The face of resistance
In the spring of 1986, I moved to Copenhagen, Denmark.
I was a college kid from the Midwest, suddenly living with a Danish family, speaking only Danish at home, and watching world events through a completely different lens. The Cold War was still real. European news wasn’t obsessed with U.S. personalities; it was obsessed with policies and consequences.
That semester did something permanent to my brain.
It turned me from a “politics is interesting” kid into a global citizen. I learned what it feels like to be the outsider in the room, not because of who I was dating but because I didn’t speak the language, didn’t know the shorthand, didn’t understand the subtext. My curiosity got sharper. My critical thinking muscles grew up.
I came home knowing two things:
The United States has enormous power and responsibility.
The rest of the world watches us far more closely than most Americans watch ourselves.
Fast forward to this morning. I was driving, half-thinking about holiday schedules and half-listening to NPR, when Senator Chris Van Hollen said something that snapped me right back to that Copenhagen mindset.
He talked about the need for a big tent Democratic Party — a coalition wide enough for students and seniors, union workers and entrepreneurs, progressives and pragmatists. I agree with all of that.
But then he said the part that lodged in my chest:
We don’t just need a big tent.
We have to use our voices and platforms to resist the lawlessness of the Trump administration and present a cohesive, thoughtful, credible Democratic strategy that earns back the trust of the American people.
As a concerned citizen, a proud Democrat, and a lifelong student of politics, that felt exactly right.
As a gay man who has spent much of his life feeling marginalized and underrepresented, it felt urgent.
Some days, I look around and think:
“I don’t recognize my country.”
And I refuse to get used to that feeling.
This isn’t random chaos. It’s a playbook.
If you look at individual headlines in isolation, they can feel like disconnected outrages:
A new National Security Strategy that downplays the threat of authoritarian regimes while lecturing our closest allies.
A Gaza “ceasefire” that looks good in a press release but, in practice, locks in control on the ground and leaves civilians in danger and desperation.
Aid to Ukraine frozen, half-unfrozen, paused again, and dangled as leverage — turning an ally’s survival into a bargaining chip.
The Kennedy Center Honors repurposed from a celebration of artists into another stage-managed Trump show.
A campaign of airstrikes, boat chases, and saber-rattling in places like Venezuela that grab headlines but do little to address the real flow of drugs or the real root causes of instability.
A promise to go after “dangerous criminals” that translates into tens of thousands of immigrants with no criminal record swept up in raids and detention.
Look at any one of these on its own and it’s outrageous.
Look at them together and a pattern emerges:
Distraction through spectacle.
Parades, missiles, gold-plated ceremonies, culture-war performances at what used to be nonpartisan institutions.Systematic cruelty marketed as “law and order.”
Family separations. Mass detentions. Rhetoric that treats human beings as props in a campaign ad.Self-interest and ideology over the national interest.
Trade wars that hurt farmers, followed by bailouts for the damage those same policies caused.
Foreign policy that seems more interested in impressing strongmen than reassuring allies.Contempt for institutions that can say “no.”
Universities, public media, arts organizations, independent agencies, inspectors general — anyone whose job is to check facts or check power.
And underneath it all, a constant flood of misinformation:
redefining failures as victories,
calling real crises “hoaxes,”
and insisting that anyone who points out contradictions is “the enemy.”
As a former political science student, I see a strategy.
As a gay man, I recognize an old play:
keep people scared, keep them confused, keep them entertained — so they don’t notice whose rights are being quietly stripped away.
The foreign policy whiplash: Gaza and Ukraine
You see the same pattern when you look at how this administration has handled Gaza and Ukraine.
In Gaza, we’ve seen:
Statements about “peace” and “ceasefire” that sound soothing in English,
while the reality on the ground is still displacement, hunger, and a map that keeps being redrawn to someone else’s advantage.
In Ukraine, we’ve watched:
Aid frozen, then partially restored under pressure.
Military support paused and restarted, not based on clear strategy, but to create leverage for a “deal.”
Mixed messages to our European allies — one day promising steadfast support, the next day flirting with the idea of walking away.
To Ukrainians, that doesn’t read as leadership. It reads as unreliable.
To Russia, it reads as opportunity.
And to the rest of the world — including the version of me sitting in a small Danish living room in 1986 — it looks like a superpower that can’t decide whether it’s defending democracy or auditioning for a new role in someone else’s story.
The quiet demolition at home
It would be bad enough if this were just about foreign policy.
It isn’t.
Look at what’s happening inside the United States:
Higher education is under direct political pressure. Federal funding is being tied to loyalty tests and “compacts” that undermine academic freedom and chill honest debate.
DEI programs and student voices are being targeted — with diversity offices shuttered, student publications for Black and women students closed, and anything labeled “woke” dumped into the culture-war furnace.
Scientific research is being second-guessed and defunded not on scientific grounds, but on ideological ones. Public health and climate science are treated as enemies when they conflict with political messaging.
Cultural institutions — from the Kennedy Center to public broadcasting — are either captured and repurposed or threatened and starved.
If you care about truth, art, science, history, or simply the right of young people to learn how to think, not just what to think, this isn’t a side issue.
This is the main event.
What this looks like when you’ve lived on the margins
I’ve spent my entire adult life navigating these systems as a gay man.
I know what it feels like:
to scan a room for safety before you speak,
to watch straight colleagues talk freely about their lives while you edit your sentences on the fly,
to hear leaders talk about “family values” and know they don’t mean families like yours.
When you grow up in that reality, you become very good at reading power.
You notice who gets protected and who doesn’t.
You notice whose safety is treated as negotiable.
You notice how quickly your rights can become someone else’s bargaining chip.
So when I see:
immigrants described as animals,
trans kids turned into talking points,
queer people framed as threats,
books about Black history pulled off shelves,
professors and artists punished for saying the quiet parts out loud,
…I don’t see “culture war.”
I see a project: decide who counts, and who doesn’t.
And here’s the thing: once a government gets comfortable treating some people as expendable, it never stops there.
So what do Democrats do now?
This is where Senator Van Hollen’s “big tent” comment matters.
Being the party of the big tent is not about being fuzzy or mushy or conflict-avoidant. It is not “both sides” politics.
It means we have two jobs and we have to do both:
1. Tell the truth plainly.
Not in lawyer-speak. Not in poll-tested mush. In kitchen-table language:
It is not normal for a president to swing wildly on war and peace, using aid to allies as a TV script device.
It is not normal to sweep up tens of thousands of people with no criminal record and call that “law and order.”
It is not normal to threaten universities, artists, teachers, and scientists for doing their jobs.
It is not normal to treat authoritarian leaders with more care and courtesy than you extend to your own institutions and allies.
We need leaders — and citizens — who are willing to say these things out loud, consistently, without flinching.
2. Offer a clear, hopeful alternative.
A big tent is only worth walking into if you know what it stands for.
Here’s what I believe it has to mean:
A rule of law that applies to everyone — including presidents and cabinet members.
A foreign policy that is steady, principled, and pro-democracy, not improvisational and ego-driven.
An economy that acknowledges the real affordability crisis families are facing — and does the hard, boring policy work on housing, childcare, healthcare, and wages instead of blaming whoever is convenient this week.
A fierce, unapologetic defense of academic freedom, independent media, and the arts as pillars of a free society — not as luxuries.
If Democrats can’t explain that clearly enough that it makes sense over holiday dinner, then we have work to do.
A holiday CTA for 2026: use your voice on purpose
It’s the end of the year. Many of us are:
traveling,
gathering with family and chosen family,
trying to find a little joy and rest in a weary world.
So let me end this not with despair, but with a call to action for 2026.
If you’re still reading this, you already care. So here’s what I’m asking — of you and of myself:
Have one brave conversation.
Not a screaming match. One honest, calm conversation with someone in your life about what you’re seeing and why it matters. Connect the dots, not the insults.Pick one institution to support.
A local university program under pressure. A public school district. A public radio station. A legal defense fund. A community organization protecting immigrants, queer youth, or voting rights. Put your time, your money, or your skills behind them.Show up at least once.
To a school board meeting. A campus forum on academic freedom. A peaceful protest. A town hall. Be the person in the room who asks the clear, grounded question when others are afraid to.Hold Democrats to a higher standard — lovingly.
Don’t settle for “We’re not Trump.” Expect specifics. Demand a real strategy. Encourage the leaders who are telling the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable.Protect your own humanity.
Especially if you’re someone who’s used to feeling on the margins — queer, trans, Black, brown, immigrant, disabled, or any combination — do not let this era convince you that your life is a problem to be managed. Your existence is not up for negotiation. We need your voice in the tent.
In Copenhagen in 1986, I learned that America is both more powerful and more fragile than we like to admit.
In 2025 heading into 2026, I believe this:
The lawlessness is real.
The damage is real.
So is our power to answer it.
This holiday season, as you gather with the people you love, I hope you find rest and joy.
And then, in 2026, I hope you use your voice — and your vote — like the future depends on it.
Because it does.
We are all in this together,
Jim