MY NAME IS RICHARD SANTOS RAYA

I was born in San Jose, CA, to two young Chicano parents, sharing a roof with my grandparents and three uncles, and soon a younger brother. Our early years were marked by instability; my birth mother struggled with drugs, and when I was five years old, we lost her to violence.

Around the same time, we moved to Fruitvale. My dad, who had dropped out of high school, had managed to transfer into UC Berkeley. My father remarried, and his wife—the woman I came to know as my mother—adopted my brother and me.

My greatest political education came in those early years, watching my parents cook, laugh, and debate with each other in our apartment on Coolidge Avenue. My mom would complain about law school, my dad would daydream about running for office someday, and they’d discuss Israel and Palestine, Black-Brown solidarity, and reparations while serving us dinner. 

My mom is mixed, Black and Jewish, and unlike my father, both of her parents attended college. Under her tutelage, I was introduced to the most beautiful part of the Bay: its diversity. She showed me the high-class world of opera, ballet, and private summer camps, and made me try foods my grandparents had never heard of––but she also made sure we volunteered on MLK Day and Thanksgiving, and never let us forget just how privileged we were. 

My father, too, taught me of diversity, of the wondrous breadth of our Chicano culture with frequent visits not just to Mexico but to visit family in Stockton, Tracy and Fresno. I developed deep pride in our indigenous roots, a love of classic cars and classic cuisine, and a comfort in knowing that no matter where we are born, or what language we grow up speaking, that we all belong at the grand Latinx table, and that we all deserve respect and power in society.   

The lesson: study hard, travel far, learn how to talk to anybody, and try to be the hardest working and most informed person in the room — but remember where you come from, and who you serve.

So I studied hard, and I traveled far. I went to Macalester College in Minnesota, and Northeastern University School of Law in Boston, places that I knew could take the progressive ideals I’d been raised with and push them even further. 

My early system involvement—a childhood that was a whirlwind of custody battles and supervised visits—informed my interests and aspirations, and I studied education, restorative justice, and the philosophy of our American legal system. I interned with Congressman Keith Ellison in Minnesota, and after college I taught at both a wealthy summer camp on the Yale campus and an underfunded elementary school in East Side San Jose. While in law school I worked as a public defender in Oakland, at one of the oldest civil rights agencies in New York City (working to replace police officers with trained crisis interventionists for mental health crisis calls), and at the People’s Law Office in Chicago, which won reparations for its clients—Black men—from the police department that tortured them. 

All the while, I was sure of one thing: I would return to Oakland, to District 5, to the first place I felt safe putting down roots, to the place I’ll always consider home. When I was chosen to run Centro Legal de la Raza’s Youth Law Academy, right in the heart of Fruitvale, I felt blessed. It gave me an opportunity to return to the land that I loved, and I felt like the right person for the job: all of my learning and all of my travels had equipped me to serve my community, and to do some good.

Now, running this campaign, I feel blessed once more. Here, again, is a moment where we can come together to serve our community, to do some good. We’re from this district, we love this district; what better time than now? What better group than us? We are uniquely situated to rise like a tide and wash away the apathy and ineffectiveness that has long plagued our local politics. 

This political moment cannot be denied. People everywhere, young and old, rich and poor, are flooding the streets. Across the country, the call is the same: we need something new. 

I’ve got a heart full of love for District 5, and a head full of visions of the future I’ve learned from the activists and young people I’ve met. I can work hard, and I feel comfortable talking to anyone. But I can promise you—I won’t forget where I’ve come from.