Dearest Family:
I find myself reaching for language to describe what we are witnessing — “fascism” and “authoritarianism” come close, but the onslaught of actions of the new U.S. administration in the last three weeks have inflicted suffering that exceeds language. We are witnessing the calculated destruction of norms and institutions in the arenas of immigration, climate, foreign aid, diversity, and democracy. These executive orders — their speed, scale, and volume — have created new disaster zones overnight. Cruelty is the point. Chaos is the means. And helplessness is the desired result.
But we are not powerless. Millions of us oppose authoritarianism. We are the majority. We must act like a majority. Our greatest power lies in our choice to care for each other, to risk ourselves for each other.
We must be brave with our love — braver than ever before.
What do we do?
First, know that you are not alone. Your breathlessness is not a sign of your weakness. It is a sign of your strength. It means you are awake to the magnitude of what is happening. Their strategy is to overwhelm us, to make us feel powerless. They are counting on our silence and betting that we will concede to their new world order. That’s how authoritarians win. But we can — we must — keep alive our commitment to each other. We can outlast this. We can rebirth the world on the other side of this. Only if we refuse to normalize cruelty and inhumanity. We must keep alive the literacy of the heart. Who will help you stay awake, connected, and rooted in love?
Second, choose your focus. Everyone I know who works in a field to protect and care for vulnerable people — undocumented immigrants, refugees, asylum-seekers, trans and queer people, women and girls, poor people, youth and student activists — has seen their work disrupted, dismantled, or incinerated nearly overnight. Many of these executive actions are illegal. We are deep in a constitutional crisis that tests our system of checks and balances. It is unprecedented. We must demand for Congress and the courts to intervene, so that democracy survives. Meanwhile, we must do what many of our communities have always done — take care of each other. You only need to take on your role in the labor. You are part of a whole; trust in your part. We need you right where you are. What is your role? Where is your focus?
Third, courage is contagious. The care we witnessed in Los Angeles in the immediate wake of the wildfires is a blueprint for all of us. We housed each other, fed each other, held each other through sudden and wrenching loss, created mutual aid networks, and ignited conversations about how to reimagine and rebuild our city on the other side of the flames. We wove threads of care and protection around each other — and in so doing, embodied the world that could be. There are now multiple disaster zones across the country, and millions who are terrified, threatened, and suffering. Who needs your care right now? If you are in a disaster zone, who can you reach out to for care?
My dear friend Lauren, a humanitarian and aid worker whose work was decimated overnight in the dismantling of USAID, described how millions of people globally are losing access to life-saving healthcare and medicines. She said: “It feels like a nuclear bomb over everyone I know.” She paused and spotted a bag of flour and sugar and tin on her kitchen counter. She apologized. She was going to mail me cookies for the children we housed in the wake of the LA fires. “Now you’re in a disaster zone,” I said. “It’s our turn to take care of you.”
We will take turns taking care of each other.
Finally, joy is lifeblood. The onslaught of crises is designed to deplete you, numb you, and empty you of hope. But there is a sovereign space inside of you that they cannot touch: it is a space of freedom and beauty and imagination — and joy. How did our bravest ancestors survive apocalyptic times? They found that bright sovereign space inside of them, and from here, they marched and fought and sang and insisted on a vision of a world of belonging. Let us gather together whenever we can — around music and food and stories — to nourish and fortify each other. Let joy be our lifeblood. How will you protect pleasure, rest, and joy in community?
Hold fast to each other. Practice the world we want in the space between us. Let love be your compass. Your resources for this moment here.
Breathe — and push,
Valarie