Stacey Abrams

I grew up one of six children with working-class parents in the Deep South. My mother was a college librarian, and my father worked in a shipyard. I never saw them balance a checkbook, but they kept a roof over our heads and got all six of us into college.

I do not Google myself, I do not read comments, and I barely look myself in the eye when I look in the mirror.

My being a black woman is not a deficit. It is a strength. Because I could not be where I am had I not overcome so many other barriers. Which means you know I'm relentless, you know I'm persistent, and you know I'm smart.

The basis for sustainable progress is legal protections grounded in an awareness of how identity has been used to deny opportunity.

I like to solve problems. I know it is a skill set, but it's also an obligation. I grew up with parents who believe that you don't simply complain: you try to find solutions and fix what's in front of you.

Here in Georgia, we continue to grapple with our own vestiges of hate. The image carved into Stone Mountain, like Confederate monuments across this state, stand as constant reminders of racism, intolerance, and division.

To achieve our goals of educating bold and ambitious children, we must invest in enriching, quality early child care and learning.

Boycotts have been a critical part of social justice in American history, particularly for African-Americans.

We must use words to uplift and include. We can use our words to fight back against oppression and hate. But we must also channel our words into action.

Quality educational care grows resilient children, provides support for working families and stability for employers, makes Georgia more competitive, and invests in the workforce of the future, beginning in early childhood.

Economic inequality is systemic, and one of the most effective barriers is ignorance about how money works beyond the basics.

The miasma of fear that is created through voter suppression is as much about terrifying people about trying to vote as it is about actually blocking their ability to do so.

Part of the reason voter suppression works is we've created this culture that says you don't challenge the outcome of elections unless the act is so egregious as to be absolutely clear on its face.

Let's be clear: Voter suppression is real.

Facebook captures examples of inequality and makes them available for endless replay. Twitter links the voiceless to newsmakers. Instagram immortalizes the faces and consequences of discrimination. Isolated cruelties are yoked into a powerful narrative of marginalization that spurs a common cause.

The marginalized did not create identity politics: their identities have been forced on them by dominant groups, and politics is the most effective method of revolt.

Our ability to participate in government, to elect our leaders and to improve our lives is contingent upon our ability to access the ballot. We know in our heart of hearts that voting is a sacred right - the fount from which all other rights flow.

In her second career as a minister, my mother defied a legacy of chauvinism to become a leader of our community, overseeing a church that served as a hub, offering parenting classes, a food pantry, after-school programming, and - in the wake of Hurricane Katrina - a lifeline to those ravaged by loss.

At any given moment, we each face a barrage of obligations, often disparate and distinct from what we thought would happen when we woke up. From the tragic to the common to the extraordinary, life refuses to be divvied up into careful slices of time. No technology can manage to overcome the realities of reality.

Progress is possible, but it is fragile - and across our country, the battles for our most basic civil rights rage on.

I believe we need leaders who actually want to lead everyone.