Today, a heavy cloud of sadness settles over me, one that I wish I could say was unfamiliar. But it’s a sadness so many of us have carried for too long. It’s the same sadness that comes when we see the world as it is—unveiled, raw, and harsh. It’s the reality of watching a man who once boasted about sexually assaulting women and ogling teenage girls rise to the most powerful seat in the land, again, with half the country cheering him on. A country where men can be anything they want, even the face of a presidency that sneers at justice, while women are left to sift through the shards of their own humanity.
This country, this supposed beacon of equality and freedom, feels like a grotesque echo of Orwell’s Animal Farm: “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” It’s the anthem that plays in the background when we watch men gain power, not despite their misdeeds but because of them. The message being sent to our daughters, sisters, mothers, aunts, and grandmothers is that men will always come first. Women’s voices, their pain, their courage—it’s all secondary. The message sent to survivors is clear: your trauma is expendable, your cries insignificant.
How did we get here… again? How did we slip into this era where justice is so flimsy and rights are so conditional?
When I say this is Gilead, I mean it. No, there aren’t crimson robes parading through the streets or handmaidens forced into breeding rituals, but the foundation is there. The very structures that uphold a regime willing to trample dissent, silence the vulnerable, and crush the spirit of hope are in place. And everything that we, as progressives, as Jesus followers, as activists, have been working towards will soon become exponentially harder to achieve under this rising tide of fascism.
Make no mistake, the next four years will not just be a challenge. They will be an era of weeping and gnashing of teeth for those who believed that their vote was harmless or justified. Trump’s deportation program, already brimming with brutality, is but a harbinger of the suffering to come. When power lies in the hands of a man so steeped in cognitive decline that invoking the 25th Amendment becomes a necessity, it won’t be hope that fills that void. It will be theocracy, spearheaded by the likes of J.D. Vance—a theocracy that takes the embers of progress and smothers them under the iron boot of dogma and control.
And so, I grieve. I grieve not just for what is but for what will be. I grieve for the millions whose suffering will be compounded by a leader whose legacy is built on the erosion of dignity and empathy. But I wonder if I will ever grieve for those who will one day wake up, faces wet with regret, realizing that they helped usher in the very pain they now endure. As it stands now, I don’t think I will. They have ushered in this dystopian nightmare, so they can reap what they sow.
This is the America that our daughters are watching, the Gilead we are living. And it should break every heart. Because if it doesn’t, what will?
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