Last call for the U.S. I've known?

I returned to Barcelona today after 2 ½ weeks back in the U.S. Being in the States now felt mournful and nostalgic, with some closing time celebration and talk/actions of fighting to keep the lights o

Illogically, part of me felt that the torrent of actions taken to tear apart the country - from aggressive deportations of immigrants and vengeful pursuit of those who have opposed Trump to attacks on medicine and research and education, from sharp moves towards resegregation and silencing of opposition to slashing humanitarian aid and cutting programs that help Americans while backing off IRS audits of high net worth individuals - would be visible everywhere. That the country would look a shell of itself, a former great power decades past its prime, perhaps similar to a Rust Belt city at its lowest moment or an abandoned factory town.

Of course, that wasn’t the case. While the U.S. didn’t feel the same to me, it didn’t look very different - yet.

As rapid as the assault on free speech and institutions and all of it has been, two months (plus or minus a week from trip start to finish) is still only enough time to set the groundwork for devastation. There may be (and is) a deep fear and anxiety especially among groups most severely targeted such as trans people and immigrants from certain countries. But the domino effect of fewer immigrants working and buying things, more undocumented workers going off the books given concerns over the IRS providing info to ICE, tariffs on goods and parts, foreign tourists being more reluctant to visit the U.S. given reports of detainment or because Trump is threatening to make Canada the 51st state, international students and researchers rethinking whether the U.S. is their best destination, etc … all those pieces take time to play out. The ripples of NIH grants being paused and/or canceled don’t show up immediately with fewer drugs available. The fired federal employees don’t default on loans and foreclose on homes overnight …

But there was a foreboding.

International grad students at an event in D.C. talking about classmates who have been asked to show their research at customs in recent weeks to prove they were a student. Others worrying if they might lose their visa status because they have spoken out or attended a protest on behalf of Palestinians. People with work or student visas who are not U.S. citizens saying it’s too risky to leave the U.S. now in case they aren’t let back in.

And I continue to struggle to focus on anything BUT the main story of the moment. How are people seemingly going about their lives and work virtually unfazed?

But why do you care so much?, a number of people have asked.

But why don’t you care more? the voice in my head replies.

But what can we do? He won the election.

He did, he won the election. That doesn’t mean he can ignore laws and the Constitution. And what can we do? We can always do something. There is always something we can do. From going to a protest to calling representatives to supporting immigrants with translation or if you see ICE acting. We are never helpless.

My trip back to the U.S. was to three different slices of the U.S., to three of the places that have left the most indelible prints on my life. First I was in the Quad-Cities in Iowa and Illinois, including Davenport, Iowa, where I was born and lived until college. Then I was in NYC, where I have lived most of my adult life. And sandwiched inbetween time in NYC was a visit to D.C., where my mom is from and many relatives lived so it’s been a contstant visiting spot.

And I wondered what these places will be like the next time I’m in the U.S., particularly NYC and Washington, D.C. Already in two months, so much has happened. What more will be hacked away at in four or eight or 12 or more additional months of a second Trump term?

In Washington, D.C., I visited the National Archives, where the Declaration of Independence, Constitution and Bill of Rights are housed. I thought to myself that somebody should hand-deliver copies of these documents to all those in the Administration. I walked through an exhibit focused on how so many Americans didn’t enjoy full rights and freedoms for decades or centuries, showcasing the long struggles for suffrage and rights of Blacks and women, Chinese- and Japanese-Americans who were abused because the U.S. was at war with their or their ancestors’ country of origin. I wondered if such stories will still be told as this Administration steamrolls on. I walked through the Archives’ bookstore and noticed how they were still selling books such as Nikole Hannah Jones’s 1619 Project or Anne Applebaum’s work on autocracy. I thought to myself, at least they’re still here. The next day, Trump released his executive order trying to clamp down on the teachings of our institutions, including the Smithsonian.

In NYC, I always feel a deep sense of home at being amongst people from all over the world. Immigrants and tourists alike are drawn to NYC for a visit, an interlude or to stay. I wasn’t born there, yet it always draws me back. My friends and acquaintances come from everywhere - Missouri and Hong Kong, New Mexico and Panama, the Philippines and Nigeria, California and India, Spain and Israel, Trinidad and Tobago and Indiana. But will NYC continue to be that rich cultural symphony if we make immigrants’ lives constantly under threat?

The heartwrenching nostalgia of being someplace, in something, that might be dying. What’s the best analogy for the U.S. right now?

• Is it that of an ailing relative that’s fighting a terminal illness and they already aren’t how you remember them, but at least they are still present, and you can remember the good times and say your goodbyes? I don’t think it’s that yet, because maybe there’s a clinical trial that could save your relative - a mass movement that could resuscitate the U.S.

• Is it a romantic relationship that you are holding onto because you remember the good times, even though they were in the past? If this were a movie, those watching would diagnose the problem but those in it wouldn’t.

• Or perhaps it’s like when a favorite restaurant or institution announces it’s closing. You might happily celebrate the final moments while mourning that you won’t have more moments there. But perhaps some people band together to save it. My first thought was of Coogan’s, the popular Irish bar in Washington Heights, that nearly closed before patrons rallied to save it, including Lin-Manuel Miranda. We could still rally and restore U.S. democracy. Only Coogan’s is not the best example of that, it closed its doors for good after Covid shut it down in spring 2020. Its life and end is narrated in Jon Michaud’s Last Call at Coogan’s.

At this moment, I still believe we can fight for our country. We can still stand up for the ideals that the U.S. has never fully lived up to but moves towards in the moments that it tilts towards justice.

As the Pledge of Allegiance states: “I pledge allegiance to my flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

Will we fight for our country, like Vladimir Zelensky - pictured here in a mural near the Bowery in NYC - has fought for his?

None of that will hold if we don’t have a large volume of the population willing to fight and sacrifice for it. And to be clear, that particularly needs to be a large volume of the most privileged parts of the population, white people, U.S.-born citizens, those with wealth and status. Are there enough such people willing to risk losing something? What am I willing to lose in order to ensure the rights of all in the U.S.? What are you willing to lose? If we aren’t willing to lose something, we may just lose it all.