As the days get shorter, colder, darker, I can feel the weight of the holiday season. My desire to hibernate is overshadowed by the expectation to connect. This time of year, hard for myself and hard for many others, often casts long shadows on those unseen. I hope you, the reader, knows that you are seen. Not watched, criticized, or judged—but remembered in the warmest way.
As we all scramble through life, cracking a little each day under small things that feel bigger than life, my prayer is this: may other small things find their way into those cracks. May they act as glue to hold you together long enough to laugh at a joke, smile at a memory, or look in the mirror and remember that you are magnificently human.
One small thing Legal Services for Prisoners with Children (LSPC) does each year is gather. We love to gather—for meetings, for protests, for rallies. The LSPC community reminds me of “we” at times when my desire to isolate feels so tempting. And on November 22, 2024, we broke bread at our office space we proudly call the Freedom and Movement Center in Oakland, California.
That morning, I baked two batches of my family’s biscuit recipe. The smell was divine and my little ones ran into the kitchen as I cut them open and buttered each one. Each child begged me to leave them at home for their own feast. Obligingly, I left a few, my heart already set on doing so.
Like all holiday meals where you fast the whole day until it’s time to eat, today was no different. Each staff member arrived in full starvation mode and when the turkey was finished being fried to perfection, the kitchen buzzed with eager staff and community members, forming a lively line of empty plates and growling stomachs.
I was just as hungry, but instead of grabbing a plate, I grabbed my camera. I wanted to capture the abundance—not just the literal feast spread along the tables but the metaphorical abundance of care, love, and humanity gathering in that space.
Once bellies were full, pant zippers and buttons pushed to their limits, the room fell silent and all that could be heard were the sounds of pens on paper. What were we writing? Letters to you.
Over 1,600 blank holiday cards waited to be filled with handwritten messages. Volunteers, many of whom know firsthand the experience of being incarcerated during the holidays, poured their love into these personal messages.
At LSPC, our mission is to restore the civic and human rights of formerly and currently incarcerated people. It is a big mission, and we have succeeded in many historical campaigns. Friendsgiving, though small in comparison, is no less important. It offers a tangible gift to you and hopefully demonstrates our commitment to human connection and the importance of care.
Simply put, we care about you, and we pray for your survival and ultimate release. We hope you received your card with our best intentions intact. We also hope that the written message resonates with you in some meaningful way. This small symbol reflects the larger care that surrounds you. Together, we will keep building this circle of connection between the inside and outside until all of us are home.
TaSin Sabir, Editor-in-Chief of All of Us or None Newspaper
