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Cleo Sol is British soul singer born to a Jamaican father and Serbian-Spanish mother. She draws from many influences, including gospel. I am not religious (or even spiritual), but I deeply respect its impact on both American and music history—from resistance during slavery to the Civil Rights Movement to traditional bluegrass and country (and even hard rock) interpretations. “Wade in the Water,” “Down to the River to Pray,” “Ain’t No Grave,” “In My Time of Dying,” and “Freedom Highway” are all favorites.
This particular song and its album explore motherhood and mother-daughter relationships. Cleo confronts generational trauma with grace, as she acknowledges the sacrifices her mother made that have helped pave the way for her own growth and perspective. When we can imagine a life in which we are thriving and not just going through the motions, we can trust we are on “the road to peace” and healing, but the passage is painful. Between the buried secrets and the drinking, Cleo laments, “I know the pain / ‘Cause you nearly broke me down, mama.”
This is, perhaps, no better exemplified than by the modern day immigrant experience in America. Xenophobic, anti-immigrant policies and sentiment (specifically, toward Latino people) have reached their zenith under Trump 2.0. I listened to the Sunday Story last weekend and was struck by the paralyzing fear that mixed status families are currently experiencing. Self-deportation is looking to be a reasonable option to those with US-born kids, as long as those children can acquire US passports before doing so. Why? The dream of social and economic mobility is dying. Young people are afraid to file for financial aid at risk of drawing attention to their undocumented parents, and others refuse to leave their homes even for essential prenatal care. It is not immigrants who have turned their back on the promise of America. It is Americans who voted for this insanity and cruelty.
Cleo offers critique and acknowledges pain points while, ultimately, writing from a place of empathy and assurance: “I’ll fix what’s broke and live my live authentically.” She grounds herself and her audience with a steady conga beat. While her mother might struggle under the weight of that sacrifice, Cleo carries the dreams forward: “The little stars and the locked up dreams / The missing pieces, they're in me.” The harp and glockenspiel lend an ethereal quality, transporting listeners to dreamland and the possibility of a different and better future. This is, perhaps, where the typical immigrant experience and Cleo’s depart. The children are not alright in Trump’s America.
Still, many choose the path of resistance and mutual aid, like the church ladies offering rides (raites) to people without legal status. We must all use what privilege we have to confront conditions we cannot tolerate.
Rascoe, Ayesha, host. “Fear and Dreaming in the USA.” Up First from NPR, NPR, 6 Apr, 2025, https://www.npr.org/transcripts/1243242264.