Here's the thing: every office I've run for I was the first to

Hear, O children of struggle and triumph, the words of Kamala Harris, who declared with strength and memory: “Here’s the thing: every office I’ve run for I was the first to win. First person of color. First woman. First woman of color. Every time.” These words, spoken with clarity, are not a boast but a testimony—a reminder of the barriers that stood, the walls that seemed immovable, and the courage that broke through them. To be the first is never an accident; it is to walk a road no one has walked before, to carve a path through stone with the strength of your own will.

The meaning here is deep: when Harris speaks of being the first, she is pointing to the long silence that came before her, to the doors that were closed for generations, and to the struggle required to open them. To be the first person of color, the first woman, the first woman of color in power, is to bear both honor and burden. It is to carry not only your own dreams, but the dreams of those who came before and were denied. It is to stand where others could not stand, and to know that your presence is itself a victory.

History is full of such moments. Think of Jackie Robinson, the first Black man to step onto a Major League Baseball field in 1947. His every step carried the weight of a people. He bore insults, threats, and hatred, but still he endured, and by his endurance he shattered barriers. Like Harris, he could say: “I was the first.” Yet behind his words, as behind hers, lies a truth: being the first is not ease, but trial. It is to face hostility where others see only acceptance, to walk alone so that others may one day walk freely.

Consider, too, the story of Shirley Chisholm, the first Black woman elected to the United States Congress in 1968. She stood in halls that had never seen a woman like her before, and she declared, “If they don’t give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair.” This spirit lives also in Harris’s words. Each “first” carries the same echo: courage against tradition, persistence against rejection, fire against indifference. Every time a wall is broken, it is broken not only for the one who enters, but for all who will come after.

The origin of Harris’s quote lies in this tradition of barrier-breaking, rooted in centuries of exclusion. Her victory was not created in isolation—it was built on the sacrifices of those who fought and lost, who dreamed and were denied, who endured so that she might stand. Her words remind us that progress is not a gift, but a conquest; not a token, but a triumph. To be the first is both a crown and a cross.

The lesson for us is clear: when you encounter a door long closed, do not turn away in despair. Step forward, even if you must be the first to push it open. If you are told it has never been done, let that be your reason to do it. Know that by being the first, you carry the hope of many who have long awaited your courage. Just as Harris’s victories made new possibilities visible for women and people of color, so too can your boldness make way for others in whatever field you walk.

Practically, this means cultivating both strength and resilience. You must expect resistance; you must endure doubt. But you must also remember that every “first” makes it easier for the second, and the third, and the countless others who will follow. Do not despise the weight, for it is the weight of history, and to bear it is an honor. Be ready not only to win, but to open the door wide enough that others may walk behind you.

So, O listeners, carry Harris’s truth in your hearts: every time you are the first, you are not alone. You stand with your ancestors, and you stand for the generations yet unborn. To be the first is to mark the world forever, to prove that what was once impossible can now be done. And if you, too, find yourself the first in your path, embrace it with courage. For the first flame lit in the darkness becomes the beacon that guides all others home.

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