Stacey Johnson-Batiste - Friends from the Beginning: The Berkeley Village That Raised Kamala and Me

The greatness of a community is most accurately measured by the compassionate actions of its members.

Coretta Scott King

Well make sure their story be told.

Kamala Harris

The Presidential Inaugural Committee is honored to announce the inauguration of Joseph R. Biden, Jr. as President of the United States of America, and Kamala Devi Harris as Vice President of the United States of America on Wednesday, the Twentieth of January, Two Thousand and Twenty-One.

I turned the invitation over in my hand, reread it, then read it a third time, awestruck. I gazed a few seconds longer at the embossed bright-gold presidential seal at the top of the invitation. It was official.

My heartbeat sped up as years of memories flashed through my mind, too quickly for me to even register any of them. My very first friend had made it to the second-highest office of this land. Almost light-headed, I slowly handed the invitation to my son, Patrick, then let out a big smile and shook my head.

Patricks eyes got big as he held the envelope in one hand and the invitation in the other. Its not every day you receive mail with the presidential seal on it, Mom! This is really cool, he said, the awe in his voice matching what I felt.

The gravity of the occasion started sinking in immediately. Until this moment we hadnt been sure if I would be attending. The last time I had spoken with Kamala, in November, she had told me she wanted me to be there. But her sister, Maya, had been in touch more recently, explaining that though it was still a possibility, the number of attendees was going to be kept to an absolute minimum. I had tempered my expectations, appreciating the necessity of a limited guest list as the pandemic raged on.

I had been given some indication that I might still be able to go, but it was only upon receiving the actual invitation that it felt real. Soon my shock evolved into exhilarationan emotion that had not come naturally for some time. Though Kamala being selected as Bidens running mate, and of course their election victory, had been thrilling, that news had been delivered in the same way everything else had for nearly a year: from a distance, intangibly, through screens, on the radio, over ecstatic phone calls. This was different. Something about the physical evidence of the invitation symbolized and brought home the possibility that the tumult and darkness of 2020 (and the three years before that, to be honest) were nearing their end. In that moment, the luminescent, sloping script on the invitation before me represented the bright light of change wed all been waiting for, praying for, desperate to see.

Over the subsequent few days I started receiving emails from the Presidential Inaugural Committee (PIC) regarding travel arrangements, hotel accommodations, and COVID-19 protocol guidelines. I would be leaving in mid-January and had to keep myself in strict quarantine for seven days prior to departure, then get back-to-back tests with 24-hour results in order to have two negative tests confirmed within the three days before I traveled to DC. I reread the strict instructions several times to make sure I didnt miss anything. I knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime, historic opportunityI had to get every detail right.

January 16 finally arrived. My heart was filled with anticipation as my son drove me to the airport for the specially chartered flight, which would depart LAX and make a stop in Oakland to pick up other friends and family of Kamala, soon to be Madam Vice President (!), then fly off to DC. Once at the airport, I eagerly boarded the plane and found my seat. Welcome Aboard the Inaugural Express read the seat placeholders, with our respective names written beneath.

Shortly after I took my seat, an announcement came from the cockpit, letting us know that an all-female flight crew had been requested by the vice president elect. I had never flown on a plane in which the captain, first officer, and entire crew were exclusively women! I laughed aloud with delight and settled in, knowing this was one of the many firsts Id be experiencing and witnessing over the next few days.

A small group of us were departing from Los Angeles, including a few members of the PIC committee; Kamalas best friend Chrisette and her family (which includes Kamalas godchildren); Dougs son, ColeKamalas beloved stepsonand also Coles mom, Kerstin, who has a legitimately wonderful relationship with Kamala. I smiled at everybody but tried to maintain a relaxed demeanor, though Im sure anybody who looked at my eyes would have been able to see that I was practically bursting with excitement.

I couldnt wait to find out whom wed be picking up in Oakland! Patrick had kept asking if I had called Derreck Johnson, a good friend from childhood, to see if he was going. Derreck and I had attended St. Josephs Catholic Elementary School together and have remained friends ever since first grade. Derreck and Kamala met during our senior year of high school, when she moved back home from Montreal. They hit it off immediately (as she did with almost all my friends). The two of them had maintained a close, separate friendship, and he had always been there to support her throughout her campaigns. I was sure he would be on the plane, but I didnt want to be the person calling him, in the unlikely but awkward event that he wasnt going. I figured he hadnt been in touch for the same reason.

After the short flight up from LA, we touched down to pick up the Bay Area crew, and sure enough, Derreck boarded the plane along with a handful of other longtime family friends with whom Kamala and I had grown up. It was a good thing I had a seat belt on, as my instinct was to run to the front of the plane to greet them. Unfortunately, due to the COVID guidelines that had been laid out so very clearly, I wasnt able to do that, so I refrained and instead stayed toward the back half of the plane in the designated SoCal section, waving enthusiastically at each person who boarded.