It didn’t happen all at once. It never does.
For some, maybe the first sign was a book removed from a school library. For others, it was when reputable press organizations were suddenly barred from government briefings. Or maybe it came when neighbors began reporting each other through government tip lines. Maybe it was when the president ignored a Supreme Court ruling without consequence, and then another and another. Perhaps it was the disappearing of immigrants without papers, then immigrants with papers, enrolled students and dissidents, then citizens into foreign prison camps abroad.
Many won’t notice until their own rights are stripped away, until someone they love is targeted, and the cheers come not from strangers but from the very crowd they once stood beside, the one that claimed to stand for freedom.
Whatever the threshold, it’s inevitably crossed. And you wake up to the realization that authoritarianism isn’t looming; it’s here.
For those of us who still believe in freedom, dignity, and democracy, the next question is no longer ‘what if?’ It’s ‘what now?’
What follows is a set of practices—practical, emotional, and strategic—that can be used to endure, resist, and look out for each other as conditions worsen. These are tools for clarity, for care, and for collective defense.
1. Know the Authoritarian Playbook
A big part of this Substack project is to help readers see clearly what we’re living through in America. This isn’t just political dysfunction or polarization. It is, in fact, a form of authoritarianism called fascism.
And as much as some might want to obscure reality, the authoritarian playbook is not a mystery. It is, in fact, incredibly predictable. Recent history provides ample case studies: Germany, Italy, Chile, Argentina. Yet, the playbook stays the same.
First, demonize the press. Then, undermine the judiciary. Consolidate executive power. Rewrite history. Turn marginalized communities into scapegoats. Criminalize dissent. Justify it all in the name of safety, a mythologized golden age, or an imagined Third Reich-like future that demands total obedience today to reach.
There are variations on the con, but the general pattern stays the same. And it works best when people convince themselves it can’t happen here.
Knowing this doesn’t make you paranoid; it makes you prepared. As historian Timothy Snyder wrote in On Tyranny, “Do not obey in advance.” Recognizing the pattern is what allows you to respond with intention rather than confusion.
2. Secure Your Digital Life
In every authoritarian regime, surveillance expands because it must. Information is power, and controlling it is how regimes preempt organizing, silence dissent, and instill fear.
What did DOGE go after immediately? Every citizen’s personal information.
Your digital footprint becomes a map of your relationships, your beliefs, and your vulnerabilities. In the wrong hands, your communications, your contacts, even your memories stored online can be weaponized against you and the people you care about. We’ve seen this before in America’s own history. The FBI’s COINTELPRO program systematically infiltrated and disrupted civil rights organizations, including surveillance and sabotage of leaders like Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, and groups like the Black Panther Party. Surveillance wasn’t abstract; it was strategic, targeted, and devastating. We cannot afford to forget that.
Now is the time to:
Use encrypted messaging apps like Signal and WhatsApp.
Make sure critical information is encrypted when transmitting it to others.
Avoid sharing identifying or organizing information in public spaces.
Teach your friends and family how to do this, too. The state’s greatest weapon is not always force; it’s information. Every contact who knows how to protect themselves adds a layer of insulation to the movement, their loved ones, and themselves. It helps deny authoritarian regimes the easy wins they’re counting on.
3. Build and Strengthen Local Networks
When institutions collapse or turn hostile, your community becomes your lifeline. It’s not a metaphor.
Do you know who checks in on your elderly neighbors? Who organizes childcare if schools shut down? Who has a generator, a first aid kit, a car, a safe house?
Are there organizations in your community offering resistance training, legal observation courses, or direct action prep? Groups like the Highlander Center and the Ella Baker Center have long provided spaces for movement-building and practical education. In the 1960s, civil rights organizers engaged in role-play simulations of hostile protest environments—shouted slurs, physical intimidation, even mock arrests—so that when they were out in the real world, they already knew what to expect and how to hold their ground. The point was not to rehearse performance but to train their instincts under pressure. That kind of preparation is just as relevant today. Seek out those offering skills-based workshops and support them with your time, resources, and visibility.
Start small, but start deliberately. Join a mutual aid group or provide funding. Do both if you can. Attend a local organizing meeting. Swap contact info with your neighbors and learn who you can count on. These small acts are not just about preparation; they’re about preservation. They’re about building systems that can outlast crisis. The Black Panther Party’s free breakfast program wasn’t just a food initiative; it was a revolutionary act of community care, designed to provide needs the state refused to meet and to build a base of political solidarity in the process. We’ve lost many of those community skills and networks post-COVID and in the hyper-digital age. In the face of isolation, fear, and fragmentation, every bond you build becomes a form of resistance. Authoritarianism isolates; community reweaves the fabric. And that fabric is what will hold us together when everything else is under attack.
4. Document Everything
One of the first things authoritarian regimes do is erase memory. What happened yesterday becomes a lie. What’s happening today is "fake news." The only truth that matters is what the supreme leader says today.
Remember when Kilmar Obrego Garcia was sent to El Salvador due to “an administrative error”? Now it was always part of the plan.
That’s why documenting reality is one of the most powerful forms of resistance we have. Every screenshot, every journal entry, every archived news clip helps us stay grounded to the truth, maintain our collective sanity, and make the case that something bad has been happening for a while now. It’s about holding onto truth and justice. When we preserve memory, we preserve meaning. We build a record that resists erasure, that testifies to the lives lost and the courage shown, and that speaks for those who may not live to see freedom returned.
Authoritarianism thrives in the absence of a record. But history, preserved and honored, can be a guide for generations who say, with resolve, “never again”, and truly mean it. We must leave no room for forgetting.
To that end:
Screenshot posts and threats (especially the deleted ones) from these pathetic political actors.
Archive news stories, government statements, and legislative actions.
Keep a private journal of what you see, hear, and feel, especially those details that might not make it into the news.
Record public abuses, safely, and with time-stamped metadata when possible.
We are building the archive of future accountability. And we are preserving a true record of what happened, for survivors, for history, and for the fight to come. If we do this right, it won't just serve as evidence in future courts; it will serve as a map for future generations. A record of how democracy failed, but also a tale of how we fought back to save it.
5. Refuse the Quiet Slide Into Compliance
Most authoritarianism isn’t enforced by jackboots; it’s enforced by silence.
A neighbor decides not to speak up. A teacher stops assigning a book. A worker deletes a post. A journalist self-edits. A university bends to pressure. A law firm concedes. A hospital looks the other way. Bit by bit, the space for truth and resistance shrinks. Until we forget it was ever there.
Don’t cooperate with your own erasure. Hang the sign in your window. Keep showing up. Refuse the euphemisms. Call fascism by its name. Don’t let cruelty become mundane.
Small acts of resistance add up. And sometimes they’re the only kind left.
Here are a few:
Refuse to self-censor when speaking out about injustice or fascism.
Keep displaying symbols of resistance, even if they feel small: posters, buttons, stickers, and flags.
If your workplace bans certain topics or discussions, find discreet ways to keep the truth circulating.
Write letters to editors, school boards, and elected officials, even when you think no one is listening.
Share banned books. Read them aloud. Pass them hand to hand.
Call out fascist rhetoric and policies in conversation, especially in spaces where silence has become the norm.
Speak up for those being targeted, especially when you’re not the one at risk.
These actions won’t always feel revolutionary, but they help hold space for truth, for memory, and for each other. And that space matters. It's where dissent is kept alive, where people remember what justice looks like, and where future movements can find their roots when the time comes to rise again. These acts also serve as signals, beacons to others that they are not alone. Solidarity, especially in dark times, is one of the most powerful tools we have. It reminds us that the resistance is bigger than any one person and that no act of defiance, no matter how small, is ever truly solitary.
6. Tend to the Emotional and Spiritual Front
Authoritarianism doesn’t just crush institutions; it crushes spirits. It wants you too tired to protest, too numb to care, too overwhelmed to dream. This is why caring for your emotional self isn’t indulgence; it’s preparation. It’s protection. It’s power.
Radical joy is a survival strategy. Feeling deeply, laughing freely, creating beauty—these are acts of defiance in a world that wants you flattened.
If you can, go to therapy, not just to process trauma, but to reclaim clarity.
Host regular check-ins with people you trust. Make those check-ins routine; make them sacred.
Dance. Write. Cook. Paint. Sing. Anything that returns you to yourself.
Let your body rest. Let your boundaries hold. To invoke wisdom from the Black tradition, "lay yo ass down."
Burnout is not a badge of honor. Care is not a distraction. Your well-being isn’t separate from the work; it is the work. And joy is a weapon they can never fully take from us. Speaking personally, I was never more dangerous, as an activist and as a politician, than when I moved with joy in my heart. Rage has its place. Anger can spark action. But neither can sustain a movement. Joy can. And does.
7. Consider the Exodus Option
This one’s hard to say out loud. But for some, staying may become too dangerous or too futile. Leaving isn’t surrender. History is full of exiles who shaped resistance movements from abroad. From Einstein fleeing Nazi Germany to Chilean organizers escaping Pinochet, diaspora politics have always been powerful.
If you’re thinking about it:
Research visa options for safer countries.
Connect with global activist networks.
Think about how you can continue the fight from wherever you land.
There’s no shame in protecting your family. There’s no shame in planning for a future elsewhere. The real shame is pretending this can’t happen here when it already has.
A Personal Note
I’ve spent months grappling with the quiet thought that I may need to leave this country. As a Black man and a parent, there are moments when I worry about the security of my family. To be clear, this concern existed prior to the Trumpian era, but has been exacerbated ever since. I’ve worked hard not to feel ashamed about that, though others have tried to make me feel like leaving would be giving up. For a while, that shame wrecked me. It made me question my strength, my commitment to the movement, and my sense of belonging.
Here’s what I know now: protecting my family isn’t giving up. Making a choice rooted in love, clarity, and survival is not cowardice; it’s strategy. And sometimes, the best way to fight is to live freely enough to keep showing up, wherever you are. If I go, I’ll keep doing the work. And if you stay, I’ll be doing it beside you, from wherever I am.
We Save Each Other
No one is coming to save us. But we’ve always known that. What has saved us, time and again, is each other.
In every era of repression, people have formed underground networks, smuggled banned books, risked everything to tell the truth, and refused to forget their neighbors. The Black tradition of resistance, for example, is not just one of suffering; it’s one of courage, solidarity, and stubborn hope. We all can learn from this tradition, especially in this moment.
You may feel overwhelmed or afraid. That makes you human. But you are not powerless. You are not alone. And you are not finished.
Wherever you are, whatever you’re facing, don't go quiet into the night. Rage against the dying of the light. Rage through joy. Through care. Through relentless truth-telling. Through rebuilding what they tried to destroy.
The authoritarian playbook is centuries old, but so is our resistance, so is our joy and our story. And every act of care, clarity, and courage adds another page to that narrative.
It’s not over. Not even close.
“Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.” - Bobby
Great post. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing this. It is incredibly sad that things have gone so far.