Shepherding Others to a New Life

As we turn the page on Women's History Month, it's important to remember that our celebration of and gratitude to Our Brave Foremothers is not confined to one commemorative month!! We have to keep up the positive energy all the time. I am exhausted and beyond discouraged by the Christian Nationalist takeover of our government and society that just seems to revel in every right they can dismantle, every norm they can discombobulate, and every thread of our shared beliefs and values they can shred and laugh about. I have to remind myself, and through the stories I share here, remind all of us, that we still do have power. We have the power of our minds and hearts and actions.

Even the smallest acts of resistance, care, and community-building we undertake are ways to honor the Foremothers, who also faced terrible times, a well as recommit to ourselves today and those who will come after us.

In this edition of #SistoryLessons, I want to shine a light on three views into family and community care. The idea that everyone deserves a fair and just opportunity to be healthy—regardless of race, class, or circumstance—is not radical at all, yet inequities like poverty, discrimination, family separation, and lack of access to adequate care create deep hardship and undermine wellbeing. For Black, Indigenous, and other women of color, these obstacles have been formidable, and still, so many have carved pathways to wellness and healing for their communities anyway.

Let's read about three women whose lives illuminate different facets of community care and justice, from the intimacy of family to the universality of global innovation. Each woman suffered terrible injustice, and today they deserver our thanks for what they endured. Clara Brown used her freedom and wealth to heal fractured families while seeking the same for herself; Kala Bagai built community togetherness in the face of rejection and displacement; and Henrietta Lacks was unaware that her cells revolutionized medicine, all while her family remained invisible and uncompensated.

Clara Brown: A Mother's Endless Quest - ca. 1800 – 1885 — “Angel of the Rockies”

Clara Brown's early life was defined by the violence of slavery. Born in Virginia around 1800, she was eventually sold to a plantation owner in Kentucky, where she married a fellow enslaved person and had four children. When her enslaver died, the family was torn apart at auction—her husband sold to one buyer, her daughters to others, and her son disappearing entirely from the record.

Even while enslaved, Clara was known for her generosity of spirit, serving as a midwife and caregiver within her community, and her resilience and faith sustained her through unimaginable hardship. She herself was purchased by George Brown, whose surname she took. When he died in 1857, his will granted Clara her freedom. She was 56 years old.

Rather than settling into a quiet life, Clara headed west. The Colorado Gold Rush was underway, and, guided by deep religious conviction, she saw opportunity—not just for herself, but for her people. She convinced a wagon master to let her travel with his group by hiring on as a cook and laundress for about 25–26 men in exchange for her passage. But laws and customs at the time barred Black people—especially Black women—from purchasing stagecoach or wagon-train tickets, even if they had the money, so, even in her fifties, Clara had to walk the entire journey from Kansas to Colorado, hundreds of miles. Let me repeat: she was 56 years old.

In Central City, a rough mining town in the Rockies, Clara opened a laundry business. Miners needed their clothes washed, and Clara was excellent at her work. She charged fair prices, saved diligently, and invested her earnings in real estate and mining claims. By the 1860s, she had become one of the wealthiest residents of Central City—reportedly worth $10,000, a fortune at the time, about 400,000 dollars in today's currency. Beyond her business success, she became a founding member of local churches and a trusted community leader whose counsel and hospitality were sought by both Black and white settlers alike.

But Clara wasn't motivated by just accumulating wealth for its own sake. She poured her money into her community: helping build churches, funding schools, feeding the hungry, sheltering the poor. During the Civil War, when news reached Colorado that slavery had ended, Clara immediately began using her resources to bring formerly enslaved people west, paying for their travel and setting them up with homes and businesses—between 16 and 26 people in all, whom she shepherded to a new life.

All the while, her lifelong goal was to reunite with her daughter Eliza Jane, who had been sold off into slavery before Emancipation. She made repeated trips back to Kentucky searching for her; though she never found her other children, she kept searching and kept helping others. Local newspapers called her “Aunt Clara,” a term of endearment and respect (though we should note that “Aunt” was also a diminutive term used for elderly Black women in that era).

In 1879, financial troubles forced Clara to sell most of her property. But her community rallied around her: the Colorado Pioneers Association made her an official member—she was the only Black woman so honored—and ensured she had support for the rest of her life.

Then, in 1882, came a miracle: after nearly five decades, Clara was reunited with Eliza Jane, who'd been searching for her too. They had three precious years together before Clara died in 1885. The entire town of Denver mourned her, and she was buried with honors.

Recognizing that true health and wholeness come from reuniting families, building economic security, and creating communities of care, Clara explained her approach with humility: “I only do what Jesus tells me to,” she said.

Today Clara Brown is honored in Colorado as a pioneering formerly enslaved woman whose philanthropy and community leadership earned her the title “Angel of the Rockies.” An opera about her life, Gabriel's Daughter, along with memorials like a dedicated chair at Central City Opera and a stained-glass window in the state capitol, help keep her legacy alive.

Reflection: Thinking of Clara Brown—How do you invest in freedom for others after fighting for your own?

Kala Bagai: Building Home Even Where You're Not Wanted - ca. 1893 – 1983 — Community Builder and Cultural Bridge

Kala Bagai was born in India around 1893, into a time of tremendous political upheaval: India was under British colonial rule, and resistance movements were gaining strength. Her husband, Vaishno Das Bagai, became involved in anti-colonial activism, particularly the Ghadar Movement, which organized South Asian immigrants in North America to fight for Indian independence.

In 1915, barely out of her teens, Kala arrived in San Francisco with Vaishno and their three young sons—part of a tiny community, as only a few hundred South Asian immigrants lived in the U.S. at the time, most of them men. Kala was one of the first South Asian women on the mainland. The family had escaped India for political reasons, full of hope to settle in their new home, but they faced immediate, violent racism and controversy: it is reported that white neighbors formed a mob, physically blocked them from entering their own home, and locked the doors, while local newspapers went full sensationalist, writing about the “Hindu invasion” and stoking nativistic fears and hatred.

Despite this trauma, the Bagais tried to persevere in the Bay Area. Kala, isolated and dealing with culture shock, began teaching herself English and trying to build and maintain connections to her traditional foods and culture in a hostile land.

Vaishno's activism continued, but it came at a cost. In 1923, the Supreme Court ruled in United States v. Bhagat Singh Thind that South Asians were not eligible for citizenship because they were not “white.” This decision stripped naturalized South Asian Americans of their citizenship retroactively—including Vaishno. Devastated by this betrayal, unable to return to British-ruled India (which he'd fought against), and denied the American identity he'd embraced, Vaishno took his own life in 1928, leaving Kala a widow with three children in a country that had not embraced her family.

Kala could have disappeared into her grief. Instead, she pulled herself up and became a pillar of community. She relocated to Los Angeles, where she married a family friend, learned English, and opened her home to fellow immigrants, becoming a respected elder, cultural ambassador, and event host. To help with their settling in, she gave them what she had not received: a welcome. Kala fed them homemade dishes and hosted cultural events that, in a period fraught with extreme social and political division, brought together South Asians from every religious, linguistic, and regional background.

By the time she died in 1983, Kala had lived long enough to see the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 finally open doors for Asian immigration, and to witness the growth of vibrant South Asian communities across California—communities she'd helped nurture from their earliest days.

In 2020, Berkeley named a street after her. To this date, the only other Indian American woman to have a street named after her is the astronaut of the doomed 2003 Space Shuttle Columbia: there is a Kalpana Chawla Way in Queens, New York, and a Kalpana Chawla Court in El Paso, Texas.

Kala Bagai's life showed that community and belonging go beyond physical shelter. She helped create spaces where people can preserve their culture, find refuge, and be fully themselves.

Reflection: Considering the life of Kala Bagai—What does it mean to claim space where you've been rejected?

Henrietta Lacks: Cells That Changed the World, But Without Her Consent - 1920 – October 4, 1951 — The Mother of Modern Medicine

Henrietta Lacks was born Loretta Pleasant in Roanoke, Virginia, in 1920, to a family of tobacco farmers. After her mother died in childbirth, she was sent to live with her grandfather in a small log cabin that had once been a slave quarters. She grew up poor, working in tobacco fields alongside her cousins, including David “Day” Lacks, whom she would eventually marry.

In 1941, Henrietta and Day moved to Baltimore for work, settling in Turner Station, a Black community near the steel mills and shipyards where Day found employment. They had five children together.

In early 1951, at age 31, Henrietta felt a “knot” inside her and went to Johns Hopkins Hospital—one of the few hospitals in the area that treated Black patients. Dr. Howard Jones discovered a malignant tumor on her cervix, and during her treatment, Dr. George Gey, a researcher at Johns Hopkins, took samples of both her cancerous tissue and healthy tissue—without her knowledge or consent.

At the time, taking tissue samples without consent was common practice, especially with Black patients. The legacy of medical experimentation on enslaved people and incidents like the Tuskegee Syphilis Study had created a well-founded distrust of the medical establishment in Black communities—but that distrust was routinely dismissed.

Gey had been trying for years to grow human cells in culture, but they always died quickly. Henrietta's cells, which he labeled “HeLa” (using the first two letters of her first and last names), were different: they doubled every 20–24 hours and seemed capable of infinite reproduction. Gey began sharing HeLa cells freely with other researchers, and as biotech companies recognized their value, HeLa cells became a commercial product, bought and sold around the world.

HeLa cells—human cancer cells that can grow and divide indefinitely when maintained in appropriate culture conditions, such as nutrient medium in flasks or dishes—were used to test the polio vaccine, study viruses, understand cancer, develop techniques for in vitro fertilization, enable gene mapping and cloning, and much more; they have been used in over 75,000 studies, generating billions in profits for biotech companies.

Untreatable though “miraculous,” the cancer had spread throughout Henrietta's body, and she died on October 4, 1951, at age 31. She was buried in an unmarked grave in a family cemetery in Virginia.

For more than 20 years, the Lacks family had no idea that Henrietta's cells were still alive and being used in research worldwide. In the 1970s, researchers contacted the family—not to inform them respectfully of the medical theft, but to ask for blood samples from Henrietta's children to further their research. The family was confused and hurt: they couldn't afford health insurance, yet their mother's cells were making others millions.

Journalist Rebecca Skloot spent years researching Henrietta's story and building trust with the Lacks family, particularly Henrietta's daughter Deborah. Her 2010 book, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, finally brought Henrietta's name and story to the world—supported by no other than Oprah Winfrey, who helped bring Henrietta Lacks's story to a wider audience through her HBO film adaptation and public advocacy.

It took until 2023—over 70 years later—for the Lacks family to receive any settlement, reaching an agreement with Thermo Fisher Scientific and other biotech companies that had profited from HeLa cells. While the terms weren't disclosed, it represented some measure of acknowledgment and repair—though it came more than 70 years too late.

Henrietta Lacks's legacy is complex. Her cells have saved countless lives and advanced science immeasurably. But her story also exposes the brutal reality of how Black bodies—particularly Black women's bodies—have been used, exploited, and erased in the name of progress.

Reflection: Who profits from your story—and are you being honored?

Reflection and Action: Journal Prompts for Everyone

Thinking about Clara Brown: How do you stay hopeful in the face of separation? Write about a time you were reunited with someone or something important—or about what you're still searching for.

Inspired by Kala Bagai: How do you build community after loss? Write about a time you started over, and what helped you create belonging in a new place.

Considering Henrietta Lacks: How have you been extracted from—without recognition or care? This could be in your workplace, family, creative work, or community. What would repair look like? What can you do within yourself to "make yourself whole"?

HerStory / OurStory: Journal Prompts for Women of Color

Honoring the legacy of Clara Brown: Honor an ancestor who overcame great odds. What did they do to ensure the next generation could thrive?

In homage to Kala Bagai: Where have you built community despite being unwelcome? Connect with an immigrant support group or cultural organization that creates space for those still searching for home.

To commemorate Henrietta Lacks: How does it make you feel to know her family was finally financially compensated, so many decades after the fact? Is compensation enough? What does justice mean when it's this delayed?

Activated Allies: Prompts and Actions for White Friends

If you enjoyed learning about Clara Brown: Support family reunification efforts for refugees and immigrants through organizations like the Florence Immigrant and Refugee Rights Project or the Refugee and Immigrant Center for Education and Legal Services (RAICES).

To commemorate Kala Bagai: Honor early South Asian immigrant women and challenge who gets remembered as "American pioneers." Support immigrant rights organizations working against deportation, family separation, and housing discrimination.

In homage to Henrietta Lacks: Read about medical racism—both historical (the Tuskegee Study, forced sterilizations - which also targeted poor and mentally disabled women) and contemporary (maternal mortality disparities, pain treatment gaps). Consider who is centered in your health advocacy. Support organizations led by BIPOC communities working for health justice, like the Black Mamas Matter Alliance or the National Birth Equity Collaborative.

What These Women Knew, and What We Must Remember

Clara Brown, Kala Bagai, and Henrietta Lacks each illuminate a different dimension of community justice. Clara showed us how economic security, family reunification, and community support combine to make people whole. Kala taught us that wellness requires belonging, cultural continuity, and spaces where we can be fully ourselves, even acros divides. Henrietta's legacy—and her family's long fight for recognition—reminds us that medical advancement means nothing if it's built on exploitation and erasure.

We can emulate small steps towards community justice, through meals we cook for neighbors, mutual aid we organize, and other small acts of compassion and humanity. On the larger scale, we can continue to advocate for societal change and repair, at the systemic level. Community justice prevails through our personal resilience and our collective refusal to accept anything less than dignity.

As we navigate these shock-upon-shock times—when healthcare access is under attack, when immigrant communities face hostility, when medical racism persists, and so very much more—we can draw strength from these Foremothers. They faced immense obstacles and found ways to care for themselves and their communities anyway. We give them our thanks!

PS: April is Arab American Heritage Month and Dalit History Month

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P.S. As we honor Arab American Heritage Month and Dalit History Month, I invite you to go deeper with the work of two powerful movement sisters. Linda Sarsour is a Brooklyn-born Palestinian American organizer and Muslim feminist whose work has spanned local Arab American community advocacy to national leadership as a co-chair of the 2017 Women’s March, where she helped mobilize millions against racism, patriarchy, and state violence.

Thenmozhi Soundararajan is a U.S.-based Dalit rights activist, author, and transmedia storyteller who founded Equality Labs, a Dalit feminist civil rights organization that challenges caste apartheid, gender-based and religious oppression, and white supremacy through research, digital justice, and movement-building across South Asian and global solidarity communities.

For those who may be unfamiliar, “Dalit” is a term many formerly “untouchable” caste-oppressed people in South Asia use for themselves; it literally means “broken” or “oppressed,” and has been reclaimed as a political identity of resistance. Dalit communities have faced centuries of caste-based violence, segregation, and exclusion in India and the diaspora, and Dalit activists today organize for dignity, land, labor, gender justice, and freedom from caste everywhere it shows up, including in the U.S.

Check out Linda Sarsour’s memoir, We Are Not Here to Be Bystanders (and its young readers’ edition), and spend time with Thenmozhi Soundararajan’s searing and healing text The Trauma of Caste. May their voices guide us toward braver solidarity and more liberated futures.

Thanks for reading this edition of #SistoryLessons, a biweekly newsletter that uses the lessons from Foremothers who led the way as encouragement and guide for these times of resilience. The series is based on stories from my award-winning book, Our Brave Foremothers: Celebrating 100 Black, Brown, Asian, and Indigenous Women Who Changed the Course of History, and other, ongoing research.

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