The Road Ahead After the Election
I woke up the morning after the election to find my ten-year-old son standing at my bedside, a mix of worry and hope in his eyes. He asked, "Can we move to Brazil? Or Costa Rica?" I could hear a sense of urgency, a hope that maybe, if we left, he’d be safe from the troubling possibilities he sensed. The stakes of this election didn’t just brush past him. The idea that our nation's leadership might change for the worse — and what that would mean for our country — unsettled him, as it did for so many of us. With tears welling up, I wrapped him in my arms, reassuring him the best way I knew how.
The ache that I felt wasn’t typical election day disappointment. It was a deep grief for the world my son is growing up in and how fragile his sense of safety already feels. The prospect of a leadership change that embraces fear, division, and dehumanizing rhetoric isn’t just political; it’s personal. It touches every part of my life as a Black mother, and it speaks to the reality my son is growing up with — a reality where people in power have at times shown disregard for his future and humanity.
We are, without question, living in a time of relentless challenges. Across the world, humanity is suffering — places like Gaza, Tigray, Haiti, Sudan are struggling under the weight of violence, political neglect, and the stripping of basic rights and dignity. At home, we face our own battles: sweeping threats to liberties, from reproductive rights to immigration policies. Leadership here and abroad, too often, uses fear as a tool to control, marginalizing those with the least resources, while stoking division within and between communities.
Yet, in times like these, I believe the most important work we can do happens close to home. adrienne maree brown once said, “Small is all.” It’s a powerful reminder that change begins on the smallest scale. What we do here, with the people we see every day, sets the patterns that can ripple through our communities, our states, and ultimately, our nation. When we organize at the grassroots level, we create a foundation that cannot be easily dismantled from the top.
It’s tempting to feel overwhelmed, to look at the enormity of the issues and think, What can I do? But it is precisely in these moments that we need people power. We have a collective responsibility to make our voices heard, to work together in our communities, to demand protections for our rights and the rights of others. This is not the time to retreat; it’s the time to act, to show up for each other, to hold tightly to our shared humanity, and to confront injustices with both courage and love. The way we respond to this period of division and uncertainty will define us for generations to come.
bell hooks words ring loudly in my head in this moment; I’m even more compelled to believe that action is love. We can’t afford to let despair or anger divide us from our neighbors, even when we don’t understand each other’s choices. We must choose love over apathy, understanding over anger, and, most importantly, solidarity over division.
My favorite poet Aja Monet speaks to both the pain and resilience within us all:
“I see the wounds across generations,
the laughter, and the scars.
And though I cannot hold the hurt,
I hold the hands of those who carry it.
Together, we’ll make a way out.”
If we are to navigate these difficult times, let it be with our hands and hearts joined, building and striving, never forgetting that our power is in each other. In the face of adversity, let’s be the bearers of light, knowing that in our smallest actions lies the potential to shift the entire landscape. Let us, together, make a way out.
That morning, I told my son to have faith — not naive optimism, but a resilient peace that persists, even when the road looks hard. "Life might get more difficult," I told him, "but it’s how we respond to difficulties that shapes our world." I promised my son that we would continue to build the world we want, even if we have to start small. I told him that in our community, in our neighborhood, we could make a difference. We could look out for each other, protect each other, and push for change that centers compassion and equity. We might not solve every problem in the world, but we could do our part, in whatever ways we can, to ensure that justice and kindness are at the heart of everything we do. Today, I told him, was a day to lead with kindness, empathy, and love — and that these small actions are not powerless; they are the seeds of powerful change.
