Former U.S. President Donald Trump won a second term. Handily. I see, already, the overwhelming dread flooding my social media. After all, Americans elected a man who has bragged about grabbing women by the pussy, who has bred fear and hatred toward Central American migrants, who has pledged to undo any climate protections he can get his grubby little orange hands on, who oversaw the eradication of abortion rights, who has praised white supremacist, antisemitic marchers as “very fine people,” and who fostered an insurrection. Again.
Knowing this, what do we do next?
As a scholar of social movements in the United States, I look to what the activists of the past show us: Justice doesn’t come from the White House. It comes from us.
In 1977, dozens of disabled activists occupied a federal building in San Francisco, demanding that the Carter administration enforce Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973. Section 504 was the first piece of federal legislation that prohibited discrimination against people with disabilities, yet four years after its passage, the law just sat on the books with no regulation to power it. Disabled protestors camped out for 26 days, supported by a coalition of labor, queer, and Black groups—most importantly, the Black Panther Party, who fed the protestors warm food every single day. Eventually, the administration relented, vowing to regulate Section 504. If you know a child who has benefited from a 504 plan in school, that wasn’t because of the goodness of the government’s heart but because of the sweat, the joy, and the organizing of a group of disabled activists and their allies in the Bay Area.
There are countless examples before and after 1977 of tireless activists creating the world they want to live in despite the apathy of their government. And we can continue to follow their roadmap today by building the worlds we want to live in, we want to grow families in, without the permission of the electorate.
Here are some questions to guide us.
The Trump campaign mobilized its base by villainizing some of the most vulnerable youth, transgender, and non-binary kids, as symbols of a decaying world order. Knowing that, how are we going to uplift gender-non-conforming kids in our communities? Who are we going to elect to school board that will affirm trans kids’ dignity and protect their privacy? How are we going to open our homes to queer and trans youth who are rejected from their families? How are we going to build spaces for kids to explore their gender with love and curiosity?
The reality is, these are the same questions we should have been asking ourselves even if Kamala Harris had won the presidency.
The president-elect has been recorded bragging about touching women’s genitals without their consent, was found liable for sexual assault, and ushered in the end of Roe v Wade. Knowing that, how are we going to raise children with confidence in their bodily autonomy—and respect for others? How are we going to create reporting structures in our workplaces and schools that believe and support survivors? How can we move toward restorative justice practices that prioritize the healing of survivors and communities and prevent further harm? How are we going to mobilize to ensure every person has access to safe abortion care, no matter what state they live in, whenever it is needed?
The Trump campaign promised mass deportations, characterized immigrants as criminals, and admitted to spreading false claims about immigrants eating pets. Knowing this, how we do build communities that welcome immigrants, refugees, and asylum seekers? How do we amplify stories that illustrate the humanity of brown and Black immigrants? How do we advocate local governments for policies that protect our neighbors from deportations and criminalization? How do we teach our children to welcome new cultures and traditions rather than fear the unknown?
The Trump campaign has vowed to undo the minimal environmental protections we had. Knowing that, how are we going to ensure that our cities don’t dump environmental disasters on the doorsteps of our working class, Black, and brown neighborhoods? How are we going to push state governments to invest in clean energy, clean water, and clean air? How are we going to support Indigenous-led movements to return the land to its original stewards and protectors? How are we going to re-organize our daily lives to privilege sustainability over convenience and thus divest from corporate solutions that pollute our world?
The Trump campaign has used vulgar, racist, sexist, and just plain rude language to describe its opponents. How do we build communities grounded in love and kindness? How do we model such love and kindness to our children? How do we listen to marginalized communities and follow their lead on what language to use when organizing with them? How do we organize ourselves to protect the most targeted as beloved kin? How do we create opportunities for collective joy and creativity and friendship?
As individuals, we cannot tackle every question listed above, and in my post-election haze, I know I have left out critical issues. (How do we protect our children from gun violence? How do we stop the genocides in Gaza and Sudan and emerging genocidal threats across the globe? How do we abolish systems that criminalize Blackness, disability, and poverty?) But if you’re new to organizing and activism, you can find a group of people who are already grappling with the questions that resonate for you and can figure out how to amplify and support their work. And if you have been already doing this work for years, I thank you.
The reality is, these are the same questions we should have been asking ourselves even if Kamala Harris had won the presidency. Presidential candidates will never be our saviors. As always, it is up to us to forge the path to liberation, even in times of the deepest despair, grief, and shock. Especially in these times.
