As a person of color, as a woman, as a body moving through this

Hear the words of Jacqueline Woodson, teller of truths and weaver of memory, who declared: “As a person of color, as a woman, as a body moving through this particular space in time, I realize the streets of New York tell the story of resistance, an African-American history of brilliance and beauty that, even in its most brutal moments, did not – could not – kill our resilient and powerful spirit.” These words resound not only as personal reflection, but as a hymn to the endurance of a people and the unbroken flame of the human soul.

For what are the streets of New York but a living archive? Beneath the clamor of its towers and the ceaseless footsteps of its millions lies a story carved into brick, stone, and spirit. It is the story of the African-American journey, of laborers who built, of artists who sang, of women and men who struggled to stand tall in a city that often sought to break them. Each block bears witness to resistance, each neighborhood holds the echo of songs sung in defiance of despair. And though the city has known cruelty and injustice, it has also been a forge where brilliance and beauty emerged unshaken.

Consider the legacy of Harlem, that storied place where poets, musicians, and thinkers birthed the Harlem Renaissance. In a time of segregation and brutality, Harlem became a sanctuary of creativity, a constellation of Black brilliance that illuminated the world. Figures like Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston carved art from struggle, transforming pain into power, and reminding all who listened that the spirit of their people could not be extinguished. This is what Woodson speaks of: that even amid oppression, the streets bore witness to resistance and to the flowering of unbreakable genius.

History, too, recalls the marchers who filled those same streets during the Civil Rights Movement, voices raised in protest against injustice. They were met with hostility, yet they pressed on, embodying resilience greater than any force of hate. The streets of New York echoed with chants for equality, and the spirit of the marchers joined the chorus of centuries: that the human will to be free cannot be silenced. Even when violence threatened to crush them, their spirit remained alive, and from their courage new freedoms were won.

Woodson speaks also as a woman of color, and this deepens the truth. For the struggle was not only against racism, but also against the chains of patriarchy, against being silenced both for race and for gender. Yet women rose—Sojourner Truth, Ida B. Wells, Shirley Chisholm—voices that could not be quieted. They carried the double burden, and yet turned that weight into strength. Their resilience proved that even in the most brutal moments, the spirit of the oppressed not only survived, but shone brighter.

The lesson is clear: no system of cruelty, no act of violence, no season of despair can destroy a spirit that refuses to yield. The resilient and powerful spirit Woodson honors is the same spirit that carried enslaved people to freedom, that birthed music from sorrow, that turned oppression into fuel for brilliance. It is the eternal testimony that even in chains, the human soul can remain unchained.

And so, O seeker, take this wisdom for your own life. When you walk your own streets, remember they too hold stories of struggle and triumph. Do not despair when life seems brutal, when obstacles seem unmovable. Instead, claim the inheritance of resilience that history gives you. Stand tall in your own time, shine your own brilliance, let your own beauty be unbroken by hardship. For the story of resistance is not only the story of a people, but the story of humanity itself.

Let Woodson’s words echo as a command and a comfort: the spirit cannot be killed. Brilliance and beauty rise even from the harshest ground. Walk your path with courage, for you, too, are part of that eternal song of resistance, resilience, and triumph.