When we rise together, whose future is being built?

That’s the question driving a new partnership announced this week between Martin Luther King III and Mi Familia Vota, one of the nation’s most influential Latino civic organizations. According to Axios, the collaboration aims to mobilize millions of Black and Latino voters across multiple battleground states ahead of the 2026 midterms — a strategic alliance that’s both practical and poetic.

Because if there’s one thing history has shown us, it’s that when these two communities move in sync, the entire balance of power shifts.

For decades, politicians have treated Black and Latino voters like separate worlds — divided by language, geography, and political assumptions. But on the ground, the struggles have always overlapped: underfunded schools, voter suppression, wage gaps, housing discrimination, and attacks on immigrant rights. The systems that work against us don’t discriminate in their efficiency — they target us both.

This new coalition between King and Mi Familia Vota isn’t just about turnout. It’s about rewriting the story of political unity in communities of color — one where solidarity becomes a strategy, not a slogan.

The partnership will focus on expanding civic engagement in key states including Georgia, Arizona, Texas, and Florida — where both Black and Latino voters represent massive, and often underestimated, political power.

But more than numbers, this is about narrative. Too often, conversations about power in these communities are framed in competition — who turns out more, who “decides” elections, who gets courted harder by politicians. That framing misses the bigger picture: our futures are intertwined.

When Martin Luther King III talks about “shared destiny,” he’s building on a legacy that his father saw coming decades ago, the idea that freedom is collective, not comparative. Dr. King knew that racial justice, economic justice, and immigrant justice couldn’t be separated. They rise or fall together.

Coalition work is not new — but it’s been messy. Black and brown alliances have always faced internal and external pressure. From the Chicano and civil-rights movements of the 1960s to the Black/Brown coalitions that powered labor strikes in Los Angeles and Houston, solidarity has had to survive political manipulation, cultural misunderstanding, and the myth that one community’s progress threatens another’s.

This campaign is an attempt to bridge that gap for real. Not through speeches, but through structure: voter registration drives, policy education, leadership pipelines, and joint organizing. It’s practical, yes — but it’s also spiritual.

Because beneath the numbers is a truth that can’t be polled: shared struggle creates shared power.

When you look at today’s political climate — from anti-immigrant rhetoric to attacks on voting rights, book bans, and “anti-woke” laws — it’s clear that the forces trying to divide Black and brown communities are the same ones trying to silence them.

That’s why this partnership feels urgent. It’s not just a campaign; it’s a counter-narrative. It’s saying: you can pit us against each other in headlines, but you can’t separate us in history.

When Black and Latino organizers lock arms, elections flip. Laws change. Systems bend. We’ve seen it already — in Georgia, where multi-racial coalitions carried Senate races. In Arizona, where Latino voter turnout helped secure key victories. In Texas, where Black and brown workers are leading grassroots labor movements.

It’s happening everywhere. It just needs coordination — and investment.

Of course, building unity isn’t romantic work. It takes translation, literal and cultural. It means tackling anti-Blackness and colorism inside Latino communities. It means addressing the tension that sometimes surfaces around immigration policy, policing, or resource allocation. It requires seeing each other fully — not just when it’s politically convenient.

That’s the real opportunity in this partnership: to do the hard, honest work of connection. To recognize that “Black power” and “brown power” were always meant to be part of the same sentence.

If this movement succeeds, it won’t just change elections — it’ll change what democracy looks like. Because real democracy isn’t about representation alone; it’s about relationship.

When Black and Latino organizers share data, resources, and community networks, they’re not just voting for candidates — they’re voting for each other’s survival. That’s the kind of power you can’t legislate away.

As 2026 approaches, the stakes couldn’t be higher. The right to vote, reproductive rights, immigration reform, climate justice — all of it sits on the same foundation: turnout and unity.

This campaign is betting on the simple but radical idea that our communities don’t just share oppression — we share potential.

And if we show up together — not just in November, but every day between now and then — the question won’t be if we can change the outcome. It’ll be how big the change will be.