Nearly 25 years ago, I kissed my mother goodbye in a crowded airport in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

My mother had the trifecta of sins: she was of Oromo-ethnicity ; she was a journalist; and she was progressive.

It would be four years before I saw my mother again, when we reunited in what has been our imperfect but adopted home of America.

Like my mother and me, millions others have immigrated to the U.S., fleeing war, economic oppression, ethnic conflicts and an infringement of personal rights.

Freedom that undoubtedly came from the uncompromising struggle for civil liberties, fought for and won by descendants of slaves in America.