The Youth Lead and We Rise Together: A Reflection from Big Cypress

Big Cypress, FL- The air was thick with heat and heavy with mosquitoes. The Florida sun blazed overhead, and so did the fire in the hearts of the young organizers leading the demonstration in Big Cypress.

All around us stretched the unique beauty of Big Cypress National Preserve — a living mosaic of wetlands, pinelands, and cypress domes. Water trickled through the swamp, clear and alive with fish and turtles. Alligators meandered silently beneath the surface, eyes gliding like dark beads above the waterline. Anhingas perched on cypress knees, wings spread wide to dry in the sun. Overhead, butterflies floated and danced, flashes of color against the endless sky.

This place is more than scenery; it’s sacred land. Historically, it has been a refuge and a homeland, a place of survival and ceremony. Ecologically, it’s vital — filtering water that feeds the Everglades, sustaining countless species, and acting as a buffer against storms and rising seas. Spiritually, it hums with a quiet power, reminding us that life here endures against all odds. To stand in Big Cypress is to stand in a place that has witnessed centuries of struggle and resilience, both human and wild.

Organized by Indigenous youth — Miccosukee and Seminole — in collaboration with Unidos Immokalee, and supported by Skunk Ape Liberation Union, Save Our Democracy Corps, and several other organizations, today’s action was one of the most powerful, organized, and inclusive events I have ever attended. And I’ve been showing up to protests since the 90s. In all those years, I have never seen anything quite like this.

In the days leading up to the action, rumors and warnings flew. Stories circulated about planned violence, infiltrators, and chaos. These scare tactics were designed to keep people away — but I refused to let fear dictate whether I would stand beside these tribal youth. Their voices are so often silenced, so often ignored. If they were willing to risk so much to speak their truth, the least I could do was stand there with them.

What I found was nothing short of extraordinary.

We gathered first at Panther Camp — the home of some of the tribal youth organizing this movement, and only about half a mile from the ICE facility they’re fighting against. Panther Camp is a place of community and resistance, rooted in the heart of the Everglades. From the start, it was clear these young people were prepared. Every detail was handled with care. Before the demonstration, they held community calls and safety briefings. Roles were assigned: medics, legal observers, de-escalation teams, hydration crews, and support staff offering water, snacks, Gatorade, sunblock, and bug spray. No need went unmet. This wasn’t just an action — it was a community in motion.

More media showed up than I’ve seen at any recent Everglades demonstrations. Maybe they came expecting chaos. What they found instead was unity, purpose, and youth leadership that should humble us all.

These young leaders made space for everyone — every voice, every story — as long as it was peaceful. We prayed together. We chanted. We listened. We bore witness to the demands of Indigenous youth standing up not just for their homelands, but for all of us. They spoke about ICE, the destruction of the Everglades, the criminalization of migration, and the right to live and move freely without being caged, poisoned, or erased.

Yes, the Proud Boys showed up — all six of them. But with over 100 of us gathered, their presence shrank in the face of our unity. No one engaged them. We didn’t feed their thirst for conflict. We were too busy building something real.

As the action moved forward, the skies began to shift. Clouds rolled in, darkened, and finally broke open. Rain poured down, cooling the burning sun and washing away heat, sweat, and the relentless mosquitoes. It felt like a cleansing — as if the land itself was offering us relief and renewal. We huddled under the tents at Panther Camp, tighter and closer, voices rising together as the rain fell around us.

And in that moment of togetherness, the mic was opened for anyone who wished to speak — a simple act of radical democracy and community trust. People shared stories, grief, hope, and resolve. It cooled our skin and lifted our spirits. Under that tent, we shared not only shelter but a conviction that we would keep showing up for one another.

This action was intersectional, intergenerational, and deeply rooted in love. Even in the midst of trauma, grief, and injustice, there was joy, connection, and a collective heartbeat that said, “We are still here. And we are not going anywhere.”

Today wasn’t about fear. The scare tactics were just that — tactics. They were not stronger than the will, wisdom, and fierce organization of these youth.

What I witnessed today wasn’t just a protest — it was a glimpse of what a liberated future looks like.

We should all be paying attention.