The Community We Need For The Work Ahead

I don't know what I'm doing, but I know I need to do it.

Growing up, I had wide-eyed, lofty hopes and dreams for what the internet could be. I imagined a place where information and wisdom were amplified, where thoughtful conversations could bridge divides, and where communities could come together to create real change. But the reality has looked much different. Instead of fostering connection, social media typically fuels outrage and division, turning nuanced conversations into polarizing battles. It leaves us feeling more isolated and lonely.

But community—true community—is essential for navigating difficult times. We are not meant to face injustice, grief, and uncertainty alone. We need each other, not just for support, but for accountability, encouragement, and the collective strength to create change.

In a world where algorithms prioritize conflict over connection, how do we create spaces where real communities can thrive?

How can we exist online in conversation and community, fostering respectful dialogue, building spaces for collaboration, and creating opportunities for meaningful connection? How can we ensure that these spaces not only inform but also empower us, reminding us that advocacy and care for one another are ongoing commitments, not just momentary reactions to injustice? How can many of these hypothetical ideas, reduced to short, pithy, dopamine-administering catchphrases, become the faces of real people harmed by these policies?

This Substack is a space to discuss complex questions, foster thoughtful community dialogue, and find ways to stand with those in need.

You may see news about mass deportation, halting refugee resettlement, and immigration restrictions as just simple headlines, far off and impersonal. I'm not faulting you for that. But there's more to it than social media fails to reach—and probably doesn't even care to reach. I hope that anything I share provides some of that balance—balancing headlines with personal stories, facts with empathy, and outrage with understanding. I don't speak as a liberal, Democrat, or any label that seeks to reduce my perspective to a political stereotype or hypothetical. I speak as someone who is trying to advocate for the oppressed and powerless. That’s really all I care about. When I share about critical issues in the United States, it's not from the lens of trying to prove a political point or one-up the opposition—but because it's immensely personal and moral.

I'm not egotistical enough to think I will have any impact on your beliefs, but I hope you will at least consider them. I imagine this is more for those who already have similar viewpoints and feel weary and helpless. I would offer that it’s for me more than anyone else.

I'm very angry. I'm upset. I'm heartbroken. But not because of any political or partisan defeat. Not because my side didn't win. But because of the human cost:

Because of recent executive orders, LGBTQ+ friends and family are at greater risk of discrimination in areas such as workplace protections, access to healthcare, and basic civil rights.

Our immigrant communities—documented or not—face increased danger, including threats of deportation, family separation, and reduced access to vital resources and protections. We know school administrative assistants who have become foster parents because families have been deported without their children. Our children’s classmates live in fear when their parents are out of the house - scared that their parents will be picked up by ICE. We’ve walked with neighbors seeking asylum, trying desperately to make ends meet in a system designed to be cold and brutal.

Thousands of refugees, fleeing violence, persecution, and dire poverty, are left stranded as their approved entries into the United States are canceled, prolonging their suffering and uncertainty.

Federal health infrastructure has been halted, potentially leading to disastrous effects on medical research, vaccine development, pandemic response, and global health protocols.

Federal infrastructure is being gutted, eliminating critical services aiding the most in need.

I can go on!¹

What can we do when faced with so much uncertainty and injustice? Aside from feeling helpless? What role can each of us play in pushing back against systems that harm the most vulnerable? Change often begins with small, intentional actions, and each of us has a part to contribute. I don’t have all the answers, but I have ideas. I’m surrounded by wise and inspiring people who have been doing this work for a long time—advocating for refugees, supporting marginalized communities, serving immigrants, and championing human rights. Their tireless efforts serve as a reminder that change is possible, even in the face of overwhelming challenges. We must all work to be good neighbors—to truly stand in the gap with our communities in need, recognizing that this work is a marathon, not a sprint. The weight of injustice can feel overwhelming, and the fight for dignity and fairness doesn’t come with quick solutions. But that is why community is so vital—so we don’t burn out, so we can share the burden, and so we can remind each other why we keep going. Alone, exhaustion is inevitable, but together, we can sustain the fight for justice, lifting each other up and carrying forward the work, one step at a time. Real, lasting change requires endurance, persistence, and a commitment to showing up, even when progress feels slow.

I hope this Substack will encourage us to commit to listening, learning, and acting together—a space to wrestle with complex questions, foster thoughtful community dialogue, and seek ways to stand with those in need. Let’s aspire to be good neighbors in every sense of the word. I’d love to hear your thoughts, stories, and experiences—let’s build this community together.

1. It’s been weeks since I’ve written this, and honestly, so much already feels sort of obsolete!