January 11, 2026

From my facebook page:

I’ve shared before that in my early twenties I dated a man for years who would punch me in the temple with a closed fist when he was angry. Once or twice he aimed for other, softer places (once so hard on my upper arm I lost feeling in the whole arm for a couple of days. I had a bruise the size of Massachusetts on that arm for weeks.) We didn’t start this way – we started out best friends, my first love, we had so much fun. He was fun, and funny – a cheeky sod. (British – I love a beard and a sexy accent, and he was so witty and mischievous, and smart). But he had a lot of emotional pain and not a lot of self control, and over time he got more and more physical and the beatings – rare at first – became routine, almost daily. While violence is never justified, early in our relationship his anger was at least reasonably related to my conduct – something I said, something I did. I could maybe avoid the fists if I handled myself just right. But eventually it was completely divested from any reasonable relation to my own conduct, and he insisted that I was responsible for every unhappy or mildly inconvenient moment in his life, including things he did to himself. Once, he went to a strip club with his mates and left his wallet there by accident. He came home in the wee hours, woke me and beat me soundly because that was somehow my fault. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” only half awake and not even sure what I was sorry for. A couple days later, he wrapped his hands around my throat because he’d forgotten his umbrella and it was raining and why didn’t I help him fucking remember. It’s around then that I finally accepted that there were no rules I could follow that would keep me safe from his rages, and that the only option was leaving, if I could do it without getting killed. (I clearly managed it, but it was pretty dangerous for a hot minute.)

I have a great therapist and I talk to her a lot about how hard it is to watch the American people cower from governmental fists, to say “sorry, sorry” as the brutal, rapacious Trump turns his internal pain into external violence. Watching it escalate, watching people slowly realize, too slowly, that this is going awry and maybe they need to get out. I feel like Cassandra, I know what comes next, I learned this lesson the hard way over years. People won’t be afraid enough until it’s pretty late in the game and their own lives are at stake.

I see ten videos of Renee Good waving ICE through, and then three-point-turning her car to leave the area herself, and then some Big Tough Men point their guns at her face and shoot her because Bitch Didn’t Listen. These men cosplay at being brave law enforcement, all while beating, dragging, and now killing unarmed women, clergy, all people smaller and weaker and a million times braver than them. ICE are not brave. There is no law enforcement spirit of service here. It’s just a bunch of dudes who left their wallet at the strip club and need somebody to beat up for it.

We won’t give up. We won’t give in. We will get out of this. America is ours, not theirs, and there are exponentially more of us than them, and we can get out. It’s gonna be dangerous for a bit. But there is no other option but to do it, and so we are going to do it.

Call your Senators.