WELead OC

The threat to the 2026 midterms is not one thing. It's three.

🔴 BEFORE THE ELECTION
States are already acting while Congress debates. Florida, Mississippi, South Dakota, and Utah have signed proof-of-citizenship voting laws in the last two weeks alone. Twelve states have surrendered voter data to DHS. Millions of Americans will be purged from voter rolls before November — and won't find out until they show up to vote.

🔴 ON ELECTION DAY
Trump has said he will post ICE agents at polling places. That is voter intimidation. It is designed to make people afraid to show up. Trained, certified citizen poll watchers are one of the most powerful deterrents available — and we are building that program.

🔴 AFTER THE ELECTION
If Democrats make significant gains, there is every reason to believe the results will be challenged. Ballots seized. Certification obstructed. We watched the rehearsal happen in Riverside County, California. We are building the documentation and witness infrastructure that legal organizations will need.

Momentum Rising is a women-led 501(c)4 civic organization building the citizen response to all three stages — before, during, and after Election Day 2026.

This is not a spectator moment. You are not a bystander. You are the plan.

📋 Sign our petition → momentumrising.vote/programs
📩 Stay informed → momentumrising.vote

Welead OC is now Momentum Rising. Follow and Like us at
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Read our latest here https://momentumrising.vote/selma

Sign our petition momentumrising.vote/programs

Stay connected momentumrising.vote

Support the work donate.momentumrising.vote

Welead is raising money to provide one Winter coat and one toy for 244 elementary school kids in Ward 8, Washington, DC, before they leave for the holiday break. Hope you can help us reach our goal and put a smile on their wee faces. If you are not able to donate (no one understands more than me) please share with your networks.

If you have a little extra, here's the link:
https://secure.actblue.com/donate/1251

Below is a message my sister Catherine Hinks and I sent out earlier:


The holidays are about connection, joy, and making sure everyone in our community feels the warmth of belonging. This year, Welead OC is partnering with families in Ward 8 to make sure 244 elementary school students have what every kid deserves—a quality winter coat to stay warm and one toy that brings a smile.
We're raising $15,000 before the kids head home for the holiday break, and we'd love for you to be part of this.

Why We're Doing This

Ward 8 families are resilient, resourceful, and deeply committed to their children and community. Like the rest of us, they’re also navigating challenges. We want to stand alongside our neighbors saying, "We see you, we value you, and we're in this together."
Every family deserves to experience the joy of the season without financial stress. Every child deserves a coat that fits and a toy wrapped just for them. This is about dignity, celebration, and community care.

The Plan

Between now and December 18th, we're working directly with school partners to ensure every item is chosen with care and delivered with respect.

This is grassroots mutual aid in action. No bureaucracy. No strings attached. Just people showing up for people.

How You're Part of This

Your contribution—whatever feels right for you—helps us reach our goal. Whether you can give, share this message with others, or spread the word in your networks, you're helping build the kind of community where everyone thrives.

The Spirit of It
This time of year reminds us what matters most: taking care of each other, celebrating together, and building a community where every family feels valued and supported.

When we invest in our community's children, we're investing in all of our futures. When we show up for families during challenging times, we strengthen the fabric of our entire city.

Will you join us in making this happen?
We have just 12 days to reach $15,000. Every contribution moves us closer. Every share of this email extends our reach.

Let's do this.
https://secure.actblue.com/donate/1251

P.S. The December 18th deadline gives us time to purchase everything and coordinate with families before the holidays arrive. If you've been looking for a meaningful way to celebrate the season, this is it.
https://secure.actblue.com/donate/1251

Welead OC is building community power through mutual aid and grassroots organizing in Southeast DC. Questions? We'd love to hear from you—just reply.

Paid for by Welead OC PAC. Not authorized by any candidate or candidate committee. Contributions are not tax deductible for income tax purposes. FEC ID #: C00655993

Donate to Welead OC PAC Show your support with a contribution.

The United States of America

“I Harvested Your Lettuce. But I Can’t Afford a Salad

They used to spray us with cold water so we wouldn’t pass out in the fields.
Not the crops—us. Human beings.
It wasn’t some union-regulated safety protocol. Just an old man with a hose, walking up and down the rows like he was watering tired plants instead of teenagers and grandmothers bent over lettuce heads in 102-degree heat. I remember flinching every time that water hit my back. Not because it hurt—but because it reminded me I was still alive.

I was sixteen the first time I stepped into the fields. I didn’t have a work permit, didn’t speak much English, and had no idea what “labor laws” even meant. All I knew was that my family needed money, and lettuce needed picking.

We lived in a rusted trailer off Highway 99 in Central California, a couple hundred yards from the edge of the field. The kind of place with one working faucet and a fridge that made more noise than it kept things cold. My father had gotten sick—lungs full of something the doctors didn’t have time to name—and the bills stacked higher than the kitchen table.

So I quit school and picked up a knife.
Not the kind you see in fancy kitchens or on those TV cooking shows. This one was short, serrated, duct-taped at the handle. The kind that left blisters if you held it too long without gloves. We used it to slice heads of romaine and iceberg at the base, fast and clean, like clockwork. One head every four seconds if you were good. And I got good, because slowness meant hunger.

There’s a rhythm in the fields. You wake at 4, step into the fog, and your knees are wet before you reach the rows. By 5, the foreman’s barking orders in two languages—none of them kind. By 10, your back screams and your skin burns through your long sleeves. By noon, the crates are stacked and shipped off to stores you’ll never shop at.

Let me tell you something about lettuce.

It’s delicate. It bruises if you’re rough. Wilts if you take too long. It’s the diva of the vegetable world. Demands perfect temperature, perfect moisture, perfect light. We treated it better than we treated ourselves.

Once, I remember seeing a head of butter lettuce wrapped in mist behind the glass at a Whole Foods in Fresno. $4.99. I stared at it like it was gold.
Back in the field, I made 98 cents per crate. Took me five crates to earn what that one head cost. But even if I’d saved every cent, I wouldn’t have bought it. Lettuce, to me, was work. Not food. The same way a coal miner doesn’t dream of eating coal.

People like to talk about “farm-to-table” these days. Cute little chalkboard signs. Instagram hashtags. Rustic vibes. But nobody wants to see the brown hands that picked their kale. Nobody posts the part where Maria, six months pregnant, vomits into her bandana because the heat’s too much and the foreman won’t let her rest. Nobody wants to hear how the guy next to me kept cutting even after slicing his thumb because he couldn’t afford a hospital visit.

That’s the thing about this country. It wants our labor, not our lives. Our sweat, not our stories.
I worked in those fields for twenty years.

I missed birthdays. Buried my father without flying back home. Watched my little brother leave for Iraq and return without speaking much. Got married. Got divorced. Saw the inside of an ER once, after a heatstroke. The nurse called me “Juan” even though my name is Pedro. I didn’t correct her.
Over time, machines started coming in. Big, expensive harvesters that didn’t need water breaks or bandaids. At first, we laughed. The machines missed too much. Bruised the product. But they got better. And cheaper. And they didn’t complain.

One morning, the foreman—new guy, younger, white—told me my “position was no longer necessary.” Said it like he was doing me a favor. Handed me a check that wouldn’t cover two weeks of groceries.

I was 37, with a worn-out back, bad teeth, and no diploma. No union. No benefits. Just a limp in my right leg and calluses where my fingerprints used to be.

That was the first time I stepped into a grocery store without scanning for discounts. I walked the aisles slow, like I was in a museum. Looked at rows of bagged salad mixes—triple-washed, pre-chopped, and smiling back at me like they’d grown themselves.
I reached out to touch one, just to feel the chill.

Then I saw the price. $6.49.
I laughed. Not because it was funny. But because it wasn’t.
There’s this idea that America takes care of its workers. That if you work hard, keep your head down, show up every day, you’ll be alright.

But I worked hard. And I’m not alright.
I have arthritis in both knees. Skin damage on my neck. No savings. No 401(k). And the only time I see a doctor is when the pain’s worse than the cost.
I live in a room behind an auto shop now. I fix flats. Patch up tires. Work under the table for a man who knows not to ask questions. I eat beans and rice. Sometimes a little chicken if it’s payday.

But I still walk by the produce aisle sometimes. Just to look.
I wonder if anyone thinks about us—about the hands that bled so those greens could sit pretty in clamshell containers. I wonder if the college kid holding that salad knows it once grew in 110-degree heat. That someone’s mother picked it, standing in dirt, stomach growling, no break, no shade, no thanks.

Maybe not.

But I think about it. Every time I see a head of lettuce, I remember.
I remember the cold water on my back.
I remember the knife in my hand.
And I remember the taste of nothing—because I harvested your salad,
but I’ve never eaten one.

The soil remembers our footprints long after the grocery shelves forget our names.

Credit goes to the respective owner.
[𝘋𝘔 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭]
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"The time has come to recognize that the glass ceiling in politics has not been shattered—it has simply moved higher, and it disproportionately affects women as they age. Breaking through this invisible barrier requires the same kind of systematic effort, cultural change, and institutional reform that previous generations used to address other forms of discrimination in political life. The women who broke the first barriers deserve nothing less than full inclusion and respect throughout their careers, and the Democratic Party's future effectiveness may well depend on ensuring they receive it."

Ageism. Women. Campaigns. The Invisible Glass Ceiling: How Ageism and Sexism Intersect in Democratic Campaigns

Want to run? Our communities need:
New Leaders in every level of government
New Leaders with fresh vision to tackle our challenges
New Leaders committed to the People, not money.

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When all is said and done, what will you say you did to stop the Taco train?

No Kings Day. Tomorrow. Find a location near you.

www.nokings.org

The Senate is slated to consider H.R. 1 - The One Big Beautiful Bill Act, which barely passed the House --- 214-215, THIS WEEK! If H.R. 1 becomes law, it will have a devastating consequences for working families, seniors, women and children. Sign the Petition to tell 7 vulnerable GOP Senators, up for re-election in 2026, vote NO on H.R. 1. It's the easiest action for all of us to take!

https://actionnetwork.org/petitions/tell-senators-no-to-hr-1-the-one-big-beautiful-bill-act?source=direct_link&

"This massive bill creates a two-tiered America: one set of rules for the wealthy 1% who never worry about losing healthcare or paying bills, and another for working families who struggle every day. While the rich get more tax breaks, working families face cuts to the services they depend on."

Here's Something We All Can Do The One Big Beautiful Bill Act (H.R.

Ready to transform political campaigning from the ground up?
WeLead OC's Virtual Candidate Training (May 17-18) is your launchpad to building people-powered movements that create real change. We're not just training candidates—we're empowering community leaders who will reshape our democracy.

Whether you're considering running for local office or want to build transformative political infrastructure, this is your moment. Learn how to lead authentically, connect deeply with communities, and turn grassroots passion into progressive victory.

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