Here is a very specific thing you can do right now that will meet the moment quite nicely

Maybe do it five or six times, actually

Last week, David Brooks wrote an article for The Atlantic about the need for a mass movement against Trump. The gist, I suppose, was that a movement of this sort does not currently exist, but that somehow Brooks himself could manifest it through the sheer force of his pontification. And listen, I know how the American punditry ecosystem works. I’m supposed to take the bait and rail against Brooks’ pomposity and myopia. But honestly, whatever. It’s fine. David Brooks, good to have you on the front lines. Here’s a copy of Rise Up Singing and a bowl of what I am assured by our local Food Not Bombs chapter is supposed to be vegan chili.

I wasn’t all that mad at the essay, partially because the fact that even right-wing pundits are now citing Erica Chenoweth and Gene Sharp’s thoughts on mass protest is actually a testament to how much actual social movements have moved the Overton Window over the past year. Plus, reading David Brooks on social change was such a fun novelty, like when you lift your baby up to the steering wheel and pretend that they’re driving a car (“how cute! that’s not something that babies do!”). All due respect, but Brooks lives in an America solely inhabited by well-heeled and generously by-lined reactionary typists. Of course nobody in his world is actively involved in a mass movement for democracy. It’s not like Ross Douthat and Bari Weiss spend their Thursday nights in dimly lit church basement arguing with anarchists about whether to utilize progressive stack. They’re too busy taking long lunches, rearranging their shrines to William F. Buckley, and searching thesaurus.com for classier ways to say “dangerous Muslim socialist” in their next column about Zohran Mamdani.

So no, I won’t be writing David Brooks an open letter. But his piece did make me think, less about him than the actual vibrant social movements that I get the privilege of seeing every day. About how I love and am grateful for them, but also how tenuous they feel. We are in a sacred moment, I fear, both beautiful and fragile all at once.

When I look out at the world, not at the cowardice of large institutions but the actions of actual human beings, I am verklempt at the scale of love, rage and (most of all) principled action that I see all around me. Honestly, every single step that I wish was being taken right now is in fact being taken. Sometimes a million times over. Mass protests? Direct civil disobedience against agents of state violence? Ad-hoc community safety networks? Mutual aid? Big-hearted people running for office for the right reasons? Bodies on the line? Writing that speaks truth and buoys spirits? Potlucks? People are doing it. You’re doing it. We are doing it.

But here’s where I can’t fault Brooks. I understand the longing for a sudden explosion of activism, something bigger and more obviously effectual, something that takes our breath away. I claim that there's a movement brewing, but movements are only truly celebrated in retrospect, when we look back with the knowledge that, thanks to our efforts, the despots fell and a million flowers bloomed. I am fortunate, due to the nature of my work, to know thousands of people raging and caring and connecting and trying, damnit, but I can’t think of any of them who aren’t wreaked with some level by anxiety and dread. Bless Dorothy Day and her paean to that small group of caring, committed citizens, but do they really change the world? Or are they cast aside because their neighbors would rather keep their heads down and enjoy the fruits of same day shipping and chatbots that are allowed to talk sexy now? We want to hope, but it is human to doubt. The other side, after all, has the thugs and the guns and the Supreme Court. All we have are earnest Unitarians with homemade signs.

Take this past weekend’s protests. I am a hope-monger, so of course I want you to believe that seven million people in thousands of places is undeniable proof of collective momentum. I want you to feel pride in what you’ve built and have that pride buoy you into future actions. But I also understand if you woke up on Sunday morning wondering if all that marching meant anything, especially with Federal workers limping along without paychecks and neighbors being thrown in vans by masked men and a President responding with… a video? Of what, you say? Oh, Jesus, that’s dumb. But also deflating.

Or consider Chicago. It’s one thing to say “we should stand up for our neighbors.” It’s another thing altogether when ICE starts targeting the whistle brigades and walking school buses. The knowledge that you’re doing the right thing feels like cold comfort when your opposition is pointing a literal gun in your face.

So this is where we are at. Millions of humanity-loving bodies have been set in motion, but that’s not enough to quiet a million middle-of-the-night doubts. There is a very real chance that you have encountered somebody (perhaps from a distance, perhaps up close) whose voice and actions have filled you to bursting with joy and hope. And there is an equally likely chance that person is, quite frequently, exhausted and annoyed and wondering how long they can keep it up.

All this is build-up, by the way, for my request. I understand the risk that, even with all this context, it will sound impossibly twee and inconsequential. Trust me, though. I mean it with my whole heart.

My greatest fear is not what the despots will do to us. It’s that we’ll give up. And that would be a tragedy, but it’s not irrational. The strongmen may have a predictable set of tools (brute force, austerity, propaganda), but they’re willing to use them with impunity. Their only plan is to break our spirits. And so, the work of the moment is simple. If you see anybody engaged in efforts that you value right now— hope-giving work, base building work, community care work— we need to shower them in gratitude and support.

That’s all I ask. Be grateful (in your loudest voice possible) and generous (with a spirit of abundance). Think about everybody who you believe is doing good, decent, necessary work. Imagine how heartbroken you’d be if they gave up. And then, let them know that they’re not alone and that you’d love to help.

Do it once, perhaps for somebody with a huge national platform who you’ll never meet. They may never see your message, but the staff member who reads their email will.

Then, go a layer down. Closer to you. Closer to your community.

I’ve recently started this exercise and, to be honest, my only problem is not knowing when to stop. The names keep pouring out.

I am, for example, immensely grateful for my parents in Montana, who text me every day about another community organizing meeting, or a volunteer shift making sandwiches for unhoused neighbors, or about how large Missoula’s march was this time around. I’m grateful for my friend Tiffany Koyama Lane in Portland, Oregon, because a year ago I was in awe of the way she ran her campaign for City Council, but now I’m even more in awe of how she (the Vice President of that body) balances standing up to a dictator while fighting for those Portlanders most likely to be cast aside. I’m grateful for my friend Emily Tseffos in Outagamie County, Wisconsin, who recently launched a campaign of her own, but also makes sure that her local No Kings protest incorporated a non-perishable food drive for struggling neighbors. I’m grateful for the elder at my Quaker Meeting who drafted me to take over the soup and bread cafe we run in December, but who also gifted me a thirty page binder of clear instructions so that I won’t let our community down.

I could keep going. And I bet you could too.

I love all these people, and I would be devastated if they burnt out and gave up. I don’t pretend that telling them thank you will sustain them forever, but it’s not nothing. There must be somebody in your life like that. Somebody heroic and fatigued. Somebody whose work matters. Somebody who deserves to know that they’re not alone.

You want a movement, I hear. We all do. But the question is never “will somebody do something?” They are. We are. Our job is to notice, and to ensure that none of our flames burn out.

End notes:

1. Barnraisers fall classes! On how to build community! Enrolling now, as we speak! And still free and virtual and very fun! Read all about the (free, virtual) classes here and enroll here.

2. Thank you, as always, for all the ways you support this work. The most immediately meaningful way to do so is with a paid subscription, as that allows me to survive as an independent writer/working dad who values offering everything I’ve got to give (these essays, my classes, coaching etc.) for free. If you can’t afford a subscription, I get it, and I’m grateful for the other ways you support this space (sharing essays with friends or on social media, sending nice notes, etc.).

3. Twin Cities friends: This weekend, I’m driving the middle schoolers from my Quaker Meeting to a retreat in Eau Claire (and then hanging out with my cousin for a bit). But then, on Saturday afternoon (the 25th) I’ll be heading to MPLS for a rare afternoon/evening when I have (a). no agenda and (b). no kids in tow. To celebrate, I’m trying something new. “Hang out” hours. Here’s how it works. From 1:00-5:00, I’ll be posted up at Bichota Coffee (3740 Chicago Ave, adjacent to George Floyd Square) and then, from 6:00-9:00 I’ll be at Malcolm Yards Market (501 30th Ave SE). Want to hang out? I made sign ups to make it easier. If you want more than an hour, just grab two adjacent slots. And if nobody signs up, I’m not offended! I’ve got plenty to keep me busy (as I’m sure my newsletter audience is primarily fellow South Dakota State University Jackrabbit fans, I don’t have to tell you all that it’s Dakota Marker weekend; ears up, horns down, if you know you know).

4. Are you listening to This Week in Breeders (the podcast I co-host with

   Sarah Wheeler on gender and parenting and fun nonsense)? I hope so, because it’s very fun. In last week’s bonus episode, I tried to get Sarah to start a feud between Oakland and Berkeley moms and she asked me to talk about my face, and my current feelings on its shape (she had a reason to do so! I promise! she wasn’t just saying I have an ugly face!)..

5. I know that so many people in this community have been impacted by Federal layoffs, and the least I can do is spread the word about talented professionals seeking new opportunities. This week, if any of you are looking for support from an extremely skilled public health professional who is also an expert in knowledge translation and editing/policy writing, I can’t recommend my friend Marissa Pine-Yeakey enough. By far one of the most competent people I know. You can learn more about her work (and reach out) here.

6. If you have a request like that (a job search or fundraising campaign or local initiative that you’d like promoted in The White Pages), I’m all ears. I can’t promise I’ll always say yes, but I’ll always consider thoughtfully.