In the first days of December, as it became clear that the ICE invasion was a real thing that was really happening to us, as groups of us gathered swapping rumors about the kidnappings and clearly inadequate tips about phone security, we had no idea what to expect, no idea what would happen, no idea what we were going to do. As much as we’d planned, heard from other cities, tried to be ready, we had no idea.

Only one thing was crystal clear: nobody, absolutely nobody, was coming to save us.

2/

It was clarifying. We knew, with complete certainty, that nobody was coming to save us.

If we don’t stand in their way when they come to kidnap our neighbors, nobody will stand in their way.

If we don’t try to help people who need to hide, nobody will help them hide.

If we don’t try to feed people who can’t work, can’t even go outside to get food, nobody will feed them.

It put things into focus really fast.

3/

I wish I could tell you that all our preparations meant we were ready, that we never despaired, that we knew we would endure. I don’t think any of that is true. I spent much of December and January considering, seriously and vividly considering, that this was the arrival of an authoritarian police state that could outlive me. But I didn’t spend too much •time• considering that — because there was work to be done, work right here, in my lap, and nobody was coming to save us.

4/

I never quite understood what Carolyn Forché meant when she said “the choice is ourselves or nothing.”

I think maybe I do now.

5/

You don’t know what’s going to happen. You don’t know what to do. You feel powerless. Nothing you can do seems like it could possibly be enough.

And then the work is there, on your doorstep, in your hands, and you •just do it• because that is what you do.

Nobody is coming to save you. The choice is ourselves or nothing. The moment you believe that, that you •know• it in your bones, is the moment the work truly begins.

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