I woke up this morning and, as I was making coffee, MS Now was playing in the background.

Reporters were sharing their experiences from last night’s White House Correspondents’ Dinner — and clearly, they were still processing. Their voices had that particular texture of people who have been through something and haven’t quite landed yet. I recognized it. I stayed with them.

What they described was real and it was harrowing. Shots fired. Agents yelling. People diving under tables. A seven-year-old daughter in the room. The smell of gunpowder. The body knowing before the mind caught up.

And then something shifted. The sharing became declaring. And the declarations stopped me cold.

What Actually Happened

Let’s be precise about what we know, because precision is exactly what this moment requires.

A man named Cole Allen, 31, from Torrance, California, charged a Secret Service security checkpoint at the Washington Hilton armed with a shotgun, a handgun, and multiple knives. Gunfire was exchanged at the checkpoint. An officer was struck — his ballistic vest absorbed the bullet. We do not yet know who discharged weapons or who fired first. Allen was taken into custody. The officer was transported to the hospital and reported to be in stable condition.

The event was real. The fear was real. The trauma in those reporters’ voices this morning was real.

What we do not yet know: why he came. What radicalized him. Who specifically he intended to target. The acting attorney general said establishing motive will take days at minimum. The FBI is executing search warrants. The investigation is active and ongoing.

And as I was sitting with this piece, typing these lines, more information was already leaking out — a manifesto sent to family members, a sister’s account of his activities. This is how it begins. The drip. The fragment. The unnamed source.

Be wary of it.

Leaked information is not accountable to any standard of truth. It lacks rigor. It is often calculated — a deliberate choice about what to release, and when, and to whom, and why. Some of what leaks will turn out to be accurate. Some won’t. And in this moment, we are not in a position to know which is which.

Step off the roller coaster of the news cycle. Put your energy toward demanding official information, delivered by government officials and witnesses, on the record, under oath. That is the only information that carries accountability attached to it.

Rigor requires us to hold two things separately — what happened, and what it means. Keeping them separate isn’t skepticism. It’s how we get to the truth.

The Moment in the Room

Here’s what I want to say about those reporters, and I want to say it carefully because I mean it as witness, not as criticism.

When the shots rang out, they did exactly what good journalists do in a crisis. They got down. They stayed safe. And then — moments later — phones came up, cameras running, capturing everything they could. That instinct is professional. It is right. It is what reporters are trained to do and what the historical record depends on.

In that room, in that moment, they were witnesses. That is gold. There is nothing more valuable to journalism than someone who was there.

The problem came this morning.

The adrenaline was still in their bodies. The image of a child’s face was still in their minds. They sat down at microphones — because the machine never stops, because someone has to be on air, because there is always a next segment — and they spoke.

But the witness was still driving. The reporter hadn’t fully returned yet.

What we needed were colleagues who were not in that room — who had the distance the moment required — to moderate what was being said. To hold space between the experience and the declaration. That’s not a criticism of the reporters who were there. It’s a structural failure of how we process breaking news when the journalists covering the story are also the story.

What we got instead was declaration before investigation. Certainty before process. And one comparison — to the first responders who faced claims that 9/11 was staged — that was a bridge too far. September 11th killed nearly three thousand people and permanently restructured American life. What happened last night was a genuine security failure that, thanks to a Secret Service officer’s vest and his colleagues’ training, did not become a mass casualty event. Both things can be serious. They are not the same thing.

The Trust Question

I understand why skepticism is so easy right now. I want to say that plainly before anything else.

We live inside an administration that has made lying a governing tool. Not occasionally. Routinely. An administration that makes things up casually — sometimes to reject an inconvenient reality, sometimes out of what appears to be sheer laziness — and demonstrates no visible discomfort about it. When the people in power lie that freely and that consistently, a skepticism reflex is not a social pathology. It is a rational response to documented experience.

A government that lies. And a press that rarely holds the speakers of that misinformation accountable.

Consider what happened hours after the shooting, at the White House podium. The President stood before the press and told a rambling story about race car drivers and bull riders — calculating mortality percentages on the fly — before arriving at his point. Presidents, he said, are killed at a rate of 5.8%. About 8% are shot at. He said it casually. He said it with confidence. He said it as if the numbers were real.

They were not. Approximately 8.5% of American presidents have been killed in office — not 5.8%. And roughly 25% have faced assassination attempts — not 8%. Of those, several were shot at and survived. He understated every figure, significantly. Standing at the White House podium. Hours after gunfire at an event he attended. Making up specific-sounding data on the spot and moving on.

That is the context in which we are being asked to simply trust what we are told.

So when a reporter this morning suggested that the public’s skepticism is simply something happening in society — ambient, sourceless, mysterious — I had a reaction. Because that framing leaves out too much.

The skepticism didn’t emerge from nowhere. It emerged from two overlapping crises of credibility.

The press that has failed, across a decade now, to adequately cover what has been happening in boardrooms and in the streets. The press that covets access over accountability. The press that moves fast and corrects quietly, if at all. The press that glosses over the sheer volume of misinformation this administration produces — treating each new false claim as a discrete event rather than a pattern requiring sustained examination.

When misinformation goes unchallenged repeatedly — when outrageous statements are reported and then simply moved past — the effect is normalization. The lie becomes the weather. People stop expecting anything different. And then, when something genuinely unclear happens, the skepticism reflex that was trained by years of unaccountable misinformation fires — and everyone is surprised by the public reaction.

This is not a mystery. This is cause and effect.

What We Have the Right to Demand

Here is what I know regardless of motive, regardless of politics, regardless of which network you trust.

A man with multiple weapons breached security at the most high-profile annual gathering in Washington, D.C. Gunfire was exchanged. An officer was shot. The room contained the President, the Vice President, senior Cabinet members, government officials, and hundreds of journalists gathered to mark the First Amendment.

Republican Rep. Mike Lawler — not a Democrat, not a progressive — called the security “woefully insufficient.” He is not wrong. The Washington Hilton remains open to hotel guests during the dinner. Screening is focused on the ballroom entrance. That is a structural gap, and it is not new.

We have the right — all of us, left, right, and everyone in between — to demand full transparency about what happened and what is being done. A full accounting. Open. Traceable. On the record.

And here is something worth understanding about how investigations work: when an organization investigates itself, transparency is not optional. It is the only thing that makes the findings credible. The Secret Service will investigate a Secret Service security failure. That is the structure we have. Which means public accountability — our sustained attention, our demands for answers, our refusal to let this cycle through the news and disappear — is the only independent check available to us.

This is not a partisan issue. It is a safety issue. It is a democracy issue. And it is ours to hold.

What You Can Do

Hold the line on what’s known and what isn’t. When someone tells you the motive is settled, ask where they read that. When someone tells you it was staged, or when someone tells you it definitely wasn’t — hold both claims to the same standard. The investigation will tell us what the facts support, if we hold the investigators accountable. Demand that the investigation be transparent, under oath, and complete — so that lying can be held accountable.

Contact your representatives — House and Senate — and demand a public accounting of the security failures at the Washington Hilton. Not a classified briefing. A public one.

And when you hear a witness speaking with the authority of a reporter before the investigation is complete — from any direction, about any event — notice it. Name it, gently, to the people around you. That noticing, multiplied across millions of people who care about the truth, is how we build an information environment worthy of the democracy we are trying to protect.

The reporters in that room last night were brave. They were human. They deserve our compassion and our patience.

And we deserve a press — and a government — that waits for the facts before it hands us the meaning.

We have the power to demand both. That power belongs to us.

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I saw the photograph in my feed on Sunday morning and I stopped scrolling.

There he is. Joe Rogan, standing directly behind the President of the United States in the Oval Office. Trump looks up from the Resolute Desk toward the room. RFK Jr. looks on.

It pulled me back to my dad. To the conversations we had after dinner, after the table was cleared and everyone else had gone to finish homework or catch up with friends. He would sit with me and do his best to give me what he knew — knowledge earned the hard way, passed across a kitchen table to his daughter.

He was an Army Colonel. Generations of military service run through my family. The lessons he passed down weren’t abstract. They were military-proven survival tools dressed as dinner table conversation.

One of those conversations was situational awareness.

He never made it sound like tradecraft. He made it sound like responsibility. The more freedom you have to move through the world, he told me, the more carefully you have to read the room you’re walking into.

I thought about that lesson when I looked at that photograph.

Six weeks ago, Joe Rogan was telling his tens of millions of followers that the Iran war was dangerous and unnecessary. Rogan was questioning Trump’s mental stability. Rogan was naming the Epstein silence. He had endorsed this president and then done something rare — Rogan used his platform to say: I was wrong about some of this. His audience was listening. Some of them were shifting.

Then someone at the White House made a call.

They found the thing Joe couldn’t say no to. Rogan has championed ibogaine treatment for veterans for years — the psychedelic compound that research suggests can break opioid addiction, treat PTSD, give people their lives back. Real suffering. Real science. A cause worth fighting for.

They offered Joe a signing ceremony and a spot behind the President’s chair.

Rogan took it.

Here is what that executive order actually does: it directs agencies to accelerate research. It has no funding line. No legislation. No enforcement mechanism. It is a press release with a presidential seal.

Here is what the administration had already done for veterans’ mental health before that camera clicked: fired 1,000 VA physicians. Lost 3,000 registered nurses. Spiked mental health care wait times nationally. Cut researchers working on opioid addiction. Proposed slashing veteran disability ratings for those managing their conditions with medication — a policy the VFW and Disabled American Veterans called an imminent threat to veteran health.

The same administration that gutted the actual infrastructure of veterans’ mental health care handed Joe Rogan a symbolic order and put Rogan in the frame.

Rogan was there. Willingly. Enthusiastically. While the cameras rolled.

My father taught me something about what POW training instills — he went through it himself, though he was never captured. The doctrine it builds is precise: the most dangerous propaganda isn’t extracted under duress. It’s given freely by someone who believes they’re doing something good. That is what makes it unimpeachable. You cannot claim it was forced. You walked in. You smiled. You told the story yourself.

The White House got two things from that Oval Office photograph.

The first: they released propaganda they didn’t have to manufacture. The image of a known critic standing behind the president, visibly enthusiastic, now travels without context. Stripped of everything Rogan said in the weeks before, it lands clean in a million feeds.

The second is more lasting: they made Joe Rogan look like a hypocrite to the exact audience who was trusting him on his journey of realization about this administration. His listeners who were questioning the Iran war, who had heard Rogan name Trump’s instability, who were starting to shift — they now have reason to wonder whether Rogan can be bought. Whether his principles have a price. Whether the man they trusted to tell them hard truths can be managed with the right offer.

Rogan’s intention may not have been to betray his audience. But his presence in that Oval Office did exactly that.

This administration didn’t silence a critic. They did something more efficient. They handed a critic a cause he believed in, pointed a camera at him, and let him undercut himself.

My dad used to say that freedom without awareness isn’t freedom. It’s just exposure.

Joe Rogan had real reach and a real audience that was beginning to listen differently. Rogan walked into the Oval Office for something he genuinely cared about and handed this administration exactly what they needed.

He didn’t sell out. He got outmaneuvered. Checkmated.

There’s a difference. And at the scale Rogan operates, it costs something he may not get back.

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She’s at a podium. Her voice carries the way it always did — forceful and loving at the same time, the way only she could hold both without either one giving way. And her words, delivered in her low, melodious, and measured magnificence, are undeniably commanding:

It is important that each of us be aware of the power we have.
You have no idea who’s watching you.
You have no idea who you will impress.
And inform, and change, and enhearten.
And empower.
You have no idea. No idea!

Notice what she is doing while she says it. The pace. The stillness. The way each word lands before the next one arrives. She is not just delivering a message. She is being the message. Every choice she is making — the pause, the breath, the eye contact — is intentional. And you feel it before you understand it.

That is the thing about Maya Angelou. You receive her before she speaks.

We have a false belief in this moment that frantic equals serious. That the urgency of what is happening demands an urgency of energy that matches it. That if you are not visibly alarmed you are not paying attention.

This is not an accident.

The volume, the pace, the relentless cycling of crisis after crisis — it is designed to do exactly this. To keep us in flight. Overwhelmed, scattered, agitated, reactive. And when we carry that energy into the room, into the conversation, into the street, we become unwitting carriers of the very thing designed to neutralize us. We trigger flight in the people we most need to reach. The ones who were almost ready to listen.

Because that is how our bodies work.

When we feel frantic energy it triggers something primal and immediate inside us. Not openness. Not receptivity. Flight. We feel unsafe. And when we feel unsafe we do not absorb. We do not consider. We do not change. We simply look for the exit.

The weight and gravity of Maya does something different. It creates space. It signals — without a single word — that there is ground here. That it is safe to think. Even if we don’t agree with what we’re hearing, we feel the seriousness of it. We feel that something true is being offered and we have room to decide what to do with it.

Presence is not just a personal practice. It is a counter-strategy. And it is available to every single one of us.

John Lewis understood this too. He carried it into some of the most dangerous moments of the civil rights movement — that quality of absolute presence, of being so fully inside his own conviction that the energy of it reached people before his words did. It was not born in him. It was forged. Through experience, through loss, through learning over a lifetime what actually moves people toward a cause rather than away from it.

Maya was forged the same way. Born Black in the American South in 1928. A childhood that held devastation most of us cannot imagine. Five years of silence — a little girl who went somewhere inside herself and closed the door. What happened in that silence shaped everything that came after. She emerged from it with a relationship to language so precise, so intentional, that every word she ever chose felt like it had been held up to the light first.

She was not performing power. She had gone and found it in the hardest possible places and brought it back with her.

And here is the thing — so have you.

You can see it when someone is carrying it.

Look at her face. She is not braced for impact. She came here knowing something and she is holding it the way you hold something solid. Steady. Not gripped. Just held. A statement, not a complaint. A declaration, not an attack.

Before you read the sign you already sense that she knows what’s on it. That if someone asks she will answer with one sentence, chosen carefully, that lands and stays. That she will not be pulled somewhere she didn’t come to go.

The sign is evidence. Her presence is the argument.

And the person watching — the one who wasn’t even looking for anything — feels something move in them. Can’t name it. Won’t forget it.

This is what Maya was inviting us into.

Not a performance of conviction. The real thing. The embodied thing. The version of showing up where you have done something inside yourself before you arrived — settled into what you know, into what you believe, into the weight of why you are here — and you carry that into the room and let it do what presence does.

You have no idea who’s watching you.
You have no idea who you will impress.
And inform, and change, and enhearten.
And empower.

The young woman walking by on her lunch break. The man who didn’t stop but looked twice. The neighbor who saw the photo and felt something shift without knowing why.

When you are the trusted ambassador of what you believe — grounded in it, present to it, radiating it before you speak a single word — you reach people you will never meet. You start things you will never see finished.

You have no idea. No idea.

Maya knew. She did it on purpose. Every single time.

So can we.

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I expected a great hero image of thousands in the streets, a collage of towns across the nation, large and small. The paper of record recording the largest protest in American history. Maybe a veteran holding a sign against fascism.

The reality was heartbreaking. Instead of faithfully representing over 8 million Americans in the street, there were two strong images of Trump over 3/4 of the front page above the fold, and the largest protest in American history 1/4 above the fold with two thumbnail images (the same image slightly resized).

Nothing about this page tells the story of 8 million Americans took to the streets in opposition to their government. The New York Times is where history looks first. This was a choice, and thanks to you, reader, we noticed.

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This morning I understood what had changed.

This morning, CBS Sunday Morning acknowledged the largest protest in American history in the transition between their introduction and a commercial break. Two static photo pages. Crowds in cities across the country, reduced to small frames. The chyron: Thousands took to streets in cities nationwide Saturday for “No Kings” demonstrations protesting President Donald Trump and his administration. A second frame noted that Bruce Springsteen performed in St. Paul. Associated Press photos throughout.

Eleven seconds. Thousands, not millions.

The No Kings Rally wasn’t a surprise to anyone. It was announced in January, called in the names of Alex Pretti and Renée Good — two Americans killed by ICE — and everyone with a calendar knew March 28th was coming. The organizers knew. The networks knew. The White House knew. Millions of people made plans, bought bus tickets, arranged childcare, and showed up.

What they showed up to was historic by any measure. More than 3,300 protests took place on March 28, 2026 — across all 50 states and more than a dozen countries. Not a demonstration. Not a rally. A simultaneous global movement moment, the third and largest wave of No Kings protests, the largest demonstration in American history. While a president sitting at 36% approval spent the day at Mar-a-Lago, protesters gathered outside his gates. They didn’t go to a symbol. They went to where he actually was. And they stood there and made themselves impossible to ignore.

CBS ignored them anyway.

I want you to look at what millions actually looked like. This is what millions looks like.

CBS had access to this. They had the aerial footage. They had the full scope of 3,300 protests across the planet. They had photographers in every major city. They made a choice about what to show you, what word to use, and how many seconds it deserved — and they made that choice in advance, with full knowledge of what March 28th was going to be.

What followed was a twelve-minute piece about a woman who survived 903 days of captivity and came home in September. It is a true story. A story that deserved to be told — and had six months of mornings to be told on. It is also a story in which the Trump administration’s role is one of rescue and success. CBS chose this one. On this morning.

That is not a coincidence. That is not deadline pressure. That is a decision made in advance by people who knew exactly what March 28th was going to be.

I’ve been sitting with Gil Scott-Heron all morning. The Revolution Will Not Be Televised — people have been quoting that song for fifty years without quite sitting with what he was actually saying. He wasn’t lamenting the media. He was declaring where power lives. The revolution is not a broadcast. It doesn’t happen to you while you watch. It happens in bodies, in streets, in the choice to show up. Television was never going to be the point.

What’s new is this: we now understand that television is also not the record.

Media is the first draft of history. We say it like it’s just a phrase, but it’s true in the most literal way — future historians, future organizers, future kids trying to understand what their parents’ generation was living through will go looking for what happened yesterday. And they will find what we leave for them.

Right now, the first draft reads: thousands.

We were there. We know what thousands looks like. March 28th was not that.

You were there yesterday, in some form — in the streets, watching a livestream, tracking the numbers, feeling the thing that millions of people felt at the same time. Write it down. Not a reaction. A record. What city. What the crowd looked like when it stretched beyond what your eyes could hold. What someone near you said. What it felt like to be one body in a sea of millions who decided this day mattered. Tell your story.

Post it. Put your name on it. Date it. Put it somewhere it can be found.

We are the archive. We always have been — every letter saved in an attic, every diary entry, every photograph passed down because someone thought this happened and someone should know. That instinct is older than journalism. It belongs to us.

The revolution will not be televised.

So, we are the ones writing the first draft now.

Start today. The record is waiting for what you know.

Mine begins in Black Mountain, North Carolina — about 1,800 friends and neighbors gathered in the town square. The best line I heard all day came from somewhere in the crowd: “If Kamala were president, we’d all be having brunch right now.” We laughed. We lined the streets and moved to the beat of the drummers on the hill. It was a beautiful, sunny, chilly day.

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Joseph Campbell said something I keep coming back to this week.

“Participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world. We cannot cure the world of sorrows, but we can choose to live in joy.”

He’s not telling us to perform cheerfulness. He’s describing the only stance that actually works — presence without collapse, engagement without despair, action fueled by something that lasts longer than outrage.

He called it the warrior’s approach. Say yes to the whole thing. The mess and the beauty of it. The grief and the stubborn, inexhaustible love underneath the grief.

Rage has a ceiling. It speaks to people already animated and slides right past everyone else. We have a march in a week and an election in November. We need to be building something right now that has no ceiling.

Movements expand when they evolve, and they evolve when they expand. At the center of that is always the same thing: a positive, progressive vision that people can bring themselves to. Not a litmus test. Not a checklist. A place where what you’ve lived — your losses, your loves, what you’re protecting — belongs. When people bring their whole experience in service to something they believe in, that’s not just participation. That’s joy. And joy is a strength.

Next week, look for your neighbors. The one you’ve seen at every march and never actually met. The one who just showed up for the first time with a handwritten sign and a look on their face like they’re not sure they belong here yet. Ask what brought them. Then listen like the answer matters — because it does. Accept it. Honor it. Let it be enough.

The gift of being truly seen is rarer than we think. And it is one of the most powerful things a movement can offer.

Show up next week with your sign, your smile, your willingness to make one new connection.

That’s how we get to November ready to reclaim our democracy, hold the people accountable who betrayed their oath of office, and restore what belongs to all of us.

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I learned things during those years that no political science textbook will teach you. I learned that the best way to deal with a narcissist is to go quiet - not silent, but strategically quiet. They need your energy to feed their energy. I learned that anything I achieved, they instantly became jealous about and either tried to recreate it for themselves (never worked) or claimed my success as their own (absolutely worked with people who didn’t see them clearly).

I learned that when the world stops talking about them, they do something insane and outrageous. Anything to get the attention back on them.

I never got dramatic in that relationship. And I’m sure that kept things as balanced as they were - which was still really bad, but survivable. The moment I gave energy to their behavior, argued about facts, tried to prove what was real - that’s when the gaslighting thrived.

I’m watching the same patterns now. Accepting a Nobel Peace Prize he didn’t earn. Accepting a prize from FIFA that means nothing. And when coverage fades, something insane and outrageous happens to pull focus back.

The Problem We’re Not Naming

Most grassroots organizations are still operating like we’re dealing with government failure - broken systems, bad policy, institutional dysfunction.

We’re not.

We’re dealing with narcissistic power dynamics. And the strategies that work for broken systems actively feed narcissistic systems.

I wish I could have a conversation with all media to explain the effective way to cover narcissistic behavior. But in a world where clicks equal cash, there’s a mutually serving relationship keeping this cruelty going longer than it needs to. Media needs the outrage for revenue. He needs the coverage for supply. It’s a feedback loop that benefits both while harming everyone else.

But here’s what I can do: I can provide direct information to grassroots organizations about what to focus on and what to be quiet about. Because you have something media doesn’t - you’re not dependent on covering him for your survival. You can choose strategically where to put your energy.

The 99/1 Rule

Here’s what over twenty-one years taught me: Spend 99% of your communication focused on what success looks like. Put energy toward what’s going wrong only to create necessary context - and that should be no more than 1% of your communication.

When you focus on what’s wrong, that’s food for the narcissist. When you focus on what you’re going to achieve, they have no footing.

This is also the language that incites power in individuals. Put your energy and focus on the WHAT - what you’re building, what you’re creating, what success looks like. Allow people to figure out the HOW. And do not give energy to arguing about what led us to this moment.

Because when you focus on that, you open the door to argument about facts and reality. That’s where gaslighting thrives. This is why organizations spend months debating whether the crisis is real instead of building the response that would address it either way.

Who’s Going to Argue With That?

Here’s the strategic brilliance of focusing on what you’re building: You’re not trying to convince anyone of anything. For example, if your mission is “We are creating safety for vulnerable community members and their children.”

Who argues with that?

When you state your mission this way, you’re not debating policy. You’re not arguing facts. You’re not trying to prove something is wrong. You’re simply stating what you’re doing - and what you’re doing is fundamentally, obviously good.

If someone tries to engage the argument - if they try to debate whether vulnerable community members and children deserve safety - you don’t take the bait. You rise above. You repeat your mission. You stay focused on what you’re building.

“My mission is to create safety for vulnerable community members and their children.”

That’s it. That’s the whole response. You’re not defending. You’re not explaining. You’re not arguing. You’re stating your purpose, and your purpose requires no defense because it’s self-evidently human and right.

This is what “no footing” actually looks like. When you’re fighting AGAINST something, you’re in their argument about facts and reality and what led us here. When you’re building TOWARD something fundamentally good, there’s no argument to engage with. They have nowhere to stand.

Try to argue against creating safety for vulnerable children. Go ahead. See how that looks.

This is why the 99% matters. Not because it’s a nice communication technique. Because it positions your work as something that requires no debate and gives opponents no ground to attack from.

What This Looks Like in Practice

Look at Zohran Mamdani in New York. He didn’t spend his campaign fighting against establishment machinery or arguing why the system was broken. He built power from the bottom up. He was on the streets, not begging for access. He organized his community around what they were creating together, not what they were fighting against.

The establishment attacked him not because of his policies but because his approach threatened their entire model. When representatives can’t hide behind donor call time, when they’re confronted at the grocery store with the question “what are you doing to create safety for vulnerable community members and their children?”, when grassroots power builds from the bottom up instead of filtering down from the top - the whole inverted pyramid becomes unstable.

Look at Chicago’s Whistlemania campaign. They didn’t organize around how terrible ICE raids are. They organized around what resistance looks like: 100,000 whistle kits distributed, teenagers patrolling neighborhoods, community members documenting and witnessing. The threat was 1% context. The solution - what people could do - was 99% of the communication.

That response created the documentation and pressure that supported legal challenges. A federal judge ordered 615 people released, finding the vast majority of arrests unlawful. The resistance made that victory possible.

Compare that to organizational communications that spend paragraphs explaining the problem, debating whether the crisis is real, arguing with lies, giving energy to “what led us here.” All of that opens endless debate about facts and reality. All of that feeds the narcissistic system.

The Media Trap

Media has a structural problem we don’t share. Their business model requires covering outrage - clicks equal cash. This creates a mutually serving relationship: he needs attention, they need content, both benefit from escalation.

But grassroots organizations aren’t bound by that model. You don’t need to cover every outrageous statement. You don’t need to respond to every provocation. You don’t need to debate whether what he said is true.

You can be strategically quiet on the drama while being strategically loud about what you’re building.

Going Quiet vs. Going Silent

This isn’t about being invisible. This isn’t about not resisting.

Going quiet means: Don’t give energy to the argument they want to have. Don’t debate facts with someone who doesn’t operate in shared reality. Don’t spend your communication explaining why what he did is wrong.

Going loud means: Talk about what you’re building. Show people what they can do. Focus on the success you’re creating. Make the vision so clear, so tangible, so achievable that people see their own power to create it.

When I stayed quiet in that relationship - didn’t get dramatic, didn’t argue facts, didn’t give energy to their provocations - things stayed as balanced as they were. Still really bad. But survivable. And it created space for me to build the exit strategy that eventually got me out.

When I argued, when I tried to prove reality, when I gave energy to their behavior - that’s when things escalated. That’s when the gaslighting intensified. That’s when survival became harder.

The same dynamic applies to narcissistic power at scale.

What Organizations Can Do Differently

I’m not telling you what to do. I’m offering a frame that might help you move your movement forward.

Audit your messaging: Look at your last five communications - action alerts, social media posts, newsletter articles. Calculate how much space you gave to explaining the problem vs. showing the solution. How much energy went to arguing facts vs. building vision? How much focused on what you’re fighting against vs. what you’re fighting for?

Reframe your next communication: Before you send your next action alert, ask: Does this show people their power or explain their powerlessness? Does this focus on what we’re building or what we’re fighting? Does this give energy to his behavior or to our vision?

Get specific about success: “Fight fascism” is too vague to incite power. “Attend Tuesday’s city council meeting where we’re demanding sanctuary city protections” shows exactly what success looks like and how to create it.

Let people figure out the HOW: You provide the WHAT - the vision, the goal, the success we’re building toward. Trust your community to figure out their own tactical responses. That’s where empowerment lives.

Be strategically quiet: You don’t need to respond to every outrageous statement. You don’t need to debate every lie. You don’t need to give energy to every provocation. Some things deserve strategic quiet while you put energy into what you’re building.

The Expertise You Have

Some of you reading this have survived narcissistic abuse. You know these patterns. You know what feeds the cycle and what starves it. You know the difference between fighting against and building toward. You know when to go quiet and when to go loud.

That’s expertise most political organizers don’t have. That’s knowledge that doesn’t come from campaign school or organizing training. That’s survivor wisdom that matters right now.

You’re not being dramatic when you recognize these patterns. You’re being accurate. And your accuracy is strategic intelligence.

The Work

We’re not dealing with government failure. We’re dealing with narcissistic power dynamics at institutional scale.

The strategies that worked for broken systems won’t work here. Explaining facts won’t work. Arguing reality won’t work. Proving he’s wrong won’t work. Giving energy to his provocations won’t work.

What works: Building vision so clear people can see it. Showing people their power so tangibly they can feel it. Creating success so achievable they know exactly what to do.

Spend 99% of your energy on what you’re building. Use 1% for necessary context. Don’t argue facts with people who don’t operate in shared reality. Focus on WHAT you’re creating, let people figure out HOW. Be strategically quiet on drama, strategically loud on vision.

Not because it’s nice. Because it works.

Because after over twenty-one years of surviving narcissistic power, I can tell you: The only way out is building something they can’t claim, can’t control, and can’t feed from.

That’s the work.

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Democracy Spark provides ghostwriting for grassroots democracy organizations. You have the passion and vision, I have the words that move people to action. Let’s collaborate to bring our democracy back for the next generation.

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August 28, 1963. A quarter-million people gathered at the Lincoln Memorial for what should have been impossible.

Six major civil rights organizations - groups that competed for funding, argued over tactics, and fought for influence - put aside their differences for one day. The NAACP’s Roy Wilkins, who preferred litigation over protests. SNCC’s John Lewis, the young firebrand. Martin Luther King Jr. A. Philip Randolph, the elder statesman. James Farmer from CORE. Whitney Young from the Urban League.

They didn’t always like each other. They didn’t always agree. But they understood: their power came from standing together, not standing apart.

That unity created the largest demonstration for human rights in American history. It built pressure that led to the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

The Pattern History Shows Us

The civil rights movement faced real internal tensions - the kind every movement faces when passionate people work toward ambitious goals under sustained pressure. Young activists thought established organizations moved too slowly. Established organizations worried about alienating allies. SNCC’s grassroots direct action clashed with the NAACP’s litigation strategy.

But something else was happening that most organizers didn’t know about until years later. The FBI’s COINTELPRO program took those natural stresses and amplified them at precisely the moments when people were most vulnerable to turning on each other. Anonymous letters accusing leaders of being informants. Infiltration spreading misinformation. Strategic pressure when tensions were already high.

By the mid-1960s, SNCC veteran Clayborne Carson observed staff cultivating skills for “organizational infighting” rather than “those that had enabled SNCC to inspire thousands of people outside the group during its years of greatest influence.”

Many organizations were weakened or dissolved - not because they were defeated from outside, but because internal stress consumed the energy that should have been directed toward change.

The question isn’t whether movements face internal stress. They do. The question is where that energy goes.

The Stress Test We’re Facing Now

Here’s the pattern that shows up in every movement that sustains long enough: organizations under prolonged stress start directing energy inward instead of toward their goals.

We’re watching this happen in real-time with the MAGA movement. Internal fractures. Influencers competing for attention. Local groups clashing with national priorities. Initial unified energy fragmenting into competing factions.

The same pattern is showing up in grassroots democracy defense movements right now.

You’re exhausted. You’ve been organizing at unsustainable pace. The wins feel small and the opposition feels massive. Volunteers burn out. Funding is precarious. Organizations compete for the same donor dollars, media attention, activist energy.

Under that pressure, energy flows in unproductive directions:

Competition replaces collaboration. Territory gets protected. Purity tests emerge. Egos clash. Resource anxiety drives decisions. Burnout becomes resentment.

All of it is understandable. All of it is human. All of it redirects energy away from November 2026 and toward internal conflict.

Where we direct that energy is a choice.

How We Channel Energy Toward What Matters

When movements direct energy inward - toward competition, ego, purity testing - they lose momentum regardless of whether anyone is actively working against them.

When movements direct energy outward - toward the shared goal - they build power that creates change.

Mutual aid between grassroots organizations is how we make that second choice. When an organization in Montana develops an incredible protest guide and shares it with organizations across the country, when a group in Colorado teaches their social media strategy to organizations in other states, when organizers facing legal harassment get immediate support from organizations they’ve never met - that’s energy flowing toward November 2026.

In practice, this means:

• Share what works. Every organization using effective tools moves more energy toward the goal.

• Amplify each other’s messages. Every share multiplies impact exponentially.

• Offer expertise freely. Transform another organization’s capacity in a 30-minute conversation.

• Build real relationships. When crisis hits, your energy stays focused on organizing instead of scrambling.

• Create shared resources. Build once, share everywhere. The collective time saved is time spent on actual work.

• Bridge ideological differences. You don’t have to agree on everything to work together toward November 2026. Different tactics, same goal.

Where We Go From Here

The stress won’t stop. The exhaustion won’t disappear. Organizations will keep facing pressures that cause energy to flow inward toward conflict.

But we get to choose where that energy goes.

When you’re tired, when you’re exhausted, when you’re feeling that pull toward frustration with other organizations - try this:

When we share resources instead of hoarding them, we’re building that victory. When we amplify another organization’s work instead of competing for attention, we’re creating collective power. When we offer help instead of judgment, we’re choosing sustained resistance that can actually reach November 2026.

The Choice Every Movement Faces

We’re at that same choice point the March on Washington organizers faced. Energy can flow inward - toward competition, ego, territorial protection, resentment. Or energy can flow toward the goal.

The March on Washington worked because they chose power over purity despite their differences, exhaustion, and legitimate disagreements.

The civil rights movement lost momentum when energy turned inward, when organizations spent more time on infighting than inspiring people.

We’re watching the MAGA movement fragment under its own internal stresses right now. They’re showing us what happens when ego and exhaustion become the focus instead of the goal.

We can learn from that pattern. Or we can repeat it.

November 2026 is ten months away. That’s time to register voters, mobilize communities, protect democracy, turn the tide.

Or it’s time to exhaust ourselves fighting each other while that opportunity passes.

The pattern is clear. The choice is ours.

A Request

Please take this article to the organizations you’re a member of. Use it as a catalyst for conversation about how you’ll proactively weather the months ahead, because the impacts of stress are only going to increase.

Talk about where your organization’s energy is flowing right now. Identify the patterns before they become problems. Create agreements about how you’ll support each other and other organizations when the exhaustion builds.

The stress is coming. The choice about where that energy goes - that’s what we can prepare for together.

Where will we focus our energy?

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Democracy Spark provides ghostwriting for grassroots democracy organizations. You have the passion and vision, I have the words that move people to action. Let’s collaborate to bring our democracy back for the next generation.

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$1,257 a month for health insurance starting January 1st. That’s for the lowest tier plan. I’m currently paying $300 a month for better coverage. I know the math. I’ve known it for weeks. There’s no version where this works. But I keep opening it anyway, like maybe this time the numbers will be different.

Tomorrow at midnight, the enrollment window closes. After that, I can’t sign up for healthcare for 2026. Period. The door locks.

I’m 59 years old. I’ve had continuous health insurance for nearly 60 years. And on January 1st, that ends because I cannot pay $1,257 a month and keep my mortgage and lights on and food in the refrigerator.

In the richest country in the world, we’re about to let millions of people—people who did everything right, who worked their whole lives, who paid their premiums and followed the rules—we’re about to let them go without healthcare because Congress couldn’t be bothered to act before the deadline.

I’m not ashamed that I can’t afford this. I’m furious that our government has failed so completely that this is where we are.

And I know something else. Most of the people closest to me probably won’t read this. It’s too painful. They feel helpless to make a difference. I understand that. But it doesn’t make the loneliness any less real.

Millions of us are feeling this right now. This sense of being alone in a crisis while the people around us turn away because they don’t know what to do with our pain.

If that’s you—if you’re sitting at your kitchen table tonight feeling invisible—I need you to hear this: You are not alone. You are not at fault. And you deserve so much better from our leaders than what they’re giving us.

The news keeps talking about January 1st, when the subsidies expire and premiums double. But that’s not when this happens. This happens tomorrow. Tomorrow is when the window closes and millions of us get locked out for the entire year, whether Congress ever fixes this or not.

Congress had months. They knew the subsidies expired December 31st. They knew the enrollment deadline was December 15th. They knew exactly what would happen.

Congress wasn’t too busy to act. They were too cowardly to represent the vast majority of their constituents.

In July, they gave a trillion dollars in tax cuts to the wealthiest Americans. To pay for it, they cut Medicaid and food assistance. Rural hospitals are closing. Nearly 11 million people are losing coverage.

And then they let this enrollment deadline pass. Another 5 million of us losing healthcare—not because they couldn’t act, but because they didn’t.

That’s 16 million people. And I’m one of them. Someone you know will be one of them.

On December 11th—four days before the window closes—both healthcare proposals failed. On December 13th—two days before the deadline—the House released a plan that doesn’t extend the subsidies at all.

Meanwhile, here’s what got attention from the administration:

While millions of us were doing impossible math at kitchen tables—they were tearing down the people’s house to build a gaudy ballroom.

While we were calculating which medications to skip—they were launching campaigns about airplane dress codes.

While we were watching our coverage disappear—they were continuing failed indictments of people on an enemies list.

While we were begging for healthcare—they were chasing immigrants in parking lots.

While we were trying to figure out how to survive—they were telling Americans their kids only need two pencils and fewer toys.

While we were drowning—they were denying that affordability is even a real crisis for average Americans.

This isn’t millions of Americans failing. Look who’s doing the math tonight at kitchen tables across the country. People with decades of work experience. People who built careers and saved money. People who’ve had healthcare for 50, 60 years. People who did everything they were supposed to do.

This is the system failing at basic human decency.

Tomorrow I’ll log into HealthCare.gov one last time. I’ll look at the plans I can’t afford. I’ll watch the clock run out at midnight.

On January 1st, I’ll be uninsured for the first time in nearly 60 years. I’ll pay for my medications out of pocket. I’ll skip appointments. I’ll hope I stay healthy. And if something happens, I’ll deal with bankruptcy if it comes.

This is what their failure looks like in real life.

Every representative who voted against extending these subsidies needs to answer for this. At town halls, at the grocery store, everywhere. Ask them: “Why did you prioritize a helping the wealthy become more wealthy over our healthcare?” Make them say the words.

Document your story. Vote in every election. Support the organizations doing actual work. Support candidates who will represent you how ever you can - knock on doors, make phone calls, distribute yard signs, organize transportation to polling places.

The window closes tomorrow. The reckoning is coming.

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Democracy Spark provides ghostwriting for grassroots democracy organizations. You have the passion and vision, I have the words that move people to action. Let’s collaborate to bring our democracy back for the next generation.

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Saturday Morning

I was a latchkey kid. My mother had one firm rule for weekends: Nobody wakes anybody up on Saturday morning.

So I’d come downstairs by myself, pour a bowl of Captain Crunch, and settle in front of the TV. For the next few hours, I’d watch cartoons while scraping the roof of my mouth raw with that rough cereal.

Between the cartoons were the toy commercials. So many toy commercials.

“Tell your parents about...”

“Ask your mom and dad for...”

In my house, this strategy didn’t work. Keith and Marian Ross were not easy targets. I was kid seven between them. Whatever I’d been convinced I desperately needed by Saturday morning television went exactly nowhere until holiday sales, and post-holiday sales because my birthday came a couple weeks after Christmas.

See, my parents weren’t getting money from Mattel, Hasbro, or whoever made Lincoln Logs. The toy companies had no leverage in the Ross house.

But not all parents held the line like the veterans in my house. We would all flock to the house that just scored Twister, or Jarts (lawn darts later banned for safety reasons), or a Slip-n-Slide that bruised us all summer long.

The toy companies understood something elegant: they didn’t need every parent to say yes. They just needed enough parents to say yes that all the kids ended up in those backyards anyway.

Fast Forward to Now

When I watch TV now, I see the same formula.

“Ask your doctor about...”

The medication for the soccer-playing turtles. The one for people in bathtubs on mountaintops. The drug for the coffee house patron whose current medication isn’t quite cutting it anymore and she needs more drugs to make the drugs work better.

On December 31, my insurance premiums will quadruple. I cannot afford it. I am losing coverage along with 4.8 million Americans.

If the subsidies are not extended, the only way millions of us will see our doctor next year is if something goes terribly wrong. Not to manage chronic conditions. Not to prevent problems before they start. Just to deal with whatever catastrophe lands us in an emergency room where we’re getting a bone set or dealing with whatever disaster couldn’t wait.

Who Paid for the Backyard

A few weeks ago, Good Trouble Western North Carolina tried to get meetings with their congressional representatives. Real people with real concerns about policies that directly affect whether they have healthcare next year.

They tried in North Carolina first. Doors stayed closed.

They got in cars and drove to Washington DC. Still couldn’t get in.

Pharmaceutical companies don’t have that problem. Last year alone, they spent $294 million on federal lobbying, more than any other industry. In the 2023-2024 election cycle, their PACs gave over $42 million to federal candidates. The average House member got $47,000. Senators got between $50,000 and $69,000 each.

Over the past twenty years, the pharmaceutical industry has spent $4.7 billion buying access to the rooms where decisions get made. That’s an average of $233 million per year. Every year. For two decades.

That’s not corruption, just unseemly. That’s the price of admission to the backyard where Congress plays.

On November 6, 2025, President Trump held an event in the Oval Office announcing a deal with pharmaceutical companies about obesity drug pricing. The room was packed. Eli Lilly executives standing behind the President’s desk. Novo Nordisk representatives right there in the room. Not just at the White House. In the Oval Office.

During the event, one of the pharmaceutical representatives collapsed. Everything stopped. The press corps got rushed out. Dr. Mehmet Oz, who runs Medicare and Medicaid, jumped in to help. People scrambled to lay the man down, elevate his feet, make sure he was breathing okay. The entire presidential event came to a complete halt for thirty minutes.

There’s video from that moment. Trump standing off to the side, hands in his pockets, while everyone else works to help the man on the floor.

When regular Americans show up asking to talk about healthcare policy that determines whether they’ll have insurance next year, security won’t let them past the lobby.

That’s what $4.7 billion buys.

The Leverage Nobody’s Using

Here’s what nobody’s talking about: pharmaceutical companies are about to lose 4.8 million customers. Not voters. Not constituents. Customers.

When those ACA subsidies expire, millions of us lose insurance. Without insurance, we’re not having those doctor visits where medications get prescribed. We’re not filling those prescriptions at the pharmacy. We’re becoming the people who wait until something goes terribly wrong and show up at the emergency room hoping we can figure out payment later.

That’s not just a healthcare crisis for us. That’s millions of customers disappearing from pharmaceutical company balance sheets.

And those pharmaceutical companies paid for access to Congress. They spent twenty years building relationships that guarantee when they need something, they get a hearing. When they walk into a room, people listen.

We can’t get meetings. But they can.

We don’t need to get in those rooms. We need the people who are already in those rooms to say what needs to be said.

Not because they care about us. Because losing millions of customers is catastrophically bad business.

Twelve Days to Take Action

We have twelve days until the enrollment deadline.

One message. Five companies. Every platform you have. Every single day.

Here’s the message. Copy it. Post it daily through December 15:

Share. Repost. Make Viral.

#Pfizer #EliLilly #Merck #JohnsonAndJohnson #AbbVie

You have the power to tell Congress: Extend the subsidies.

If you act, your company wins. Your shareholders win. Your patients win. Democracy wins.

Make health care happen.

#MakeHealthCareHappen #ProtectYourCustomers

Post it on Twitter, Bluesky, Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, Threads—anywhere you have social media. Post it today. Post it tomorrow. Post it every day until December 15.

Pharmaceutical companies can ignore one person. They cannot ignore thousands of people posting the same message every day across every platform their communications teams monitor. These posts show up in their daily reports. Their shareholders see them. Their board members see them. And it becomes harder to pretend they don’t know their customers are about to disappear.

We’re not attacking them. We’re showing them the path where everyone wins. Their companies keep customers. Their shareholders protect market value. Their patients keep healthcare. Democracy actually responds to human need.

The toy companies didn’t need every parent. They just needed enough that all the kids ended up in those backyards anyway.

Pharmaceutical companies spent $4.7 billion to get into Congress’s backyard. We’re their customers. They’re already in the room. They just need to look around and realize it’s about to be empty.

Copy the message.

Post it every day until December 15.

Make health care happen.

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I thought about that recently when I was at a protest with my dog Liam and a man approached with anger in his eyes and hard words ready. He was furious about politics, about everything that divides us.

I stood there watching the traffic, and without even expecting an answer, I said to the air between us: “Do you like dogs?”

The confusion on his face was exactly what I was hoping for—that moment when someone who’s been ready for a fight suddenly doesn’t know what war we’re fighting.

He looked at Liam. Liam looked back. They made soft eye contact.

“I’ve had a few,” he said, not meeting my eyes. And in those four words I heard everything he wasn’t saying—the love that lived there, the loss that lived there, the part of him that knew what it meant to share a mutual appreciation.

For just a moment, a dog made us both more human to each other.

That’s what I’m thinking about this Thanksgiving.

The Tide Is Turning

I’m grateful that the tide is turning.

I’m grateful for everyone who knocked doors in Virginia and New Jersey and New York City, who stayed up late on organizing calls, who donated what they could, who showed up even when it was hard. The election results from November 5 weren’t just wins—they were proof that showing up matters.

I’m grateful for the survivors who spoke truth about Epstein even when powerful people tried to silence them. For the 218 members of Congress who signed a discharge petition to force accountability. For everyone who refused to let that story be buried.

I’m grateful for the lawyers working pro bono in courtrooms across America, filing the cases that are winning, that are protecting people, that are saying “this is illegal” when judges—even Trump-appointed judges—agree.

I’m grateful for the organizers building networks in their communities. For the teenagers watching their neighborhoods. For the person on Reddit who said “let’s organize 50 states” and made it happen. For every single person who decided that despair wasn’t an option.

The tide is turning because people are showing up. This is all in my heart this Thanksgiving.

But There Are Empty Chairs

And I’m also holding in my heart the families sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner with an empty chair.

The families torn apart by deportations that shouldn’t have happened. The parents whose children were taken from them. The children whose parents were taken from them. The families broken by policies designed to be cruel.

I’m thinking about the federal workers who were fired for doing their jobs. The families who can’t afford healthcare because subsidies expired. The people who are scared and hurting because cruelty has been made into policy.

And I’m thinking about the families with little on the table this year. The ones struggling because of inflation, tariffs that raised prices on everything, job losses that weren’t their fault. The families choosing between heating and eating. The ones who used to set a full table and this year are doing the math on every dish.

There are empty chairs at Thanksgiving tables this year that should be filled. And tables that should be fuller. And before we talk about finding common ground or connection, we need to name that. We need to hold space for that grief. We need to remember that politics isn’t abstract—it’s people’s lives.

Some families are missing someone they love because of choices made in Washington. Some families are missing meals they could afford last year. That’s real. That’s painful. And we don’t forget it even as we try to find our way through.

Finding the Moment

Here’s what I’m also thinking about: A lot of us are going to sit down at Thanksgiving tables with people who have made it really hard to connect lately.

Maybe it’s a family member who voted differently. Maybe it’s someone who believes things you find impossible to understand. Maybe it’s someone who said things that hurt. Maybe you’re the one who said things that hurt.

And maybe—just maybe—there’s a way through.

Not by pretending everything is fine. Not by avoiding the hard stuff forever. Not by sacrificing our values or staying quiet about injustice.

But by finding one moment of shared humanity. Like dogs. Or sweet potato pie versus pumpkin pie. Or a memory of Grandma. Or a shared love of terrible movies or good coffee or the way autumn light looks through kitchen windows.

Just one moment where you remember you’re both human.

My Invitation to Myself (and You, If You Want)

This Thanksgiving, I’m going to try something. I’m going to look for one point of connection with everyone I engage with—especially the people who have been hardest to talk to.

Not as a strategy. Not to change their mind. Not to prove I’m right.

Just as a human being connecting with another human being.

Because I think about that man on the corner a lot. I think about how his rage burned itself out when he talked about dogs he’d loved. I think about how much we both knew about love and loss in those four words: “I’ve had a few.”

We didn’t solve anything that day. We didn’t suddenly agree about politics. He walked away and probably went right back to being angry about whatever Fox News was telling him to be angry about.

But for just a moment, we saw each other. Really saw each other. As people who have both loved dogs. As people who have both experienced loss. As people.

And maybe that’s enough for right now.

Because here’s the truth: Authoritarianism wins when we can’t talk to each other anymore. When families splinter completely. When communities fracture beyond repair.

Sustaining resistance requires sustaining our humanity, and sustaining our humanity sometimes means finding one dog-shaped moment of connection. Every time we do—without compromising our values, without staying silent about injustice—we’re proving that democracy’s promise of unity across difference is still possible.

That’s not weakness. That’s practicing the culture we’re defending.

Holding Both

This means looking for mutual gratitude. Shared humanity. Common ground.

Not instead of remembering what’s broken. Not instead of those empty chairs. Not forgetting the fights we’re still in.

But alongside all of it. Because we can hold grief and gratitude at the same time. We can remember what’s been lost and still find moments of connection. We can keep fighting and still ask someone if they like dogs.

That’s not weakness. That’s how we stay human through this.

Happy Thanksgiving. 🦃

May you find your moment.

💙

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Democracy Spark provides ghostwriting for grassroots democracy organizations. You have the passion and vision, I have the words that move people to action. Let’s collaborate to bring our democracy back for the next generation.

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Yesterday, President Trump pointed at a female reporter’s face and snarled “Quiet, Piggy” when she asked about the newly released Epstein emails. Hours later, he threatened to revoke ABC’s broadcast license when another female reporter asked him a question he didn’t like.

This is the part where I’m supposed to write a serious constitutional analysis about press freedom and authoritarian intimidation tactics.

Instead, I’m going to tell you about piggies.

America LOVES Piggies!

He picked the wrong metaphor.

Because America has been in love with piggies since forever.

We have Wilbur, the humble piggy who just wanted a friend and taught us about loyalty and love in Charlotte’s Web. We have Babe, the piggy who became a sheepdog and showed us you can be anything you dream. We have Miss Piggy, the glamorous diva who takes no nonsense from anyone and delivers a karate chop when needed.

We give children piggy banks to teach them about saving and building futures. We have Peppa Pig teaching toddlers about family and friendship. We have Hamm the wisecracking piggy bank in Toy Story. We have the Three Little Piggies who built houses and outsmarted the wolf through cleverness and determination.

Piggies are smart. Playful. Community-oriented. They roll in mud for joy and cooling. They’re loyal. They’re determined. They’re creative problem-solvers.

They’re actually kind of perfect for a democracy defense movement that values both strategic thinking and having a damn good time while we protect our republic.

So here’s what I’m thinking: What if we just... took the piggy?

Move Over Froggies, Here Come the Piggies

I cannot stop thinking about inflatable piggy costumes.

Have you seen these things? They’re MAGNIFICENT. You know those T-Rex costumes that went viral? Like that, but piggy. You’re just waddling around, being absolutely ridiculous, and everyone who sees you immediately starts grinning.

I’m ordering one. I’m 100% ordering one. I’m going to wear it to something serious and civic and watch what happens when joy crashes into democracy defense.

I’m picturing myself trying to sit down at a city council meeting. Just... this giant inflatable piggy, struggling with a folding chair. The squeak of the plastic. The wobbling. Everyone trying not to laugh. The mayor trying to keep a straight face.

Chef’s kiss.

And then there’s “when piggies fly” - you know, that phrase for impossible things? A reporter gets called “Piggy” for asking questions and suddenly the world is filled with flying piggies. At protests. At city council meetings. On cars and flag poles. The impossibility becomes reality. The insult becomes wings.

Miss Piggy Would NEVER

Can we talk about Miss Piggy for a second?

Miss Piggy has been dealing with being called “Piggy” her entire career. You know what she did? She made “Piggy” GLAMOROUS. She made it POWERFUL. She wore gowns and gloves and took exactly zero nonsense from anyone.

Someone tries to diminish Miss Piggy? HIIII-YAH! Karate chop. Scene.

Miss Piggy would show up to that Oval Office meeting in a fabulous outfit and heels and when someone pointed at her face and said “Quiet, Piggy,” she would smile sweetly and deliver the most perfectly devastating response while the cameras rolled.

Actually, you know what? Miss Piggy wouldn’t have to say anything. She’d just look at him. That look. You know the one.

I want to channel Miss Piggy energy at every civic engagement for the rest of my life.

So, I’m Embracing My Inner Piggy (and She is Not Quiet)

I’m ordering my inflatable piggy costume tonight.

I have no idea where I’m going to wear it first, but I promise you this piggy hollers. She is free speech, she is beautiful, and she is filled with joy.

What will yours do?

P.S. - When you do your piggy thing (and you will, I know you will), tag it #ThisPiggyHollers or #FlyingPiggies because I need to see what brilliance you create.

P.P.S. - Wilbur would be so proud of us right now.

🐷✨ When they try to silence us, let the silliness begin! When pigs fly? We win. 🐷✨

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Democracy Spark provides ghostwriting for grassroots democracy organizations. You have the passion and vision, I have the words that move people to action. Let’s collaborate to bring our democracy back for the next generation.

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My first thought wasn’t fear. It was: Oh, they really don’t know who they’re messing with.

Why We’re a Target (And Why That’s Actually a Compliment)

Let’s be honest about why we’re on someone’s list. It’s not because we’re weak. It’s because we’re everything that is a threat to authoritarian control.

We’re artists and organizers, mutual aid networks and community care. We’re weird and proud of it. We rebuilt after Helene by showing up for each other in ways that made national news for all the right reasons. We’re living proof that diverse, creative communities don’t just survive - they thrive.

They’re targeting the community that just proved we can organize under crisis conditions. And we’re still doing it. Just last week, The Orange Peel partnered with BeLoved Asheville to respond to SNAP benefit cuts caused by the federal shutdown. They’re turning every concert into a food drive and distributing EAT Cards to families because as they said: “We refuse to stand by.”

This is who we are. When crisis hits, we don’t wait for permission. We partner up, get creative, and take care of each other.

Walking and Chewing Gum

This is not just “one more thing” - it is all the same thing. Overwhelm is real. I get it. I’m still fighting for my healthcare. Still calling representatives about ACA premium tax credits. Still racing that December 15th deadline while worrying about federal agents showing up this weekend. And that’s exactly how resistance works. You don’t pick just one crisis. Because all these fights are the same fight - about whether we have power over our own lives or surrender that power to people who want to control us through fear. When we show up for immigrant neighbors, we’re showing up for healthcare, housing, every policy that says people matter more than power.

What Chicago and Portland Are Teaching Us

Other communities have been figuring out how to respond to exactly what might be coming our way.

And friends, they are showing the hell up.

Chicago: Where a Teenager Became the Resistance

In Chicago, a teenager named Ivan patrols his neighborhood every day. “I may not be no cop or none of that,” he told NPR, “but I be taking care of the community.” He watches for suspicious cars, gives people time to hide or flee, films what he sees. He’s not waiting for adults to fix this. He IS the resistance.

Chicago created something called Whistlemania - whistle kits with Know Your Rights pamphlets. Organizers expected maybe 15-20 people to show up and help assemble them. Four hundred came. They’ve distributed over 100,000 kits across the city. When you see ICE activity, blow your whistle. The sound brings community members out to witness, document, and make noise.

One woman in Mount Prospect ran outside when ICE showed up on her quiet block. She didn’t know exactly where she was going or what she’d do, but she’d watched videos of other people resisting. She said: “It was sort of like I was finally able to find a place to put my rage and try to be a little productive instead of feeling so helpless.”

Community resistance like this documented violations, created pressure, and supported the legal challenges that led to a federal judge ordering 615 people released, finding that the vast majority of arrests were unlawful. The resistance made that victory possible.

Portland: When the Resistance Got Weird

Portland looked at the same federal threat and said: “Hold my craft beer.”

It started with one person in a bright yellow chicken suit at the ICE facility. Then an inflatable frog appeared. Now there’s a frog colony, Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, dinosaurs, and my personal favorite, the Unipiper - a bagpiping unicyclist who wears a Darth Vader mask. Hundreds of nude cyclists staged an emergency naked bike ride protest. There was a wedding between two inflatable characters. Dance groups show up and do the Cha-Cha Slide in front of federal agents.

Why Being Weird Actually Works

The absurdity isn’t just fun - it’s strategically brilliant. L.M. Bogad, who teaches political performance at UC Davis, calls it creating “the irresistible image.” That’s an image so strange that even your opponents will broadcast it - and when they share it, they’re spreading your message.

Here’s what happened in Portland: Before they got weird, protests were “low energy, minimal activity” - people sitting in lawn chairs that nobody covered. After the inflatable frogs? International headlines. When federal officials tried to justify tear gas and flash-bangs, they had to explain why they were attacking dinosaurs and people doing the Cha-Cha Slide. The agents looked ridiculous. The narrative collapsed.

How does Fox News cover an inflatable frog colony without showing the frogs? How does the administration paint people doing the Cha-Cha Slide as “violent extremists”? They can’t. The absurdity itself is the defense.

But tactical frivolity does something even more important: It demonstrates confidence and power, not fear. Joy and creativity signal that we refuse to be controlled. Every inflatable costume, every dance party says: You wanted to terrorize us into submission. Instead, we’re having a party.

And it sustains resistance. Anger burns out. Joy and creativity can sustain resistance for months, years, as long as it takes. It also builds community - when you’re figuring out which costume to wear or learning the Cha-Cha Slide together, assembling whistle kits, you’re connecting with neighbors, creating the networks that sustain all the other work.

The weirdness isn’t silly. The weirdness is the weapon.

What This Means for Asheville

I cannot wait to see what Asheville’s response will look like, but I can feel the creative juices flowing already.

You’re artists and makers and musicians who’ve been creating your whole lives. You know exactly what Asheville looks like when Asheville shows up.

I was flipping through pictures I’ve taken of all the great gatherings we have. Shindig on the Green sparked a vision for me: federal agents in tactical gear facing down banjo players and clog dancers. That’s an image so impossibly Appalachian and joyful and unthreatening that every news outlet in the world will cover it. Try explaining to a national audience why you needed tactical gear for that. And when they do, they spread the message: This is what they’re afraid of?

Portland taught us that weird works. Asheville already knows how to be Asheville.

Different Roles, Same Resistance

If you’re a citizen who can witness and document, your role is to show up. If you’re undocumented or have family who is, your role might look different - staying safe, knowing your rights, having a plan. Not everyone can be on the front lines the same way, and that’s okay. Every role matters. The people who witness, the people who stay safe and prepared, the people who organize behind the scenes, the people who provide support - we all make the resistance work.

What You Can Do Right Now

Tonight, before you go to bed:

Search “Asheville Good Trouble” on Facebook and join the group. Search “Indivisible Asheville” or “Indivisible WNC.” These groups are already organizing.

Check Mobilize.us and search for Asheville. See what’s already being planned.

Text three neighbors you trust. Send them this post. Ask “Are you thinking about this too?”

If you’re an artist, musician, or performer, start a group chat tonight with other creative folks. Ask “What could Asheville’s response look like?”

Post in your neighborhood Facebook group or on Nextdoor: “I want to be part of Asheville’s response if ICE comes to our community. Who else is thinking about this?”

The most important thing is making sure we’re not organizing alone. Every conversation tonight, every connection you make, every group you join - that’s how the network builds.

Mobilize is where organizations coordinate. Facebook and Nextdoor are where neighbors find each other. Let’s get together and get weird.

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My heart broke. Because I know they were capable of more.

Here’s what most people don’t understand: there are no surprise outcomes with a caucus, only calculated outcomes. Leaders know the vote before they call it. Chuck Schumer made a calculation, eight senators agreed to take the heat, and everyone played their assigned role. That doesn’t mean it didn’t break my heart.

The Inverted Pyramid

At the local level, parties often are the fighters. City council members know their constituents by name and actually show up to town halls. They will see you in the grocery store, at church, at school functions—they are going to be confronted when they slip their commitments. This accountability makes local politics work.

But the larger the span of control, the more attractive politicians become to those seeking unfair advantage, and the less likely they are to be cornered at the grocery store. The numbers tell the story: party leadership recommends 30 hours per week fundraising, 3-4 hours per day on legislative work, all focused on the 0.29% of Americans who contribute more than $200 to campaigns.

When you spend 30 hours weekly calling that tiny fraction, you become excellent at calculating political outcomes and terrible at recognizing moments that require principle over comfort. The seduction is gradual—small tradeoffs “for the greater good” become big tradeoffs for power’s privileges. Former Rep. Jolly called the party fundraising operations “cult-like boiler rooms” with donation scoreboards shaming low performers. By the time you’re calculating which senators take the heat for a predetermined compromise, you don’t recognize how far you’ve drifted.

My Journey

My first election was Reagan’s second term. I grew up in a conservative military family who didn’t see the irony in voting against the programs that they depended upon for their educations. This was an early lesson in the complexity of motivation. My parents were smart, strong, and informed. I wish I could go back and learn more about how they saw the world.

They voted Republican, my brother and I voted Mondale. We all went together in the same car knowing we were going to cancel out each other’s votes.

I was a 70s kid, a little girl who came of age in the ERA fight, which is also work that is unfinished. That meant I felt excluded from the vision of a Father-Knows-Best version of the American Dream. At the same time, I watched good people at local levels move up and slowly change—small compromises becoming big ones, donor access becoming expected, caucus calculations becoming standard.

2016 crystallized something for me when Wasserman Schultz abused her DNC chair role, revealing that committee leadership isn’t about representing people—it’s about managing outcomes from the pyramid’s top. Sunday night again confirmed the pattern.

That’s when I started calling myself a grassroots progressive.

Beyond Labels

I’m not a Democrat or Republican. I’m not a socialist or capitalist. And I’m not an Independent—that term means “not part of something,” but I am part of my community. That’s the whole point.

Instead, I believe in the right tool for the job. Healthcare for profit is immoral—it incentivizes denying care, making people sicker, pricing treatment based on desperation not need. When your child is dying, you’ll pay anything. That’s extortion, not a market.

We don’t run fire departments for profit because life-and-death emergencies where seconds matter shouldn’t operate on profit motives. Healthcare deserves the same obvious answer.

Public goods that need more investment than profit provides—research, national defense, mental health, the prison system, poverty safety nets—are shared investments in our collective quality of life. They’re the foundation that makes everything else work.

Capitalism excels at innovation, distribution, efficiency, and profit. Sometimes you need a hammer, sometimes you need a saw. Some see the world as a nail, some as an overgrown tree. We have both. We need different tools based on the need, not ideological alignment.

National party machinery traps you in ideological boxes because ideology fundraises better than nuance. At the local level, people are pragmatic—they ask what works.

What Grassroots Progressive Means

Grassroots progressive can be an AND label, or a label for those who feel they are without party. You can be a grassroots progressive and a Democrat. You can be a grassroots progressive and a Republican. You can be a grassroots progressive, period. It’s about how you engage, not which box you check.

Progressive means evolution toward a more perfect union—the words from our Constitution. Not regressive retreat to a time that no longer serves our society, but forward movement adapting to current reality while holding to foundational principles.

Am I advocating leaving party affiliation? No. Align yourself to where you are going to be inspired. Part of that is understanding why parties will break your heart sometimes.

A grassroots progressive is first and foremost an activist. They activate. They speak up, show up, and stay visible—in the street, in the voting booth, at town halls, in organizations. Visibility is the point.

This means active participation at the level where democracy actually functions—where representatives know constituents by name, where pragmatism beats ideology, where you can’t hide behind donor call time or caucus math, where you will be confronted at the grocery store if you slip your commitments.

I support local parties when they’re actually fighting—city council candidates, county organizers, state representatives using whatever tool solves the problem. At the national level, I fund organizations doing actual work: the ACLU and Southern Poverty Law Center defending the rule of law in courtrooms, Marc Elias winning voter rights cases, the Small Business Council of America lobbying for healthcare as a human right.

Why This Matters

Grassroots pressure works. Democrats respond to it. Republicans respond to it... eventually.

Look at Zohran Mamdani in New York—he’s a problem for establishment machinery not because of his policies but his approach. He was on the streets, not romancing the wealthy. He built power from the bottom up, stayed visible, activated his community, and won. When representatives are confronted at the grocery store, when they can’t hide behind caucus calculations, the whole inverted pyramid becomes unstable.

That’s why they publicly attack grassroots solutions while really trying to kill the approach itself. Because if this model spreads, their carefully calculated power games become impossible.

The trend is already building from the bottom up—in communities where activists activate, where visibility became 7 million strong for a day, where people use the right tools and keep showing up to improve the quality of all life. The top of the pyramid will eventually have to follow. Or fall.

The Work

Labels don’t fit the complexity of a person’s life. Democrat, Republican, Independent, Socialist, Capitalist—these are just organizing shorthand, not reliable identity markers.

Those of us—all of us—who believe in the words in the Constitution must not let up. Lean in and keep leaning in. We are focused on the rule of law, free and fair elections, access to healthcare, protections for the vulnerable, free and fair markets globally, educating our children, and trusted partnership with our democratic allies.

Wins are wins. Losses are losses. Sunday night was both. But the cause is the purpose, and passion is the energy that will get us there.

Show up. Speak up. Be visible. Fund the fighters, not the fundraisers. Work at the local level where accountability is real. Use the right tool for the job. Confront your representatives at the grocery store when they slip their commitments.

Not through labels. Not through ideological purity. Not through party loyalty. Through activation. Through visibility. Through the sustained, passionate work of building democracy from the bottom up.

That’s the work.

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Senator Budd:

My BRONZE tier healthcare premium went from $350 to $1,257 per month because of your HR 1 vote.

I am in my 50s, self-employed and semi-retired, well above the poverty line. I saved responsibly, did everything Republicans celebrate as the markers of personal responsibility and success. Because of your vote, I will lose my health insurance. I cannot afford $1,257 per month. If someone like me—someone who did everything right—is forced out of the healthcare system you created, then what you’ve built is designed to fail.

But this letter is not about my healthcare alone. This is a performance review. You work for me and every other constituent in North Carolina. And you are failing to meet the basic expectations of your job.

Core Responsibility: Exercise Constitutional Advice and Consent

The Senate exists as a deliberative body—the “world’s greatest deliberative body,” senators call it. Your constitutional role is to provide careful consideration, amendment, and improvement of legislation from the House. You are supposed to be a check on hasty, harmful policy.

When HR 1 came to the Senate, you had access to the Congressional Budget Office analysis showing 4.2 million Americans would lose health insurance coverage from expired ACA premium tax credits. You knew average premiums would increase by 75%. You understood the bill would transfer wealth from working families to billionaires.

The Senate passed this bill 51-50, with Vice President Vance breaking the tie. Your vote was the deciding vote. Senator Thom Tillis—your Republican colleague from North Carolina, the senior senator from your own state—examined the same information and voted NO. He knew what this bill would do to North Carolina families. He took the political risk to vote against his party.

If you had joined him, this bill would have failed. Instead, you left Senator Tillis to stand alone and take the political heat for doing the right thing. You voted YES anyway.

Performance Assessment: Failed to exercise constitutional responsibility for deliberative review. Abandoned fellow North Carolina senator who voted to protect constituents. Cast the deciding vote that made devastating healthcare cuts possible despite clear evidence of severe consequences and a clear example of courage from your own state’s senior senator.

Core Responsibility: Tell North Carolinians the Truth

On July 1st, you issued a statement celebrating your vote, promising “historic tax cuts for North Carolina families” that would help people “deserve more of their hard-earned wages” and create “a thriving economy.”

What you never mentioned: The bill deliberately let enhanced ACA premium tax credits expire at year-end. Over 1 million North Carolinians buy private health insurance through healthcare.gov. According to the Kaiser Family Foundation, their average premiums increased by 75%. For me, that’s a $907 monthly increase—$10,884 annually. The Congressional Budget Office estimates 4.2 million Americans lost coverage entirely because they cannot afford the increases.

You celebrated giving “the average North Carolinian $2,474 in 2026” through tax cuts. My premium increase completely erases that savings and adds $8,410 in new costs.

Performance Assessment: Deliberately misleading constituents about direct impact of legislative votes. Celebrates tax cuts while hiding healthcare cost increases that eliminate any benefit for working families.

Core Responsibility: Protect North Carolina Families

Over 1 million North Carolinians purchase health insurance through healthcare.gov. We’re not on Medicaid, although you gutted that too with your vote. We’re self-employed workers, small business owners, early retirees—exactly the people Republicans claim to champion. Your vote made healthcare unaffordable for us to pay for tax cuts that primarily benefit billionaires.

According to the Congressional Budget Office, the bottom 10% of Americans lose 4% of their resources under your bill, while the top 10% gain 2%. For families already struggling, that 4% means real hunger, untreated illness, and homelessness. For me, it means I will go uninsured. I cannot afford $1,257 per month. At 50-something, self-employed, with no employer coverage to fall back on. This is the “personal responsibility” you celebrate in campaign speeches—until your vote made it impossible.

Performance Assessment: Policy decisions directly harm hundreds of thousands of constituents to fund tax cuts for the wealthy. Votes against the economic interests of working-class North Carolinians despite campaign promises to help them.

Core Responsibility: Keep Government Open and Serving Americans

For 35 days—now the longest government shutdown in U.S. history—the federal government has been closed. Approximately 900,000 federal workers have been furloughed. Another 1.4 million work without pay. SNAP benefits have been suspended, leaving 600,000 North Carolina children without food assistance.

The Senate has voted 14 times on continuing resolutions to reopen the government. Every vote fails because Democrats refuse to fund the government without restoring the enhanced ACA premium tax credits—the subsidies your HR 1 vote let expire. These subsidies have 78% public support, including majorities of Republicans.

Meanwhile, the House hasn’t held a legislative session since September 19—46 days. Speaker Johnson sent members home and said they wouldn’t return until the Senate acts. But any Senate bill must go back to the House for a vote. Your party created a perfect accountability vacuum: the House won’t work, the Senate blames Democrats, and you remain silent while constituents suffer.

Performance Assessment: Cast deciding vote for legislation that eliminated ACA subsidies, directly causing government shutdown. Failed fundamental responsibility to keep government open and serving Americans. Remains silent while North Carolinians go without food assistance for vulnerable citizens (the furloughed, children, working mothers, the poor) and healthcare to over a million taxpayers.

Core Responsibility: Deliver On Campaign Promises

You promised to help working-class North Carolinians. You said you’d fight for small business owners. You pledged to make healthcare more accessible and affordable.

I am a working-class North Carolinian approaching full retirement. I am self-employed—exactly the kind of small business owner Republicans celebrate in campaign speeches. Your vote made my healthcare unaffordable and costs me $10,884 annually—money I need to stretch my retirement savings.

The Congressional Budget Office analysis shows your bill transfers resources from those struggling to those thriving: the bottom 10% lose 4% of their resources while the top 10% gain 2%. You promised to help working families and delivered the opposite.

Performance Assessment: Delivers opposite of promised results. Policy outcomes directly contradict campaign commitments. Prioritizes party loyalty over constituent welfare.

Performance Review Summary

In any other workplace, an employee with this performance record would not survive their annual review.

• An employee who delivers the opposite of what they promised? Terminated.

• An employee who casts the deciding vote for legislation that devastates the people who hired them? Terminated.

• An employee who deliberately misleads their supervisors about their work’s impact? Terminated.

• An employee who remains silent while a crisis they created harms thousands? Terminated.

But you’re not in a normal workplace. Your performance review accountability comes in four years, when North Carolina voters decide whether to rehire you.

They will remember that they lost healthcare. They will remember there is less food on the table. They will remember the painful tradeoffs they had to make because of your vote. They will remember you not speaking up to help, only the emails blaming others for the impact of your YES vote on HR 1.

Corrective Action Required

You cast the deciding vote that let ACA subsidies expire. You created this crisis for over 1 million North Carolinians. Take responsibility for fixing it.

Here is what I expect you to do:

• Restore the enhanced ACA premium tax credits. Co-sponsor legislation to reinstate them immediately. Seventy-eight percent of Americans, including majorities of Republicans, support extending them.

• End the government shutdown. Use your position to demand the House return to work. Negotiate in good faith to restore subsidies and reopen the government.

• Stop sending misleading newsletters. Tell North Carolinians the truth about the healthcare costs that eliminate any benefit for working families.

• Show the courage Senator Tillis showed. He voted NO, knowing the political cost. He stood up for North Carolina families even when it meant standing alone—because you wouldn’t stand with him. You voted YES. You let him take the heat by himself. Prove that vote wasn’t just about party loyalty by working now to fix the damage it caused.

I am making this public because you hid the truth from your constituents. Because over 1 million North Carolinians buying marketplace insurance face the same premium crisis. Because propaganda only works when people don’t know they’re being deceived.

Bonnie A Ross
Constituent, North Carolina
In my 50s | Self-employed and semi-retired
$907 monthly premium increase due to HR 1
Losing health insurance because of Senator Budd’s deciding YES vote

This letter will be distributed to local and national media, healthcare policy organizations, and democracy advocacy networks.

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Representative Edwards:

My BRONZE tier healthcare premium went from $350 to $1,257 per month because of your HR 1 vote.

I am in my 50s, self-employed and semi-retired, well above the poverty line. I saved responsibly, did everything Republicans celebrate as the markers of personal responsibility and success. If someone like me cannot afford the healthcare system you created, then what you’ve built is designed to fail.

But this letter is not about my healthcare alone. This is a performance review. You work for me and every other constituent in NC-11. And you are failing to meet the basic expectations of your job.

Core Responsibility: Show Up For Work

The House of Representatives has not been in session since September 19—six weeks. Congress hasn’t voted on a single piece of legislation while the government you shut down continues to harm millions of Americans. You’re keeping the House on recess instead of coming back to work.

Meanwhile, you send sporadic newsletters and divisive surveys designed to inflame rather than inform. But the House chamber sits empty. The work that requires your physical presence in Washington—the votes, the negotiations, the actual legislating—goes undone.

Performance Assessment: Fails to meet basic attendance expectations. Employee refuses to report to primary workplace while critical job functions remain unperformed.

Core Responsibility: Ensure Constituents Have Representation

On September 23, Arizona voters elected Adelita Grijalva to represent their district. More than 800,000 Americans have been without congressional representation for over a month because Speaker Johnson won’t swear her in—and you’ve said nothing.

Two Republican congressmen were sworn in within 24 hours of their special election victories in April. Grijalva has now waited longer than any member-elect in twelve years. Her constituents can’t access constituent services. Veterans can’t get help with their claims. Students can’t get nominations to military academies. A member of Congress their community elected cannot do her job because leadership from your party won’t allow it.

You claim to stand for the voice of the people, yet you remain silent while 800,000 Americans are denied the representation they voted for.

Performance Assessment: Tolerates disenfranchisement of constituents when politically convenient. Fails to defend democratic representation.

Core Responsibility: Protect Vulnerable Constituents

Forty-two million Americans receive SNAP benefits—food assistance for families living in poverty. On October 10, the USDA announced they have “insufficient funds” to continue benefits starting November 1. A $5 billion contingency fund exists that could maintain benefits. President Trump was asked directly whether he would use emergency authority to fund SNAP, as he did to pay military personnel. He deflected to blaming Democrats.

You have remained silent while children go hungry as a political tactic.

Food prices have increased since President Trump took office, with August seeing the biggest jump in grocery prices in almost three years. Overall food prices are 3.1% higher than a year ago. While families struggle to afford groceries, you’ve been on recess for six weeks rather than working to address rising costs.

Performance Assessment: Fails to advocate for vulnerable populations. Allows children to be used as political leverage. Takes no action on constituent economic hardship.

Core Responsibility: Deliver On Promises to Working-Class Americans

In May, you sent constituents a letter defending your HR 1 vote. You wrote that the bill was “for and about working-class Americans and senior citizens.” You promised it would help small business owners. You claimed it delivered “the largest tax cuts for the middle- and working-class Americans in our country’s history.”

I am a working-class American approaching full retirement. I am self-employed—exactly the kind of small business owner Republicans celebrate in campaign speeches. Your bill made my healthcare unaffordable. Your vote turned a safety net into a safety gap, and I’m falling through it.

According to the Congressional Budget Office, 4.2 million Americans will lose healthcare coverage because HR 1 did not extend the enhanced premium tax credits. For those who remain insured, average premiums will increase by 75%. This affects self-employed workers, early retirees, and small business owners—the very people you claimed to help.

Performance Assessment: Delivers opposite of promised results. Policy outcomes directly contradict stated objectives.

Core Responsibility: Honest Communication with Constituents

When the government shut down on October 1st, you sent constituents a newsletter blaming Democrats for “playing Russian Roulette with the American economy.” You detailed Hurricane Helene recovery delays, national park closures, and veterans’ services. You wrote that Democrats “voted no to continuing disaster recovery in Western North Carolina and no on providing $22.5 billion in additional disaster relief funding.”

What you never mentioned: Democrats refused to vote for the Republican funding bill because it did not include an extension of the enhanced premium tax credits—the very subsidies your HR 1 vote eliminated. The subsidies that 78% of Americans, including majorities of Republicans, support extending. The subsidies that would keep my premium at $350 instead of $1,257.

This is propaganda by omission: tell people about everything except the thing that matters most to their lives. You blamed Democrats for refusing disaster relief while never telling constituents that Democrats were fighting to restore the healthcare you made unaffordable for millions.

Performance Assessment: Deliberately misleading communication. Withholds material information necessary for constituents to understand policy decisions.

Summary Assessment: Complete Control, Zero Results

For years, I heard Republican leaders promise that if only they had control, they would fix everything. Speaker Mike Johnson promised on Fox News that he was preparing so Trump would be “prepared and ready on day one.”

You have that control now. The White House. The Senate. The House. The Supreme Court. Complete authority to enact your vision for America.

And what have you delivered?

Food prices have increased, with August’s jump being the largest in almost three years. The government has been shut down for over 31 days. Congress hasn’t been in session since September 19—six weeks—and you’re keeping the House on recess instead of coming back to work. You won’t even swear in a duly elected member, leaving 800,000 Arizonans without representation. And 4.2 million Americans are being priced out of their healthcare. Bonus action - alienated us from our allies.

But you still blame Democrats—Democrats who control nothing—for the consequences of legislation you passed with complete control.

Where is my affordable healthcare, Representative Edwards?

Where is the help for working-class Americans you promised?

Performance Review Outcome

In any other workplace, an employee with this performance record would not survive their annual review.

• An employee who doesn’t show up for work for six weeks? Terminated.

• An employee who delivers the opposite of what they promised? Terminated.

• An employee who deliberately misleads their supervisors about their work? Terminated.

• An employee who tolerates harm to the organization’s most vulnerable stakeholders as a political tactic? Terminated.

But you’re not in a normal workplace. Your performance review accountability comes in 12 months, when voters in NC-11 decide whether to rehire you.

They will remember that they lost healthcare. They will remember there is less food on the table. They will remember the painful tradeoffs they had to make because of your votes.

And gerrymandering will not save you when the impact is this widespread. When upper middle-class families can’t afford healthcare, when working families choose between groceries and medical care, when senior citizens ration their medications—that crosses every district line you’ve drawn.

So here’s the question every voter should be asking: Why should we give you another term when you haven’t fulfilled the basic responsibilities of this one?

What will you tell us? That you were “ready on day one”? You said that already, and the results speak for themselves. That you’re fighting for working-class Americans? My $907 monthly premium increase says otherwise. That Democrats are to blame? You have complete control of government and can’t even manage to show up for work.

In twelve months, you’ll ask NC-11 voters to rehire you. This letter is documentation for that performance review.

Corrective Action Required

You promised your bill would help working-class Americans. Instead, it costs me $10,884 annually—money I need to stretch my retirement savings. You promised to help small business owners. I am self-employed, and you made my healthcare inaccessible. You promised the largest tax cuts for the middle class. I see no benefit from those cuts, but I see very clearly the $907 monthly increase in my healthcare costs.

Here is what I expect you to do:

Come back to Washington. Stop hiding in your district while the government you shut down harms millions of Americans. The House hasn’t worked since September 19. Do your job.

Work with your colleagues—Democrats included—to reopen the government. Your constituents need federal services, not political theater. Seventy-eight percent of Americans want the enhanced premium tax credits extended. Stop pretending this is a partisan issue when majorities across party lines support action.

Restore the enhanced premium tax credits. Publicly endorse their restoration and co-sponsor legislation to reinstate them. Your HR 1 vote created this crisis. Take responsibility for fixing it.

Stop using hungry children, uninsured families, and unrepresented constituents as bargaining chips. Fund SNAP benefits. Demand that Speaker Johnson swear in Adelita Grijalva. Govern like people’s lives matter more than your political games.

Do the job North Carolina voters elected you to do. You have complete control of government and promised you were ready. Prove it.

I am making this public because you hid the truth from your constituents. Because millions of Americans in the Medicare gap—the self-employed, the small business owners, the early retirees—face the same crisis. Because propaganda only works when people don’t know they’re being deceived.

Bonnie A Ross
Constituent, NC-11
In my 50s | Self-employed and semi-retired
$907 monthly premium increase due to HR 1

This letter will be distributed to local and national media, healthcare policy organizations, and democracy advocacy networks.

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The healthcare renewal notices arrive November 1st. All healthcare companies are preparing them right now. The research tells us to brace for increases between 114% and 135%.

One hundred and fourteen percent. On the low end.

I have what’s considered an upper middle class fixed income in my area. I’m not poor by any statistical measure. And I’m facing the real possibility of giving up my health insurance—despite just being diagnosed with a condition requiring lifetime medication to prevent blindness.

If this is untenable for me, my heart breaks for the young mother about to lose SNAP benefits. For communities watching their local hospital close. For every family doing math that shouldn’t have to be done in the wealthiest nation on earth.

And what is our government doing? They shut down. Chose stalemate over negotiation. Refused to work with Democrats. They’re playing political theater while we wait for November 1st and calculate what we’ll have to give up to survive.

The Lie They Tell While We Wait for the Blow

This weekend, my Subscribe & Save items on Amazon went up 5% in one month. Soap. Toiletries. The staples that keep a household running.

That same weekend, Roger Marshall from Kansas looked into the camera without blinking: “We have gotten the grocery costs under control.”

The anchor didn’t challenge him. Didn’t ask about the gap between his words and every shopping cart in America. Didn’t mention November 1st or the government shutdown that chose stalemate over solutions.

Only WE can hold them accountable for lies told while we bleed.

The Democrats tried to negotiate. The Republicans shut it down. We’ll pay the price—literally—when those notices arrive and we choose between medication and rent, between doctor visits and groceries, between coverage and everything else.

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What It Means to Keep Showing Up

It’s raining in Asheville right now. Cold, 48 degrees. Every Monday, I stand on a corner with my neighbors protesting the cruelty we’re living through. Our weekly ritual of defiance against a government that has abandoned basic humanity.

This morning, my inbox: “Yep, the forecast for rain this afternoon is 100%. Dang. But the good news is that there is no bad weather, just inadequate gear!”

I responded: “I’ll be there with music and a smile :)”

And I’m going. Right now. In the rain.

I’m going for the drivers who flip me off every week. For the ones who squeal their tires inches from my feet, who punch the gas to make sure I inhale their black exhaust. I’m going in hopes that when their renewal notice arrives, when they’re choosing between groceries or gas to get to work, when they’re staring at that grocery receipt—maybe they’ll connect the dots. Maybe they’ll understand this resistance on the corner is FOR them too.

When they have that moment, I hope they join us. We need them. They are always welcome.

That’s all I know to do right now. Keep showing up. Keep speaking out. Keep choosing solidarity—even for the people who hate me for it. Especially for them.

The Weight We Carry, The Dance We Choose

My parents fought for a better world. My mother broke glass ceilings in spaces that told her she didn’t belong. My father’s generation defeated actual Nazis—the ones who tried to end democracy through violence and hate.

If they could do that, I can stand in the rain and dance.

This isn’t hyperbole or metaphor. This is the choice we face every day: to let the cruelty break us, or to meet it with music and mutual aid and the stubborn insistence that we deserve better.

November 1st is coming. Those envelopes. The 114-135% increases. The impossible math. Our government chose shutdown instead of solutions. They’re counting on us to be too overwhelmed, too isolated, too afraid to organize.

But the rain is falling and still we dance—because dancing in the rain with your community is resistance. Because joy in the face of cruelty is strategic. Because they want us broken and we refuse.

The Only Thing I Know For Sure

I don’t have easy answers about fixing a system this broken. I don’t know how to make numbers add up when healthcare spikes over 100% and groceries keep climbing while politicians lie about having it “under control.” I don’t know how to force a government to negotiate when they’d rather shut down than address our survival.

But I know we’re not alone in this struggle. Every person reading these words is waiting for November 1st with the same dread, doing their own impossible math, making their own brutal choices.

And I know we’re stronger together than they want us to believe. Every Monday on that cold corner, we prove it. When we show up—in the rain, exhausted, while bills pile up and government abandons us—we’re building the world our parents fought for.

So keep dancing with me. Not because it’s easy. Not because we can see the end. Not because November 1st won’t hurt. But because this is how movements survive hard seasons—by refusing to let cold and rain and cruelty and government shutdowns stop us from showing up for each other.

There is no bad weather. Just inadequate gear and insufficient solidarity.

We can fix both.

See you this evening. I’ll bring the music.

If you’re struggling with impossible choices right now—and so many of us are—you’re not alone. Share your story in the comments if it helps. Connect with your neighbors. Find your Monday corner.

Democracy Spark provides ghostwriting for grassroots democracy organizations. You have the passion and vision, I have the words that move people to action. Let’s collaborate to bring our democracy back for the next generation.

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But the second No Kings Day brought nearly two thousand.

People dressed as dinosaurs.
Elderly in lawn chairs.
Kids with tambourines.

Republicans standing
beside Democrats
beside independents
beside people who’d never protested anything in their lives,
all holding signs about constitutional glory,
beside Trump supporters with signs about Jesus and Trump.

Neighbors peacefully packed together on a sunny, warm October afternoon,
shoulder to shoulder, sign to sign,
the density both amplifying voices and swallowing sound itself.

My speaker’s thumping anthems disappeared three rows deep—
my mighty Monday machine suddenly small. Useless, I thought.
Don’t try this again.

But I stood by it anyway,
with the handful of Monday regulars,
enjoying what we could hear
in our small pocket of sound.

A man moved closer as the crowd thickened—
no sign, no yellow,
just nodding to the beat.

We talked. Politics. Signs passing by.
We applauded the man walking through with I used to be a Republican, but I cannot have cruelty in my name.
We commented on the four counter-protesters covered in red.

Near the end, he thanked me for the music.
I smiled—figured he was just being kind about my pointless effort.
Then he got serious. No, really. This made being here possible.

Seeing by my face that I wasn’t feeling the depth of his words—

I have autism. I wouldn’t have been able to stay if I hadn’t found you. When it gets too much, I look at the speaker and focus on the beat.

Thank you. I wanted to be here.

I looked at my little cart,
at the speaker with its daisies and defiance,
and saw it differently—
now mighty in its smallness.

—for those with the courage to find their safe space

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These guiding principles serve multiple purposes for No Kings Day Part Two:

• Planning framework for organizing team decisions

• Alignment tool to unite organizers around a shared vision

• Marketing content for social media posts and community outreach

• Invitation language for flyers and promotional materials

• Touchstone for inspiration when the work feels hard

Use these principles as both compass and voice - they show us where we’re going and give us the words to invite others along. Please use them responsibly.

We gather because we remember what America means.

For 248 years, this country has stood on a revolutionary principle: we have no kings. Power flows from the people, not to them. Government serves at our consent, not by divine right. This is not a slogan. This is the foundation of everything that makes America exceptional.

This is not about political parties. This is about constitutional principles.

Today, we stand for that principle - as Americans, regardless of party, united by something bigger than politics.

Democracy Is Not a Spectator Sport

Democracy requires us to show up. To stand together. To use our voices when the principles that founded this nation are tested.

We do not gather out of fear, even if we feel fearful. We do not gather out of anger, even if we feel angry. We gather because we believe in something worth defending: a system of government where the people - not monarchs, not strongmen, not those who claim power through force - determine the course of our nation.

This is not weakness. This is the oldest and strongest American tradition there is.

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Why These Five Principles Matter

Democracy

We believe in government of, by, and for the people. We believe in the Constitution, the rule of law, and institutions that protect both the majority’s will and the minority’s rights. Democracy is messy, slow, and requires compromise - and it is worth every bit of effort it demands. When we defend democracy, we defend the mechanism that has allowed America to correct its mistakes, expand its freedoms, and become more perfect with each generation.

Unity

We believe America’s strength comes from our ability to stand together across our differences. Not unity through conformity, but unity through shared commitment to democratic principles. E pluribus unum - out of many, one. We are Democrats and Republicans and independents. We are conservatives and progressives and moderates. We are young and old, every race and faith and background. What unites us transcends party politics: we are Americans, and we have no kings.

Love

We believe that love - for our neighbors, our country, our Constitution - is the foundation of a just society. Love is not soft. Love built this nation. Love sustained the civil rights movement. Love gives us the courage to stand for what’s right when it would be easier to look away. When we act from love rather than hate, we become unstoppable. History proves it.

Inclusion

We believe that America’s promise belongs to everyone. Every race, every faith, every orientation, every ability, every background. “We the People” means all of us. When we protect the rights of the most vulnerable among us, we protect the rights of all of us. Inclusion is not charity - it is constitutional principle and American strength.

No Kings

No Kings is this country’s origin story. We believe that in America, no one is above the law. No one rules by force. No one holds power without the consent of the governed. We fought a revolution over this principle. We wrote it into our founding documents. We have defended it through civil war, depression, world wars, and civil rights struggles. We do not kneel to kings. We never have. We never will.

Why We Protest

Let’s be clear: we are protesting.

We are protesting the erosion of constitutional norms - by anyone, from any party, in any position of power. We are protesting the concentration of power beyond constitutional limits. We are protesting when those in authority act as if they are above the law. We are protesting when American values are abandoned in favor of authoritarianism.

This is not about right versus left. This is about right versus wrong.

Here’s what we know:

American values haven’t changed. Democracy, unity, love, inclusion, and the rejection of kings - these principles are as powerful today as they were in 1776. They belong to no political party. They are the inheritance of every American.

What has changed is how far some have strayed from these core values. And the further the straying from these principles, the more radical those who hold them appear.

But holding to constitutional principles is not radical. We are the light bearers.

Like the Statue of Liberty holding her torch high, we stand here lighting the way back to what America has always meant. These values are hard to maintain - that’s what makes them worth fighting for. They require discipline, courage, and unwavering commitment.

We hold that line. We are that light.

When everything else shifts, we remain. When others abandon these principles for convenience or power, we stand firm. Not because we’re stubborn. Because we remember.

We remember what America promised to be.

Why This Moment Demands Peaceful Strength

The world is watching how Americans respond when our principles are tested. The answer cannot be violence. It cannot be chaos. It cannot be the very authoritarianism we oppose.

Our answer is this: we stand together, peacefully, visibly, with unshakable commitment to the values that founded this nation.

This is not passivity. This is strategic power.

When neighbors gather in a town square holding signs about democracy and love, we demonstrate something profound: a free people do not need permission to stand for their principles. We don’t need to shout or display obscenities. We don’t need to threaten violence. We don’t need to match hate with hate.

We need only to stand - together, peacefully, clearly - and remind everyone watching what America actually means.

That is power. Real, lasting, movement-building power.

The Invitation

On October 18th, we stand as the light bearers.

We stand for the Constitution. For the rule of law. For democratic institutions. For the principle that has defined America since 1776: we have no kings.

If you’re a Republican who believes in constitutional limits on power, you belong here.

If you’re a Democrat who believes in democratic institutions, you belong here.

If you’re an independent who believes in the rule of law, you belong here.

If you want your children to grow up in a democracy, you belong here.

If you remember why America matters, you belong here.

Bring signs that shine light on the path back to our values. Bring your neighbors. Bring the best version of American citizenship you can offer. Bring your unwavering commitment to the principles that made this nation exceptional.

We are not asking for permission. We are not seeking approval. We are exercising the most fundamental right of free people: to gather peacefully and speak on behalf of the principles of our Constitution.

We are the ones who remember. We are the ones who hold the line. We are the light.

Our Place in the Story

This moment will be part of American history. Not because it’s the biggest moment, or the final moment, but because it’s our moment.

We are the ones who chose to stand - peacefully, powerfully, together - and hold high the light that shows the way back to our founding principles.

We are Americans.

We have no kings.

And we remember what America promised to be.

Saturday, October 18, 2025

https://www.nokings.org/
Where democracy lives in the hearts of neighbors

Prepared by DemocracySpark.org
Translating unbridled passion into words that move people.
Because democracy needs its poets, writers, and artists to engage our humanity.

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