We’re going to see a lot of people show up in the streets on Saturday. They’ll have different motivations for being there but they’ll all be united by a belief that we can move past this disaster of an administration and turn our country around.

They’re not giving up on each other. They have hope. And the organizations that many of them look to for how, when, and where to show up are promising that hope will translate into something beyond millions of fun but fleeting images that will be captured and shared that day.

As everyday people show up on Saturday to express their will for change, it’s a chance for all of us who work professionally in the field of change to consider how we show up—and as we ask them to show up differently for us, we must think about how we can show up differently for them.

So soon after the death of Rev. Jesse Jackson last month, it’s impossible for me to forget the contributions he made to the practice of hope. When he said “Keep Hope Alive” in 1988, instantly embedding both an ethos and a matra in so many of us, I don’t think he was talking about hoping that he would win the Democratic nomination, or that Michael Dukakis would win the White House (as much as millions wanted to move past Reagan and would give Dukakis nearly 46% of the vote).

Jesse Jackson’s version of hope questioned people’s assumptions about what was impossible, while staying firmly grounded in taking action toward achieving the possible. And often the difference between the impossible and possible was defined by one factor: time. Hard work, smart work, moving through time, could make the impossible possible.

That’s different from a forever dream—a story we tell ourselves about what the world should be, but which we never seriously work toward and don’t actually believe is real. This weekend is a chance to remind people to believe in change, hope for progress, and work toward the steady series of wins that can actually get us there. It’s a chance to defeat all-or-nothing thinking with win-everything-we-can thinking. That’s what truly keeps hope alive—the good kind of hope—and prepares us for the moment when the opportunities we have created allow us to leap forward. That time will come. Being prepared for it is our challenge.

Afroman won his case last week. He was raided by police in a violent way. He made fun of those police officers publicly, rightly embarrassing them. They sued him for defamation. He defended himself, embarrassed them at trial even further, and won his case definitively. All while wearing a suit patterned in every corner by the American flag. He’s not necessarily a liberal hero (given some of his other expressions), but he’s certainly an example of hope. He put his hands in the same legal system that attacked him, believing he could turn it around in his favor.

That’s what this election will be: turning a system that’s been used against us in our favor—in favor of the majority will, in favor of justice, and in favor of setting us on a course to change.

As we navigate the line between leaning on false hope as a cheap (and ultimately failing) way to motivate people, and leaning into the real hope that powers movements and wins progress, we can all take a lesson from Jesse Jackson as an able practitioner—a narrative navigator who understood that hope is a resource, and like any resource, it has to be tended to with care and rigor and discipline. You have to feed it. You have to protect it. And you have to be honest about it, because the moment people feel they’ve been sold a story that isn’t true, you lose them.

Cultivating, encouraging, and stoking hope requires us to be honest with people about the challenges. I’ve written before here about the importance of not sugarcoating the fight. We tell people we can win, but we can't tell them it’s inevitable. Hope that isn’t grounded in honesty about the obstacles isn’t hope at all.

Not every march or rally or expression of this fight will be for everyone. The rallies this weekend will give some on our side an opportunity to see themselves and connect with others like them. And there will be other moments that speak to and rally other segments of our base. That’s not a weakness. That’s how we build power, by opening enough doors that everyone has a way in.

All of these people and the folks they will help us reach need hope. A belief that we can change what is in front of us, and that we can win even when the odds are stacked up against us.