I’m from the United States of Reckoning

Where the President threatens war on his own people and the Vice President cheers on war crimes.

Sometimes you make a bad decision knowing full well you shouldn’t do it, but you still do.

That was me, once again last night, checking for last-minute news before I put my phone down for the night.

This time Instagram opened first. And there it was, a message that I can’t stop thinking about.

It wasn’t from an American.

It was from someone halfway across the world. Someone watching us from a distance, grieving what we’ve become.

He wrote:

*“Dear Heather,
I am not a U.S. citizen. I live in a world where America was once the place people could turn when their own countries were dangerous. A place where, if you had courage and worked hard, you could reach your goal. You didn’t need political connections to succeed. America was the last resort, the land of possibility.

But now things feel different. The America I knew is disappearing. MAGA is serving their master instead of the people. America is becoming a place where people no longer matter. Someone must stand against Trump before it’s too late. America needs leaders, and real patriots, to stop this. Please, do it quickly. The world needs the old America back.”*

I played those words over and over again in my mind, even waking up in the middle of the night with the echo still lingering.

Because they hurt. Because they rang true. Because they reminded me that the world is still watching us.

Here’s what I wrote back:

*“Thank you for sharing this with me. I hear the grief in your words, the sense of loss for the America you once believed in. You’re not wrong. So much of what made this country a beacon has been hollowed out, and so much damage has been done by those serving one man instead of serving the people.

But I want you to know there are millions of us here who see it too. We are speaking out, organizing, and refusing to stay silent. Authoritarians thrive when people give up. We will not give up.

You’re right, America needs leaders who will defend democracy, and also need everyday people who stand up to lies and cruelty in their communities, at the polls, and in the public square. That’s what I’m trying to do with my writing. That’s what so many of us are doing in whatever ways we can.

Please don’t give up hope on us. The America you remember, of courage, possibility, and freedom, isn’t gone. It’s under attack, but it’s also being defended by millions of patriots who believe this country is worth fighting for.”

And that’s the truth: the world is watching.

They always have.

They watched as millions passed through Ellis Island, clutching bags and babies, chasing the idea that here, if nowhere else, was a chance, the land of hope, the land of opportunity.
They watched Hungarians flee Soviet tanks.
They watched Cubans flee Castro’s rule, risking rafts across open seas.
They watched dissidents escape dictatorships and find asylum in the United States.

America was never perfect. But it symbolized something bigger than itself.

A place of last resort and a place where dreams come true.

A promise that you didn’t have to be born into power to survive. That you could be nobody, and still make a life. That you could escape tyranny and still find freedom.

That is what people saw when they looked at us.

And that is why this moment cuts so deeply.

Because now, they’re watching something very different.

Today, Trump posted this: “I love the smell of deportations in the morning… Chicago is about to find out why it’s called the Department of WAR.”

And with it, an image of himself dressed like a general. Helicopters. Flames. A city painted as the enemy.

This is not leadership.

This is propaganda.

This is a sitting president declaring war on an American city and its people.

Every atrocity begins with language. Before the camps, before the roundups, before the violence in the streets, there are the words.

Hitler called Jews “traitors within.” Stalin called dissenters “enemies of the state.” Mussolini sent his Blackshirts into towns to “restore order.”

The words always come first.

But with Trump, it isn’t only words. The threats have become orders. The rhetoric has become raids. He is not just talking about invasion, he is sending agents into states and cities that do not want him there.

And now he calls Chicago a battlefield. Immigrants an invading army. Neighbors, enemies. Citizens, targets.

But Illinois isn’t bowing.

Right now, its governor is preparing salt trucks, the heavy machines meant to clear icy roads, to block ICE from occupying neighborhoods.

Salt trucks, meant to melt ice, now lined up to block ICE.

In Illinois, steel and grit are the barricades of democracy.

Think about that. Governors forced to defend their people not from foreign invaders, but from their own federal government.

We’ve seen governors stand in defiance before.

In 1963, George Wallace, the segregationist governor of Alabama, literally stood in a schoolhouse door to block Black children from entering. He used state power to deny rights.

Illinois is doing the opposite. Using state power to protect rights. To block authoritarian overreach.

That’s how fragile this moment is.

And it is why we are in a reckoning.

Because reckoning isn’t just about what leaders do. It’s about what we do.

It’s about whether we let propaganda become reality. Whether we allow fear to silence us. Whether we act, or whether we look away.

Today, I was reminded of that in San Francisco.

I came here with one of my daughters, who had a work event on Friday. We decided to make a weekend of it. (Yes, I flew to another one of California’s so-called “hellscape cities.” Sarcasm intended.)

We were walking near Fisherman’s Wharf when I saw the resistance in action. Two people spending their weekend rallying their community to vote to save our country.

It’s not dramatic to say that. California’s Prop 50 might be the one thing standing between living in a democratic republic and sliding into an authoritarian regime.

And yet here they were, just two people, with big signs that read: Vote Yes on Prop 50.

I stopped. I thanked them. I offered to buy them coffee or food. It was the bare minimum I could do to thank them for all they are giving.

Talking to them reminded me that even though I see so much hate and cruelty online, there are real people out there with conviction, with knowledge, and with the urgency this moment demands.

They knew the stakes. They know what’s coming. They know what we have to do.

And as we parted ways, she gave me and my daughter a hug. Because at the end of the day, we are all human. These days are hard. And they are going to get harder.

But in that moment, there was connection. And in that connection, there was hope.

And for the first time that day, I didn’t feel powerless.

Because that’s what MAGA wants for us. To feel small. To feel crushed. To feel like nothing we do matters.

But standing in the street with a sign is proof that something still does.

And it wasn’t just in San Francisco.

Today, we saw what might be the biggest protests yet. People flooding the streets of Chicago. Crowds gathering in Washington, D.C. The momentum is growing. The resistance is rising. The world is watching, and Americans are standing up to be seen.

That’s hope. Not empty hope. Living, breathing hope.

Because we also saw the other side today. J.D. Vance praising what should never be praised, in plain sight, on Twitter:

JD Vance: “Killing cartel members who poison our fellow citizens is the highest and best use of our military.”
Brian Krassenstein: “Killing the citizens of another nation who are civilians without any due process is called a war crime.”
JD Vance: “I don’t give a shit what you call it.”

This is what the government of the United States of America does now. This is how they act.

They orchestrate and then applaud the destruction of a boat near Venezuela, in international waters. They call it strength when in reality it was lawlessness.

There was no trial. No evidence. No proof that the boat carried anyone dangerous. Just violence. Just power without accountability.

And here’s the truth: when you stop following the rule of law, everything suffers. If there are no rules, if there is no justice, if there is no proof required, then where does it end?

And who is next?

When do they target you and me with the same process?
When do they decide another government deserves the same treatment, and start murdering Americans on boats?

That is what we’re up against.

But that is also why hope matters. Because hope tied to action is the only antidote to despair tied to cruelty.

And hope can’t just live in speeches or posts, it has to live in something real. It has to take root in the choices we make and the battles we fight.

Right now, one of those battles is Prop 50.

This is California’s firewall against authoritarianism. It’s our direct answer to what Texas did with redistricting, manipulating district lines to entrench Republican control and dilute the voting power of communities of color, silencing millions of voters.

Here’s why it matters: Texas’s illegal maps weren’t just about state politics. They gave MAGA Republicans an artificial advantage in Congress. Seats they should have lost, they kept. And because congressional power is all about numbers, every district stolen in Texas tilts the balance of the entire House.

That’s where Prop 50 comes in. If California passes it, those stolen gains are neutralized. What Texas tried to take away, California gives back. It equalizes the playing field, protecting fair elections not just here, but across the country.

Governor Newsom said if every Democrat gave $25, Prop 50 would pass. And he’s right. Trump’s people have the money. They have the megaphones. But we have the numbers.

And now those numbers need to mean something. Our goal has to be fundraising,ƒ not just to get people to the polls, but to make sure they understand exactly what’s at stake. Numbers matter. But numbers only matter when we use them.

And us using our numbers to make noise matters.

Because history reminds us what happens when “more of us” stay silent.

When Hitler rose, neighbors told themselves it wasn’t their fight. They kept their heads down. They whispered at kitchen tables but stayed quiet in public. They told themselves someone else would stop him.

By the time they realized silence was complicity, it was too late.

Authoritarians always count on apathy.

But history also reminds us of courage.

In Denmark, ordinary people smuggled families to safety in fishing boats. In France and the Netherlands, people hid children in attics and cellars. They couldn’t stop the war alone. But they didn’t surrender their humanity.

And that mattered. It always matters.

This is our moment of reckoning.

And no, donating to Prop 50 isn’t the same as smuggling families across borders. But the principle is the same.

Do not surrender your voice.
Do not surrender your power.
Do not surrender your hope.

Because silence is surrender. And surrender is how authoritarians win.

Change has always begun this way.

One sign in a street. One vote cast. One dollar given.

It was sit-ins at lunch counters. It was women gathering in living rooms to plan the right to vote. It was marches from Selma. It was the March on Washington, where a quarter of a million people gathered and Dr. King gave his dream to the world speech.

It was ordinary people, doing ordinary things, in extraordinary times.

And those things changed history.

So maybe you’re wondering, what can I do right now, from my kitchen table?

This is it.

Donate to Prop 50. Even $1, $5, anything. If we flood the airwaves with truth, if we meet their deep pockets with millions of small acts of courage, we will win.

This is what reckoning looks like. Choosing to act when it feels easier to look away.

Because the world is watching.

And so are our children.

I’ll be making a donation at stopelectionrigging .com and I hope you will too.

I’ll see you tomorrow,
Heather