Do Not Fail to See What is Coming
On the risk and potential of this moment
In 2015, a friend started sharing articles about rising authoritarianism in the US, always signing off in the same way: “Do not fail to see what is coming.”
He’s right. The dark is real, but so is the light.
Have you ever heard the name Ernst vom Rath? Not many have—or few seem to remember.
Rath was a low-level German politician posted to the Paris embassy in 1938 when he was shot by 17-year-old Herschel Grynszpan, a Polish Jew who had lived his entire life in Germany. Grynszpan was angry that his parents, along with many other Jews, had been rounded up and deported from Germany back to Poland—after more than twenty years living in Hanover.
In a postcard found after the shooting, he wrote to his parents:
“With God’s help. My dear parents, I could not do otherwise, may God forgive me, the heart bleeds when I hear of your tragedy and that of the 12,000 Jews. I must protest so that the whole world hears my protest, and that I will do. Forgive me.”What happened next is the crucial part for us here today.
The murder of Rath, who died from his wounds two days later, was the catalyst the Nazi regime needed. Within hours of the death, Hitler’s propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels sent telegrams to state and secret police with detailed instructions for an attack. That night is known as Kristallnacht, a night of broken glass—for all the Jewish homes and businesses vandalized (fire departments were instructed to let Jewish homes burn and respond only if Aryan property was threatened).
That night 30,000 Jews were arrested and sent to camps, 1,000 were killed, and 1,000 synagogues burned. It was the start of an industrial scale of violence, all in the name of a murdered politician no one had ever heard of.
When I heard the news that Charlie Kirk had been murdered, all I could think was: Ernst Vom Rath.
And, indeed, the night of Kirk’s killing, HBCUs (historically Black colleges and universities) went into lockdown—many received threats. Then, news that the alleged shooter was from a MAGA family seemed to dissipate some of the rage (it turned to confusion), but it is now being ginned up again in horrible ways.
We’ve seen this before. Martyrs have been used throughout history as tools of manipulation by those who seek or want to remain in power.
Why am I telling you this? Because things are getting tense. Can you feel it?
History tells us that authoritarians cannot win on their own merits: they do not have popular policies; they don’t care about helping people at large. They care about themselves and power and wealth. They need to consolidate power through intimidation and violence, fear and manipulation. To do this they exploit racial resentment—telling people they’ve been unfairly treated and now is the time to take back what is yours.
They say things like this speech at Kirk’s funeral, by the current administration’s architect of immigration policy. It echoes Hitler’s Third Reich (Goebbels gave one similar in 1932 called “The Storm”). It is meant to rile the masses, to seed division and hate.
I’m telling you this because things are going to get dicey and I’d like us all to be as prepared as we can be.
First off: do not panic. We need the coolest of minds. But do make plans. Do take care.
I don’t know what is coming—and I’d treat with skepticism anyone who tells you they do. This is more like preparing for a big storm. Do you have some drinking water? Do you have medical supplies and shelf stable food? Are your devices charged?
But this is also a mental game. Here are some things to think about:
• What news do you trust and how to access it? (esp. if the power is out).
• How to stay calm when bad news arrives? (Go slow, breathe deeply).
• Who is your community, the people around you, and how to connect?
• Who else is going to need help and how can you support them?
One of the people I follow for advice on resilience preparation—Sharon Astyk on Facebook—has an item on her preparation to-do list that reads simply: “Get to know your neighbors.” Bake cookies and bring them over, stay for a bit of a chat. Make a habit of it.
I have great friends, but none of them live next door to me.
In natural disasters—and man-made ones as well—the people around you are your first line of protection (not defense, protection). We see this time and again: things that divide us often disappear when floodwaters rise.
We will be needing our neighbors and community in ways most of us—especially white middle and upper classes—simply have no experience of. It turns out that individualism was a myth told to keep us separate and alone. We only ever get through hard times together. Ask anyone who has survived a major disaster.
I hope I am wrong about all of this. I hope this post comes back to haunt and embarrass me. I really do. But everything I’m seeing tells me otherwise. Things could happen slowly, or all at once. Either way, I suspect we are in for a rocky ride.
For years now I’ve wondered—if and when danger came—would I know in advance?
On both sides of my family tree I come from people who have been oppressed (two different religions, on two different continents). I come from people who have fled, sometimes in the night, with only what they could carry.
When the darkness came, would my great-great-great grandmothers whisper a warning? Would the hair on the back of my neck stand up?
And, actually, it did.
In spring of 2023, I could feel it in my bones: If I want to leave the US and set myself up in another country, the time to go is now.
I’ve lived in Canada, I have family there. I’ve also lived in Asia and Europe. I could go.
But relocation is hard—I don’t recommend doing it unless you must or have always wanted to (ideally to a country where you have connections and support). You will be an immigrant, less secure, subject to the whims of political favor in a new country, and it can be hard to make real friends. It’s a challenge under the best circumstances.
And authoritarianism is on the rise throughout the world. Do you want to ride out instability in a country where you have no legal standing and may not fluently speak the language? A country that may not be food secure without imports? There’s a lot to consider.
(Also, humor does not translate and people there may never understand your jokes. It’s a small thing, but I went five years with no sarcasm and missed it terribly.)
I decided to stay. Because this is my country (even when I don’t agree with it), because this is where the largest number of people I care about live. And I’m clear that my role, for now at least, is to be here to help.
I’ve been working on building community ever since. Because we only ever get through hard things together.
Here is some of what I am doing:
• Slowly, calmly, methodically laying in extra supplies (food, water, batteries, medical supplies, etc.). Never hoarding—other people have needs too. But if the supply is there, and you have the ability to buy a little more than you need, consider doing so. There are many who cannot afford to stock up and you will be in a position to help them. (Not to sell, to share).
• Getting involved in mutual aid and disaster preparedness in my area, especially food distribution.
• Seeking out voices that are wise, well informed, and trustworthy. I am learning a lot.
• Monitoring but not watching all the news. It is an outrage cycle and exhausting—and intentionally designed that way. Rather than steeping myself in it, I want to put my energy toward good.
(The five-minute news update in the NPR app is an excellent way to get an hourly overview without drowning in it. Otherwise, I am listening to music. It’s great.)
• Not turning away from the news entirely—even though it is tempting! It’s dangerous not to know what is going on. And if you are in the US: this is our mess, we can’t avoid it. It will be on all our doorsteps sooner or later. There is no avoiding it.
• Getting to know my neighbors. I had completely ulterior motives when I started hosting our block party. My little street is pretty locked in now, and I’ve taken note of who has emergency generators and medical skills. We may need them.
• Making my life more resilient.
I spent this summer riding my bike, no car, to see how that might work. (Better than expected, though hard on nightlife—also, ebikes are fun! Not good in a power outage, but I want one for the childlike joy of zooming around).
I also consider how I might function without power or water. What can I do to make my life as resilient as possible? (This is a gradual and ongoing effort, not something to panic about).
• Making sure to protect and foster joy in my life—even and especially when times are hard. (I write a whole newsletter about it). I refuse to give up the goodness of life to authoritarianism. In fact, we might need EVEN MORE celebration.
• Working very hard to keep my heart open. This is important to me.
One of the most frightening essays I’ve read was about what authoritarianism does to the average person, how it turns neighbor against neighbor out of fear and suspicion. I refuse to live that way—even though the media likes to rattle our cages. I want to still talk to people who are different from me, I want to be open even to those whose hatred is being inflamed.
And, whoa nelly, is it being inflamed—to an inferno! It’s dangerous, and harms every one of us, hater and hated alike.
We’ve had decades of media manipulation here in the US, intentional underfunding of education that goes back to Reagan, and now we are being expertly driven apart. I don’t want to fall for it. (I also work on healthy boundaries and my own personal safety, never doubt).
I don’t want to look at a person and see a political stance. I want to see a fellow citizen I need to somehow find a way to live alongside. We’re not two opposing sides so much as we are people in the same boat—and right now we’re gleefully shooting bullets in the hull.
Some of us are laughing about it, but we’re all going down together.
This division is by design, because people warring between themselves are too busy to look around for those causing the actual problems in society. (Hint: it’s not our immigrant neighbors, it’s the uber wealthy).
This is not about appeasement or “both-sider-ism,” it’s something deeper.
(This is more complicated and deserves its own post, but I am NOT implying people who are at risk should reach out or befriend those who wish them harm. I see my role as running interference for those who are more vulnerable than myself and trying to foster understanding and education—I have been trained to do this work. The world does not get safer for people I care about when I avoid conversations with those who wish them harm, and some of these folks are going to need a graceful off-ramp from the path they’ve been on. If I can help, I want to try.)
“When you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher fence.”
What I am NOT doing:
• Running for the border if/when I hear scary news (most of us are safer at home).
• Buying a gun.
• Building a bigger wall.
I’ve always been a fan of the quote: “When you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher fence.” I don’t want to let them take my belief in that too.
(I may look back and see this as overly idealistic, but I refuse to harden my heart in advance.)
Mostly I am looking at history, preparing for whatever comes, and helping others as I can. In some ways it’s another Wednesday, even though the stakes feel very different.
What if I’m mistaken about all this?
I would LOVE to be mistaken. Truly. But let me tell you a story:
I have been active in the environmental movement most of my life. For years, people asked: What if we do all these things—cut down on carbon, make our energy more sustainable, build a greener planet and more resilient communities—and it turns out that climate change isn’t a thing?
(Very few people are asking that now, by the way).
The answer was always the same: Then we end up with a greener planet, less carbon burned, more sustainable energy, more resilient communities. How lovely.
I see no problem if we end up with better supplied homes, cozier communities, more media literacy, greater understanding of our neighbors and their needs, more celebration and joy. Sign me up.
What if we did all this work and ended up building a better country?
There’s much more to unpack and talk about in these issues—and we will.
If this is your first time here, welcome. I hope you’ll subscribe and stick around. And please share with anyone you think might benefit. This is about building community, because we get through hard things together.
I’ll leave you with one last thing:
I mentioned this was storm preparation, right? Time to charge your devices and lay in food and drinking water.
But you don’t need to go and buy all the bottled water. If you have empty and clean plastic soda or juice bottles (not milk jugs), fill them with tap water to the very top and squeeze the bottle a tiny bit to make the water overflow as you quickly screw the cap on. This works for shorter-term storage. (Here are more detailed instructions about sanitization).
This is a practical tip, it is also a metaphor: we have much of what we need in our communities already. It’s often a matter of looking at things in a new way, making the connections, strengthening the web, learning together. In a country with few social safety nets, we must learn to save each other. We cannot do it alone.
It may seem strange, but in the unknown and the unknowable, I have moments of great hope. I want a better place for all of us.
Let’s get on that.
Thanks for being here,
—Tara
I have another newsletter. It’s about fostering joy, self care, pleasure, and delight—because those of us grappling with hard stuff need to balance it out with FUN. Check it out. And if you sign up for a paid subscription here, shoot me a note and I’ll gift you a free subscription to enJOY, if you would like. This is all about walking a middle path: work and play, dark and light. Thanks for reading along.
Who am I? Student of history (obviously). I’ve written seven books, lived in five countries on three continents, and taken notes all along the way. I am always looking at the biggest picture possible and hoping to make things better. Sour and sweet.
To give credit where it belongs: most of what I know about community building and resiliency comes from following Black, brown, and Indigenous activists, mostly women, and spending time in other countries and cultures, particularly the Queer community. It’s a deeply rich world out there, so much to learn. My education is forever ongoing and I am grateful. Thanks for coming along.
Thank you for this. A hard but necessary look.