Feb. 5, 2023
“I believe that the combination of pencil and memory creates a kind of practical magic, and magic is dangerous.” –Stephen King, The Green Mile
From a young age, I aspired to craft words as impactful as those. My journey with storytelling began at age ten, diving into the works of Stephen King, where I encountered characters battling terrifying monsters, both real and imagined. King’s narratives urged me to explore the depths of humanity and recognize that people can be more frightening than any fictional beast. As an adult, I return to storytelling to sort through the complexities of our current reality.
I never imagined a world where I would have to plead with neighbors to stand by my side. The thought that fear could seep into bedtime routines, as I kissed my son goodnight, was unfathomable. I did not foresee that just eight days could erase eight years of progress.
This narrative I now share is not grand or fantastical; it’s about perspective. I write it for other parents, for families, hoping you’ll hear me one more time.
As a writer, I understand that my credibility may wane depending on where my words are published. My experiences have shaped me, and while my name may appear in textbooks alongside landmark rulings like Roe v. Wade, I know the struggle of ensuring my voice is heard.
The roles of hero and villain shift with perspective. There are triumphs and tragedies in our politics, and I cannot recall a time in my 30 years that feels as precarious as now. I lean on the wisdom of those who have witnessed far more, who know that this moment is distinctly different.
I have a husband and a son. I cannot begin to articulate the desperation one feels when family is threatened, and I recognize that you may not feel my fears. Our realities may be separate yet equal, but I must place my unwavering trust in the shared understanding of our struggles. I cannot fully grasp the pain of a refugee separated from their family, but I am compelled to listen and learn.
Similarly, I cannot diminish the anguish of those affected by economic turmoil—families waiting for jobs that never come. The sweat that glistens under the sun unites us, regardless of where we reside, be it the coast or the heartland. I don’t need to live their experiences to empathize; I only need to listen.
In our current society, individuals like me have been labeled “snowflakes,” seen as overly sensitive while simultaneously being dismissed. We live in a world where social media can tear people apart, and children are pushed to despair by a culture that often lacks compassion.
Please, hear my plea. This snowflake is not melting away; it is solidifying.
Believing that banning a religion will keep us safe is misguided. It contradicts the principles that our nation stands for. As an atheist, I find myself imploring you to remember the moral imperatives found in our shared histories. If scripture isn’t your preference, perhaps revisit the foundational texts that emphasize the importance of sheltering those in need.
Do not take comfort in the belief that the current administration will simply maintain the achievements of its predecessor regarding LGBTQ+ protections. While some safeguards may remain, the threat is still palpable. The First Amendment Defense Act, which could allow businesses to refuse service based on who my family is, looms ominously. The president’s words promise to enforce measures that could further marginalize my family.
When friends assured me that my family would be safe, I nodded, hoping they were right. However, I do not take pleasure in being validated in my fears. What I need now is for all of us to fight, resist, and uphold the values of our nation.
My family is as important to me as yours is to you. The love shared among parents, partners, and children is universal. The actions of this president are unprecedented and deeply concerning. Omission of Jews from Holocaust remembrances is intentional, and the ban on refugees from specific countries raises serious moral and legal issues.
What we are witnessing transcends political affiliation. We must rise above divisive ideologies and teach our children to listen and empathize. If we can be the villain, we can also choose to be the hero.
Perhaps the story that needs to be written now is one of unity against a foe we’ve allowed to emerge from within. This is our responsibility. Let’s march, resist, and love, hand in hand, as families fighting for a shared future.
As we navigate through this chapter, I find solace in the words of others who inspire us to imagine a better world. J.K. Rowling once said, “Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathize with humans whose experiences we have never shared.”
In this journey, let us remember that we possess the power to imagine a brighter tomorrow.