I AM AFRAID

I Am Afraid—And That’s Why I Speak

There is no easy way to say this: I am afraid.

Not of shadows or superstitions, but of real, creeping authoritarianism. I am afraid of Donald Trump and the gangsters surrounding him—those who have normalized cruelty, mocked truth, and torn at the very fabric of American democracy. I watch them turn lies into campaign slogans and violence into rallying cries. I watch them sidestep justice, corrupt institutions, and bully their way through courts, congress, and public opinion.

And I feel not just fear—but deep sadness. A kind of moral depression that weighs heavily on anyone who has lived long enough to know how quickly democracies can crumble under the boots of those who have no respect for it.

But I will not remain silent.

There comes a time in a person’s life when silence feels like complicity. This is such a time. I did not survive illness, injustice, and the trials of life just to watch freedom be dismantled while I look away. I write not just to release the pressure building inside my chest, but to bear witness. To speak plainly, as someone who sees the threat and refuses to pretend it is normal.

What we are seeing in America is not politics-as-usual. It is the slow, deliberate unraveling of decency. It is the elevation of cult over country. It is the criminalization of truth and the celebration of ignorance. And it is being led—shamelessly—by a man who has already tried to break this nation once, and who promises to do worse if given the chance.

To those who feel this too: you are not alone.

Your fear is not weakness; it is evidence that your conscience is alive. Your depression is not defeat; it is a response to injustice. But we must not let despair seduce us into passivity. That is exactly what they want. Tyranny feeds on our fatigue.

So I urge you—speak, write, protest, teach, vote. Push back against this tide with whatever strength you have left. Democracy, fragile as it is, survives not because of the powerful, but because of ordinary people who refuse to give up on it.

I am afraid. But I am also resolved.

We may not control the outcome, but we must be accountable to history—and to ourselves—for how we respond.