A dove flew low above us as Pablo and Efrain led our march on that ninth day in June. It landed on the stone wall lining Central Park across the street from the stage where we were to make our statement. Such an elegant and clean bird. Showing no fear of the drums pounding up the avenue, it was safe to say our culture is as pleasant to its ears as it is to ours. The cameras were broadcasting live to Boricuas abroad as we entered their frame. As we all stood on the velvet carpet on Fifth Avenue, Efrain, his eyes covered in plastic with a can of goya hanging above him out of reach, dropped. At that moment all of the weight shared with me by the brothers, the volunteers, the revelers, the 4,000+ lives lost from Hurricane Maria, and years of suffering due to eugenics forced upon a people that were seen by many as roaches since its annexation in 1898, barreled onto me and forced Pablo to his knees. The other in our progression followed suit, and for a brief moment, the gaze of the camera bored an unimaginable heat through us all. Never had our ears sensed so much silence among so much noise. The dove was still there and so were we.