On one evening each August, the organization Milwaukee Water Commons holds We Are Water to celebrate the gift of Lake Michigan.
READ: The Evolution Of Milwaukee Water Commons
Participants are invited to fling off shoes and sink toes into sand. They’re also welcome to create a bit of art, music and community.
I met Milwaukee Water Commons artist in residence Nateya Taylor, who was sitting at one of six picnic tables lined with art supplies. She helped draw and cut out large corrugated images — a turtle, a robin. “Anything that requires water to live. We drew them for community members to put sticky tape on, color and decorate. And then later will put lights on them,” Taylor says.
The creations are part of the twilight celebration. So are the percussion instruments being crafted at another table, out of bean-and-rice-filled plastic eggs held between two spoons.
Ana Paula Soares’ daughter has already made one and is thinking about making another. Soares is originally from Brazil, a country rich in water. She’s lived in Milwaukee for 17 years. Growing up, Soares intuitively felt connected to the water and she wants that for her daughter.
“But I feel like that we lack in our society, teachings that allow us [to do so] in a more everyday way. I’ll give you an example. My daughter came home a year ago saying she was learning in school what is alive, what is not alive. A cat is alive. This is a stone, 'it' is not alive. This is water and she’s learning that is not alive. Coming from Brazil it’s a mixture of European and Indigenous traditions,” Soares says. “So for me, that have a background in Indigenous traditions, I was like, no they’re not teaching it right."
Dinorah Márquez too, exudes exuberance for life and water.
“Being drawn to water is actually ancestral. I’m from Mexico and water is our grandmother,” Márquez says.
The musician, teacher and poet stepped up to serve on Milwaukee Water Commons’ board because it advocates for people and water.
“Specifically for environmental justice,” Márquez says.
Márquez says looking out at the energy in the crowd reinforces what she thinks of as the glue of the movement — approaching water as an “entity,” not a commodity.
“When you perceive it as part of who you are instead of a commodity and I think that’s what is bringing together so many more people. And I think a lot of us as people of color, we don’t relate as a commodity especially if we have indigenous roots,” Márquez says.
Hip-hop performer and teacher Fidel Verdin summons everyone to gather on the beach with Lake Michigan as his backdrop.
“When I think of water, I think of the future,” Verdin says. There were young people in the crowd, but Verdin says not enough. Verdin challenged the crowd to bring more young people to the commons.
“Young people are creative problem-solvers and will become the leaders in our community. So, when I say I want you to bring more young people next year, I mean that,” Verdin says.
Drummers added energy to the space. Chalchiuhkoatl Kardós invited the crowd to join in song — as they sang their own compositions. "Water of the stars, water of the sea, water of life, it runs through my veins,” Kardós chants, first in English, then Spanish.
Kardos’s voice soared, backed up by three fellow women of indigenous heritage.
No one joined in with more gusto than Krislyn World. The Milwaukee native stood at the back of the crowd — swaying, dancing and singing. Not only what this her first We Are Water event, World lived 30 years not trusting the water.
She hadn’t gone near Lake Michigan since Milwaukee’s cryptosporidium outbreak in 1993. Now, seeing the community involved in water issues, World says, it gives her hope for the future.
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