage to go to the website and check out what you're doing and who's part of the coalition and see where you fit. It's such a big and diverse tent. It really is.

Yeah, it really, really is.

A beautiful, beautiful, beautiful community. I'm watching our time together and I want to ask you, what's one lesson you hope others will carry away from the journey that you've shared with us today?

That we should never lose hope. We should never lose hope that we have the power to make things better. We should never lose hope that we can be significant allies to people who are suffering and experiencing hardships in their lives, and to be able to respectfully support them in transforming the sources of that pain. All of that is possible. And I think that's one thing that I don't think I will ever lose—that sense of hope and possibility.

And also, I think that to go along with that, we have to—because it's part of not allowing the fear to take over and allowing the hope and the love to remain—we have to be relentless. We have to be willing to be in it for the long haul and to be consistent and to be fierce every step of the way, believing that change will happen. I think that's my big lesson that I would share with folks. Stay your course. Stay your course. Yeah. Don't... it's normal to get disheartened and to sometimes get cynical, but if we allow that to dominate, then we become paralyzed, and other people can't count on us if we are paralyzed.

So we have to be, you know, peddlers of hope. And we have to be so relentless that sometimes, you know, we might be perceived as crazy. You know, let the craziness come out. What do you have to lose? If people's pain and suffering can be transformed, then let's get a little crazy. Let's get a little crazy. Yeah.

Well, we'll close on that invitation. Thank you. Thank you, Renee.

Thank you, Lisa. Lovely to spend this time with you.

So, folks, thanks for listening. We're grateful that you've joined us in community today and that you believe, just like we do, in the importance of building belonging, resilience and justice in this region. We know it will have ripple effects across the state and across the country and around the world. So your presence is really meaningful and we're very grateful for it.

If you'd like to get even more involved with the work that United Way of the Wine Country is doing, please join us. Be sure to subscribe to this podcast and follow us on social media. You'll find us on Facebook, and you'll find us on LinkedIn, and you'll find us on Nextdoor. We're banned from Instagram—I'll leave that to you to figure out why that might have happened.

Sign up for our newsletter at our website, unitedwaywinecountry.org, and share our conversations with a friend. Feel free to have the same conversations that we're having here with your friends. The more of us having conversations like this, the more we will all appreciate that we are the leaders that we're looking for, and we're just looking for a place to get started. Thanks for starting here.