Protests do matter. They are a form of recruitment. They are how people first recognize that there’s a problem and realize they’re not alone. Mass demonstrations create safety in numbers, which helps those with anxiety or fear for their safety show up. Once they do, they meet organizations that share their values, and that’s how involvement begins. Coalitions form locally, statewide, regionally, and nationally among all kinds of groups, including veterans.
After protesting, the next steps are mass demonstrations, boycotts, and strikes. But here’s the thing: we can’t realistically boycott or strike unless we have a way to support people through it. We can’t call for economic disruption if we don’t have alternative material sources for the goods and services we are boycotting.
If we ever reach the point of a general strike, we will have to be self-sustaining, feeding ourselves, housing ourselves, and supporting one another. Every major movement throughout history that truly worked and sustained itself had one thing in common: a foundation of community defense and mutual support. That’s food for thought.
Every strong movement in history has had its dual sides, a Martin and a Malcolm. Anyone who ignores that isn’t recognizing history for what it really is. You need both. The larger movement depends on both nonviolence and defense. We don’t perpetrate violence; we defend against it.
Some people think community defense means violence or anarchy, but it’s not that at all. It’s about building resilience, taking care of one another, and being ready when systems fail. It’s going back to how early America once functioned, when people bartered, helped one another, and survived together.
Community defense isn’t aggression; it’s preparation. It’s making sure your community can stand together when it matters most. It means that if your neighbor is taken, you know who to call. It means helping them get a lawyer, checking on the elderly down the road to make sure they have groceries and companionship. That’s community defense.
And here’s something that confuses me: we say “ACAB” all day, but we haven’t built viable alternatives for community safety. We call out the system’s failures, but we’re not prepared to take over those responsibilities ourselves. Radical mutual aid means that if the system fails, we can still feed, clothe, and protect our own.
Take where I live, Florida. Disaster preparedness here isn’t great. If a massive hurricane hits and the federal government fails us, it’s on us to pick up the pieces, rebuild, and make sure no one is left hungry, cold, or without shelter. That’s community defense in action, creating local systems that can handle those crises at the neighborhood level and then scale outward.
You start small, your block, your area, your town. Like in Jacksonville: Mandarin, Riverside, the Beaches. Each of those communities connects to the next, and together they can respond to larger problems. If a hurricane hits, we figure out which side of town was hit hardest, and we move. We allocate resources and get people what they need. That’s organized community resilience.
Too many people still believe the midterms or the next election will fix things. I wish that were true, but even if elections happen, and who says they will, they won’t change the trajectory we’re on. The Constitution promises elections, freedom of the press, accountability, yet the Department of Defense removed the entire press corps and prohibited military members from talking to Congress. That’s a violation of U.S. law.
So if you still think everything will go back to normal, I’m glad you have hope. But I’m preparing for the worst, and I hope my preparation turns out to be unnecessary. That’s not paranoia. That’s realism. It’s experience. It’s being a veteran and having been trained to survive.
I was taught from a young age that we take care of our own. If you know me, you know that loyalty means a lot to me, not blind loyalty, but loyalty rooted in values. The Army values — loyalty, duty, respect, selfless service, honor, integrity, and personal courage — are how I try to live. I fall short, because I’m human, but I keep trying.
So no, I’m not an alarmist. I’m a realist. And even if we never need these systems, at least they’ll exist if we do. That’s the point.
Right now, we’re underprepared as veterans, as neighbors, and as communities. It’s time to organize, prepare, and move forward. It’s time to build the networks and systems that can protect and sustain us when the institutions we’ve relied on fail.
Because the truth is simple: no one is coming to save us. We keep us safe.
Given the new executive order about the “ideology of anti-fascism” and “American values,” I’m sure this post, and probably a few others, have put me on a watchlist. And that’s fine.
I’m not anti-American. I love this country. And that’s exactly why I’m getting prepared to rebuild it after it falls.
Why I’m Leaving The Country I Love (Again)
This post is shared with permission courtesy of a member of Unified Nassau County, the Indivisible chapter for that region. The author is a Venezuelan friend of that member, and he and his family leaving the U.S. after decades of calling it home. They are not leaving because they’ve given up on democracy, but because they recognize the signs of its unraveling.
As we rally, protest, and organize here at home, it’s essential to listen to those who have witnessed what happens when authoritarianism takes hold. They remind us what’s at stake, and why we must act now to protect the rights, freedoms, and democratic values too many take for granted.
His words are a gift. May we receive them with open eyes and renewed resolve.
Why I’m Leaving the Country I Love (Again)
By J.R.
In 1997, I left Venezuela.
I didn’t want to. It was the country that gave me everything. My family, my childhood, my first opportunities, but I could see what was coming. Hugo Chávez had just risen from obscurity, tapping into the anger of ordinary people with big promises and even bigger ambition.
He said he would save the country. Deep down, I feared he would destroy it.
Now, almost three decades later, I’m preparing to leave another country I love deeply: the United States. I never imagined I would have to do this again.
But I see the same signs.
The same tactics.
The same descent.
And I’ve learned that once a democracy starts down this path, turning back becomes harder with each step.
⚠️ It All Starts with a Charismatic Populist
In Venezuela, Chávez was magnetic. He knew how to speak to the masses, especially to those who felt forgotten and excluded. He attacked the elites, blamed the press, and promised to restore dignity to “real Venezuelans.” The fact that he had no prior experience in democratic governance was spun as a strength, not a weakness.
Donald Trump used a similar playbook. His rise in 2016 wasn’t just about politics, it was about grievance, disruption, and a willingness to break every rule if it meant owning his enemies. To millions, he was a savior. To others, a warning.
I had seen this story before. But many in the U.S. had not.
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Step 1: Co-opt the Courts
In 2004, Chávez expanded Venezuela’s Supreme Court from 20 to 32 seats and filled the new posts with loyalists. From then on, the judiciary stopped being a check on power and became a weapon of it. Every law, every executive order, every move, rubber-stamped.
Trump didn’t expand the U.S. Supreme Court, but he fundamentally reshaped it, and more importantly, he’s now openly supporting plans to purge the federal government and bring supposedly independent institutions (DOJ, FBI, civil service) under direct political control in a potential second term
Step 2: Discredit and Silence the Press
Chávez labeled independent journalists as “traitors” and “liars,” then used legal tools to shut them down. By 2010, most major Venezuelan media outlets had been either shuttered or taken over. In their place, state-run propaganda channels pumped out a nonstop stream of loyalist messaging.
Trump hasn’t closed any media outlets—yet—but his relentless attacks and lawsuits against the press have eroded public trust to dangerous levels. When a leader tells his followers that only he speaks the truth, that’s not politics. That’s a cult.
Step 3: Undermine the Electoral System
Chávez learned to manipulate democracy from the inside. He used elections as tools to legitimize his rule, while stacking electoral institutions, disqualifying opposition candidates, and changing the constitution to eliminate term limits in 2009.
Trump’s refusal to accept his 2020 defeat, his efforts to overturn results in swing states, and his ongoing embrace of election deniers in key roles aren’t just “controversial.” They’re part of the same pattern. Authoritarians don’t eliminate elections. They learn how to control them.
Step 4: Corruption Behind the Curtain
One of the great myths of Chávez was that he was “for the people.” In reality, while the country descended into poverty, his inner circle got fantastically rich.
Many had no real experience, just loyalty. Oil contracts, state construction deals, and import licenses flowed to friends, cousins, and political allies. They bought condos in Miami, sent their kids to Europe, and stashed fortunes offshore. By the time the public caught on, it was too late.
Trump’s wealth and cronyism were always in plain sight. From using the presidency to promote his own properties, to rewarding donors with ambassadorships, to leveraging political power for business favors. The swamp didn’t get drained. It got deeper.
Step 5: Control the Narrative Through Education
One of Chávez’s most lasting legacies was his quiet takeover of Venezuela’s education system. He rewrote the national curriculum to promote socialist ideology, glorify the Bolivarian revolution, and erase dissenting views from history books.
Critical thinking was replaced by political loyalty. In the U.S., we’re seeing state-level fights over what can be taught in classrooms. Who gets included in history, which books are banned, which perspectives are allowed. When politicians dictate the truth, education becomes indoctrination.
It’s No Coincidence That Support Came from the Uninformed
In Venezuela, Chávez’s strongest support came from the poor and undereducated, the people most vulnerable to messaging that promised dignity, revenge, and salvation. He gave them symbolic power while dismantling the institutions that could actually improve their lives.
Trump has built a base that similarly distrusts experts, facts, institutions, and even science, not because they are ignorant, but because they’ve been taught that knowledge itself is a weapon of the elite. That’s how you create a population that will follow one man anywhere.
This Isn’t Easy. But It’s Necessary.
I love the United States. This country welcomed me when I had to leave my own. It gave me shelter, opportunity, and freedom. It gave me hope.
But now, I feel the same dread I felt in 1997. The same hollowing-out of democratic norms. The same drumbeat of blind loyalty over law. The same willingness to destroy institutions to protect one man.
And once again, I know I need to leave.
Not because I want to.
Because I must.
Because I’ve seen how this ends, and I don’t want to be standing in the rubble, saying again, “We didn’t think it could happen here.”
This isn’t about left vs. right. It’s about democracy vs. decay.
If you’ve lived through this kind of political collapse, whether in Venezuela, Hungary, Turkey, or elsewhere. We need to talk to each other, to remember what we’ve seen, and to warn those who haven’t.
Our memories might be the most important defense democracy has left.
A Final Word:
This story isn’t only a warning, it’s also a gift. Because we still have a choice.
We can still act. We can organize, speak out, vote, protest, protect one another, and build a future that lives up to the promise we’ve too often left unfinished.
Let’s honor his story by refusing to give up on our own.
Let’s meet this moment with courage, clarity, and hope.