The fierce urgency of now
We must choose action over apathy, solidarity over saviorism, and resistance over resignation
Etched into the side of the Martin Luther King Jr. monument in Washington DC are the words “out of the mountain of despair, a stone of hope.” These words, from his historic I Have A Dream speech roughly 62 years ago, resonate powerfully as we navigate a moment in history where despair threatens to envelop us. Dr. King spoke of the “fierce urgency of now,” a call to action that feels as pressing today as it did more than six decades ago. The rare coincidence of Inauguration Day falling on Martin Luther King Jr. Day—only the third time in our nation’s history—demands our attention and reflection.
Shockingly, I will not be tuned into today’s events. That’s called a boundary. Boundaries will be essential in the coming days, weeks, and months. Protecting our spirit, mind, body, and health is non-negotiable. But let me be clear: boundaries are not an excuse for disengagement. They are a means of sustaining ourselves for the work ahead. The next four years will not allow for dissociation. Despair is our worst enemy, and resignation is its closest ally.
A few days after the election, a contractor working in my home asked what I thought about the outcome. It was a conversation I desperately wanted to avoid. I told him, succinctly, that I was unhappy. After a brief exchange and his admission that he voted for Donald Trump, he said, “I don’t think any president in my lifetime has really impacted me.” He was in his fifties. It took all my willpower to stay silent.
“I don’t do politics.” “I just can’t read the news.” How often have you heard these refrains? How often have you uttered them yourself? Some were angered and terrified by the election results but will do little in the years ahead beyond venting frustration in passing conversations or on social media.
I write to you today. I understand your disillusionment, exhaustion, and temptation to disengage for self-preservation. But let me be clear: completely checking out and calling it “self-care” is not an option in the coming days, months and years.
Perhaps the next four years won’t impact you personally. Maybe you are financially secure, White, born in this country, identify with the sex you were assigned at birth, and romantically love the opposite sex. These aspects of identity—unearned privileges—may insulate you from the direct consequences of Trump’s policies. This is not a piece to shame you for those privileges. Instead, it is a call to use them. This is not the time for defensiveness or retreat. It is the time for action.
Let me tell you about Herminia. She is an undocumented woman who bravely and vulnerably shared her story in an interview with "The Daily." On the day CNN announced Joe Biden’s election victory in 2020, she opened her shades and removed the sign on her door instructing her children not to answer for anyone. It was a small, symbolic act of relief after four years of living in fear. Herminia’s shades closed again on November 6, 2024 , and the sign went back up. She does not intend to leave her home for the duration of Trump’s presidency—not even to buy groceries.
Contrast this with my experience on that same day. I was at the zoo with my children, basking in an unseasonably warm November afternoon. My shades were open. My doors were not barricaded. Herminia’s fear and my freedom are stark reminders of the disparities in how policies affect lives. If your shades are open, if your doors are not locked in paralyzing fear, you have an obligation. Those who cannot afford to disengage need allies who refuse to look away.
Resistance will look different for everyone. It doesn’t necessarily mean marching in the streets, running for office, or immersing yourself in the toxicity of political discourse. Resistance can mean donating to organizations fighting for trans rights, staying informed about local school board decisions, or having difficult conversations with friends and family. Resistance can mean rejecting apathy.
To be crystal clear: the resistance we need is not about saviorism. It’s about solidarity. It’s about listening—truly listening—to those whose lives are at stake. Ask them what they need. Learn from their experiences. Amplify their voices without co-opting their stories. The next four years do not require martyrs. They require doers. Community builders. Listeners.
MLK Jr. also said,
“We need leaders not in love with money but in love with justice. Not in love with publicity, but in love with humanity.”
We do not have that right now in the White House — far from it. But we can be those leaders. We must be.
We are living in a time of daunting headlines and overwhelming challenges. Wildfires devastate communities, while mutual aid efforts remind us of the power of collective action. There are Herminias on every corner, trans kids navigating a hostile world, pregnant people facing a broken healthcare system, and individuals sleeping on the streets in the bitter cold. They were here before, and they will remain long after this presidency ends. The difference now is a leader who has made it abundantly clear that he does not care about them.
We must. We must resist anti-trans rhetoric. We must challenge male domination. We must stand against policies that prioritize profit over people. And above all, we must show up—again and again—in ways big and small, seen and unseen.
Dr. King’s words remind us that hope is not a passive state. Hope is action. Hope is resistance. Hope is the stone carved out of the mountain of despair. The fierce urgency of now demands that we choose action over apathy, solidarity over saviorism, and resistance over resignation. The next four years will test us, but they will also define us.
Will you be the stone of hope?
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I begrudgingly got out of bed at 6am today, preferring to disengage from the reality of today’s inauguration and avoid the blistering cold. But I got up and walked up to my home office where I have been participating in ’s daily writing workshop each morning this month. Through tired eyes and an anxious mind, I just sat down to write about what was on my heart. Out came this piece. In big and small ways, we must find our community to get through this moment. I am grateful for the space Michelle has created and the ability to use my voice hopefully for good in this moment.