I Chose To Be: A Socio Political Activist

People talk about “The Narrative” as if it were an immovable and unbreakable truth. We are told to believe in a version of society, whether there are cracks in the soil or even cracks in the metaphorical foundation, that can supposedly be controlled and/or fixed. But I have learned that the stories we are forcibly handed, about race, class, politics, and identity, rarely account for the sometimes messy but still very real experiences of everyday people.

I choose to be a socio-political activist not because I want to be, but because in this society, I feel like it’s something I have to be. And why? Mainly because I refuse to let others tell me what my reality should look like, whether it’s people from within my community or people outside of it.

My activism doesn’t look like standing on podiums or leading marches, it’s far from it. Instead, it shows up in my words, my reflections, and my determination to challenge the dominant story. Essentially, I just make observations that resonate with others. Many of my talking points are used within grassroots movements and even within the larger political space. Choosing to be an activist has changed the way I move through the world: it is not about destruction, but about reimagining. And yes, I’ve even put my life on the line for it.

Activism stumbled into my life before I even had a name for it. As I grew older, I noticed how the world wanted me to “fit” into certain molds. I felt like we were taught to be quiet, agreeable, and unquestioning. The older I got, the more those molds felt suffocating.

I started pushing back in conversations where silence was expected. It began in school, in history class, in criminal justice, even in sociology. I could tell by my teachers’ faces that my words caused discomfort, but they also sparked reflection. In high school, I realized I had a gift: I could use language like a mirror, showing people not only what they believed but also how those beliefs kept systems of white supremacy alive.

I was never Martin Luther King Jr. or Malcolm X, they are my inspirations and my reasons for pressing forward, but in my own way, I was shaking things up. Over time, this practice of speaking up evolved into a deeper role: that of a socio-political observer who connects with grassroots communities and helps turn their struggles into narratives that influence broader movements.

The narrative surrounding activism often paints activists as “troublemakers,” “angry,” or “ungrateful.” Remember, they once called Martin Luther King Jr. the most dangerous man in America. History has proven that society prefers docility over disruption, so a person questioning the system will always be cast in a negative light by the dominant culture.

I’ve heard the whispers: Why can’t you just let things be? Why can’t you focus on yourself instead of stirring the pot? Activism is chaos, speaking up is divisive, silence is safer.

But my story tells something different: my story says that activism is love. Believing that my community, my people, and this world deserve better is an act of love. In my opinion, activism is courage, not chaos.

My activism has not been without risk. My family and I were doxxed and threatened for daring to disrupt. The threats grew so serious that the FBI had to intervene. It was a cold reminder of how far some will go to silence voices that challenge the status quo. At the same time, my work was being published in news articles on major platforms, giving my words visibility while also putting me in the crosshairs of people who fear change.

Despite the danger, I’ve remained deeply involved in politics. One of my first introductions to it was helping run my father’s campaign for political office. He is now in his third term as councilman-at-large and has done extensive work in Delaware. My father is a corporate guy, so the way he moved through certain circles heavily influenced me, especially how to enter a room and command attention.

Some of these skills even landed me a role on the Obama campaign during his second term, where I was asked to help spread some of my talking points through social media. Although I have no party affiliation, what he was running on at that time resonated with me. Since then, I’ve contributed to local government races, attorney general campaigns, and congressional efforts, always focused on pushing narratives that spark reflection and action.

One memory that stands out is a heated classroom debate about inequality. Many students repeated what they’d heard on TV or at home, ideas about personal responsibility and “hard work” being the solution to everything. I interrupted, challenging the idea that everyone starts at the same place. I quoted Jane Elliot, saying that while the race may start at the same line, certain groups face different hurdles that make it far from a level playing field.

My words changed the temperature in the room. Some were offended, others nodded quietly, but no one left thinking the same way. And sparking conversation is always the goal. I don’t need everyone to agree with me; I don’t speak for validation. That moment taught me that disruption is necessary, without it, comfort blinds people from truth.

I choose to be a socio-political activist and observer because it allows me to claim power in a world that would rather I stay silent. I reject the narratives that activism is about anger and destruction. Instead, I live the counter-narrative: activism is reflection, creativity, and transformation.

I love the work I do, from grassroots organizing to shaping narratives on the national stage, but I also know that in today’s climate, safety takes priority, especially because I have a family. My activism matters, but so does protecting the people I love.

By choosing activism, I choose to believe that words can cause ripples that move us toward justice. And while my path may not look like the iconic leaders of the past, it is mine, and it matters.

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