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As Trump further weakens public health infrastructure, let us renew our attention to keeping each other safe, supporting the most vulnerable among us, and preventing more mass disablement.
The Trump administration’s decision to close the Heath and Human Services Office of Long COVID Research and Practice deals yet another blow to our already embattled public health system. This initiative, like the recently terminated Advisory Committee on Long COVID, had signaled much-needed attention to infection-associated chronic diseases, largely overlooked by the U.S. medical establishment.
An estimated 7.5% of adults in the United States suffer from Long Covid, which can affect multiple organ systems with over 200 symptoms from brain fog and sleep problems to joint pain and bedridden fatigue. A diagnosis of Long Covid describes symptoms that continue at least three months after contracting Covid-19. For some, symptoms eventually go away. But for others, symptoms get worse and, frighteningly, new symptoms appear—with no end in sight. Long Covid is variable and unpredictable. I know this because it happened to me.
Covid-19 laid bare our fragile health systems and the necessity of caring for one another.
After escaping Covid-19 for over three years, I developed a moderate case, with fever, cough, body ache, and fatigue. Four months later, when I had almost complete recovered, I suddenly took a turn for the worse. Over the past 15 months I have steadily improved, yet my life remains significantly changed. Aches and pains, post-exertional malaise, and a weakened immune system circumscribe my daily activities. Alongside the challenges of navigating the health conditions themselves is my limited ability to keep Covid-safe amid waning attention to Covid-19—as our government and institutions have abandoned Covid precautions. This puts us all at higher risk of Covid-19 infection, and for those of us with Long Covid this risk is exacerbated—each additional reinfection with Covid exposes us to further complications with Long Covid.
In such a climate of pandemic abandonment, punctuated as early as 2022 when then-President Joe Biden issued his dangerously delusional statement that we were post-pandemic, we can rely even less than before on our government and institutions to save us from either Covid-19 or Long Covid. We must prioritize cultivating our own spaces of care—focusing on prevention, mutual aid, and accommodations for the sick and disabled.
The earliest lessons of the pandemic remain true today—we can lower transmission rates through masking, physical distancing, and meeting online, among other precautions. While workplaces, businesses, and public spaces have varied in their implementation of Covid-19 safety, social justice groups, led by disability justice, have led the way from the start.
When the pandemic hit in 2020, my racial justice collective applied our principles of care and justice to Covid-19 safety. We pivoted meetings and gatherings online to Zoom, made use of its breakout rooms for one-on-one debriefs, the chat box for running insights and snark, and the emoji feature for added interpersonal expressiveness. As we learned new ways to build community, it made us more inclusive: Folks who otherwise had barriers to attending in-person—whether that be due to illness and disability or just being out-of-town—could now attend remotely. When gatherings needed to be in-person, like the summer 2020 protests for George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, we still prioritized Covid-19 precautions. Actions either followed traditional modes of large gatherings but required (and provided) masks, or were smaller so that activists could maintain physical distance. For those who couldn’t participate safely due to Covid-19 or physical disability, remote action was possible, such as handling back-end prep work or coordinating check-ins.
These community care practices remain important even during periods of low community transmission—they make spaces accessible to all.
Five years into the pandemic, even progressive activist groups have moved away from these lessons. Many no longer require masks at meetings and gatherings, or prioritize online options. This leaves each of us to fend for ourselves individually, abandoning the principles of collective care and disability justice—from access intimacy to “we keep us safe”—that had made such in-roads in our communities. If we cannot collectively learn from this “mass disabling event” of our lifetime, when will we? And if progressive activist groups whose common mission it is to make a world free from oppression—where caring for one another is the dominant ethos—ditch pandemic precautions, what hope is there?
To be sure, we still need to push institutions at the local and federal levels to make available personal protective equipment and resources for frontline workers, better access to healthcare, more research on Long Covid and other underfunded chronic conditions such as myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS). These actions would certainly help support the many biomedical doctors who toil tirelessly for treatments despite biomedicine’s limited approaches to chronic illness, as well as the Chinese medicine and other non-biomedicine doctors, not to mention the patient advocacy groups, who have arguably carried the bulk of the care and treatment for Long Covid sufferers.
I believe we have the most control over our small communities of care. Covid-19 laid bare our fragile health systems and the necessity of caring for one another—and for a time many of us heeded that call. Let us renew our attention to keeping each other safe, supporting the most vulnerable among us, and preventing more mass disablement. And for us activists who say we want to create better worlds, let’s model for everyone else how it’s done.
Amid profound shifts in power and governments across the world, they are embodying the hope and power that lies within grassroots movements and activism.
On the corner of West 25th Street and Broadway, a sea of blood-stained hands gather silently amid the noises of Midtown Manhattan. As tourists and locals rush across the intersection, some attempt to decipher the demonstration. A sign in Serbian Cyrillic reads, "Love for students, the ocean divides us, the fight connects us." After 15 minutes, the crowd breaks their silence, embracing one another through a shared goal, to show support for the students of Serbia.
This demonstration is part of a larger student-led resistance sweeping Serbia over the past three months. After the deadly collapse of a canopy at a newly renovated railway station that claimed the lives of 16 people in Novi Sad, the country's second-largest city, public outrage has sparked a monumental fight against corruption. Protesters first took to the streets to demand accountability from government officials for the negligence and dishonesty that resulted in the tragedy. They staged silent protests starting at 11:52 am, the time the canopy collapsed, standing silently for 15 minutes, one minute for every life lost. After students of the Faculty of Dramatic Arts were assaulted during a peaceful protest on November 22 by pro-government thugs who may have been directed or even paid by government officials, anger over the collapse gave way to broader outrage.
The attack on the students, the lack ofaccountability from the corrupt populist government, and the deceit behind the construction of the railway station have led to a larger demand to restore justice and accountability. A bloody handprint, which has grown to be the symbol for the student movement, represents the culpability that the Serbian government has in the canopy collapse and for years of an oppressive and controlling regime. The protests are writing history, leading to the resignation of more than a dozen government officials and growing to become the largest student-run movement Serbia has seen since the 1990s and possibly the largest in Europe since 1968.
For most Serbians, a movement of this magnitude seemed unimaginable, especially from a generation with high emigration rates, yet the students have made the impossible a reality.
The Serbian Progressive Party or Srpska Napredna Stranka has been the ruling political party since 2012 when Aleksandar Vučić took office. In the years since, his government has been accused of having ties to organized crime, bribing voters, and abusing its political power to threaten opposition. His populist government, and the oligarchy it perpetuates, have threatened and dismantled civilian rights and freedoms within the country.
The renovation of the train station, which began in 2021, was the product of a larger project led by Serbia, China, and Hungary to develop a fast rail pathway between Belgrade and Budapest. Vučić's boasting about the station's upgrade and the project during his 2022 election campaign only increased suspicions following the collapse when he claimed that the canopy had not been renovated during the reconstruction. Documentation that later emerged proved this to be false and showed that at minimum some work was done on the canopy. The glorified reconstruction of the station and its ultimately deadly faulty construction is seen as an emblem of Vučić's neglect of public safety, infrastructure, and well-being to strengthen political and monetary relationships.
Rather than be intimidated by the assault on the November 22 protest, the Faculty of the Dramatic Arts students blockaded university buildings three days later, inspiring universities across the country to do the same. As protests intensified, so did the message unifying the students and protesters: Serbian citizens deserve better than a government that puts its political and financial interests above its people.
The demands set forth by the students are simple yet effective: First, they demand the release of all documents relating to the reconstruction of the Novi Sad railway station and full transparency on how such an avoidable tragedy could occur. Second, they demand accountability for those who have attacked peaceful protesters, going so far as to ram cars into crowds and injuring several people. Third, they demand that the criminal charges of those arrested during the protests be dropped. Lastly, they demand a 20% increase in the budget for higher education.
Students are demanding that the government abide by the same laws it imposes on its citizens. After students were injured by drivers who deliberately rammed cars into their peaceful protests, Vučić reacted by saying that the drivers were simply "trying to go about their way," a statement that made clear that his interests don't lie in the safety of his citizens but rather the preservation of his control. The students have developed an impressive tactic in response, shutting Vučić out and appealing directly to the judicial system, the Ministry of Education, and the Ministry of Construction.
On December 15 during a television interview, Prime Minister Milos Vučević made the abominable statement, "You can't bring down a country because of 15 people who died, nor 155, nor 1,555." This comment provided a comical victory for protesters after Vučević resigned on January 25, making him one of several officials to do so alongside the mayor of Novi Sad, Milan Đurić, and the Minister of Construction, Goran Vesić. On December 30th, Serbia's Public Prosecutorindicted 13 individuals regarding the collapse of the canopy. Vučević's resignation followed a general strike on January 24 that captured the country and increased pressure on the government. As the sun rose over Belgrade on January 25, protesters celebrated the 24-hour blockade of the city's largest road junction, Autokomanda, and the new chapter that the resignation of the prime minister brings to their movement.
Most recently the students have blocked off bridges in Novi Sad that serve as the main roadways between the city and Belgrade. In January their movement was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. But perhaps their biggest success has been in restoring hope across borders, professions, and generations.
Their resistance has spread beyond the protests and blockades. It's seen in communities set up by students in universities with kitchens, tents, and donation points. It's seen as high school students join them in the streets. It's seen in the songs they sing, the food they cook for one another, and the games they play as they block off one of the country's largest highway intersections. It's seen through the car horns, cheering crowds, and people running out of their homes with food and drinks for students marching 80 kilometers to join the Danube bridge blockade. It's seen when the Bar Association of Serbia goes on strike. It's seen as bikers, agricultural workers, and taxi drivers show up to support and protect students from the opposing violence. It's seen as peaceful demonstrations of support are spreading across borders and oceans to over 150 cities including New York, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas. It's seen as students marched over 100 kilometers in the cold to join a massive blockade and protest in the city of Kragujevac, tearfully cheered on by bystanders.
Despite their success, domestic and international media coverage has been essentially nonexistent since the protests began. It wasn't until the historic protest held on March 15 where hundreds of thousands gathered in Belgrade's city center to protest the Vučić regime, that the Western media started covering the students' feat.
The suppression of protests and blockades by Serbian media is a deliberate effort to silence the students' voices and demands. With Vučić's foreign policy juggling act among major international powers, the resistance in Serbia has been mistakenly painted as anti-Putin by Western media outlets. Despite Vučić's delicate balance between the West and the East, the ideological conflicts arenot the driving force for the students; rather, their activism is rooted in the pursuit of justice and accountability from their government.
For most Serbians, a movement of this magnitude seemed unimaginable, especially from a generation with high emigration rates, yet the students have made the impossible a reality. Amid profound shifts in power and governments across the world, they are embodying the hope and power that lies within grassroots movements and activism. "Turn off the TV. Tune In" is a slogan that has been used by student blockade accounts in response to the government regulation and censoring of the media. It stands as a powerful call to action for Serbian citizens and a message that can resonate with activists and changemakers globally.
When looking at the crowds of students holding the symbolic blood-stained hand over their hands, we should be reminded of the blood washing over the hands of governments internationally. At a recent solidarity demonstration in New York, a sign reading "Jedan Svet, Jedna Borba / One World, One Fight" showcased the hope that lies within global solidarity. The tenacity, resilience, and perseverance of the students in Serbia have ignited a wave of hope, serving as a reminder that true power resides in the hands of the people.
For a day, a week, or as a rolling walkout, we could shut down the economy and most governmental functions and bring the country to a standstill.
Not even two months since Inauguration Day and it’s already been quite a trip. Ping-ponging between vindictive pettiness and unconstitutional overreach while using everything in his power (and much that isn’t), U.S. President Donald Trump has served up a goulash of dubious orders with a slathering of venom on top. He’s been abetted in the upheaval he promised on the campaign trail by the richest man on Earth, a cabal of lickspittles, and a cabinet filled with people who appear to have answered job ads stipulating, “Only the unqualified may apply.” As it became clearer what the battles to come would be, a friend wrote me: “I feel now like we’re watching it all happen. It being that thing that can’t happen here.”
There would be something strangely exhilarating about the frenzy of activity in Washington, if only it weren’t so careless, mean, dishonest, and destructive. Some of the most egregious actions have indeed been temporarily halted by the courts, but there’s no guarantee that trend will hold up—if, of course, Donald Trump and crew even pay attention to court decisions—especially when cases arrive at what’s potentially “his” Supreme Court. Meanwhile, insidious ideological purges encourage citizens to rat out their neighbors and coworkers, as leaders of industry, the media, and other institutions rush to appease the president before he dissolves into a hissy fit of revenge. (The speed with which many corporations complied with the order to axe DEI programs illuminates how shallow their commitment to that effort really was.)
In the months after the election, I mourned, ranted, resorted to magic thinking. I reminded myself that, while Trump did (barely) win the popular vote, democracy isn’t something that only happens every four years. Then, after my umpteenth conversation diagnosing how the hell we got into this mess, I had had enough. Okay, I said to my friends (who didn’t deserve my impatience), now what are we going to do about it?
Of course, I’m anything but the only person to ask that question. My inbox is crammed with notices of newsletters, podcasts, videos, and Zoom meetings full of rallying cries and, increasingly, suggested responses like the growing “economic blackouts.” With the executive branch already a kleptocracy, congressional Republicans in a state of amnesia when it comes to the Constitution’s separation of powers, most congressional Democrats waiting all too quietly (with the exception of Sen. Bernie Sanders (-Vt.) and a few others) for the midterm elections or for Trump to screw up irremediably, and the courts tied up in rounds of Whac-A-Mole, it falls to civil society—that’s us—to try to check the slash-and-smash rampage of Donald Trump, Elon Musk, and the rest of that crew, while offering a different vision for the country.
Such responses will undoubtedly involve a variety of approaches. These are likely to range from the immediate to the long haul; from small, local acts to ease individual lives—accompanying immigrants through the legal process when their residency is imperiled, for example—to more traditional activities like lobbying, petitioning, and supporting civil liberties organizations, or even movement-building and large-scale actions aimed at challenging the power of Trump and changing our very political situation.
When I allow myself to dream big and boldly, I envision a nation of Bartlebys, the title character in a Herman Melville story who replies to all work assignments with the impenetrable refrain, “I would prefer not to.”
We’ve already seen individual acts of principle, along with small communal acts of subversion. When someone in the Air Force took the Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion purge literally and cut a video about World War II’s Black Tuskegee Airmen from a training course, a senator decried it as “malicious compliance.” In Silicon Valley, there was a “quiet rebellion” when Meta workers brought in certain sanitary products to replace those removed from men’s bathrooms by order of their boss, Mark Zuckerberg. A DOGE hiring site was besieged by mock applications from well-qualified Hitlers, Mussolinis, Francos, and a Cruella De Vil. Then there was that World War II anti-fascism Simple Sabotage Field Manual, downloaded at least 230,000 times since 404Media made it accessible online. Ways to gum up the works suggested there include, “Cry and sob hysterically at every occasion, especially when confronted by government clerks,” and my fave, “Act stupid.”
Traditional forms of lobbying—emails, phone calls, petitions, or attending town hall meetings—have also proved to be important options, but in one of the kinks in democratic representation, the legislators we most seek to influence are often the ones with the least reason or desire to listen to us. My representatives are all outspoken, progressive Democrats, so all I can say is, thanks or try even harder. Meanwhile, good luck getting through to swamped legislative offices, which generally accept messages only from their constituents.
And finally, marches and performative protests are photogenic and build solidarity, but because they seldom disrupt much of anything, they are often all too easy to ignore. Moreover, in Donald Trump’s topsy-turvy world, it’s hard to know not just where to direct your protest, but even at whom to direct it. On February 5 and again on a frigid Presidents’ Day, sizable demonstrations against Trump, Musk, and their policies took place across the country. If you didn’t notice, no surprise there since they barely made a blip in what passes for the news these days (and apparently not even that in Donald Trump’s consciousness).
“Attention, not money, is now the fuel of American politics,” writesNew York Times columnist Ezra Klein. MSNBC host Chris Hayes, whose most recent book is about attention as a valuable and endangered commodity, has called Trump’s skill at commanding it a “feral instinct.” He noted that, while the president excels at getting the public’s attention, he’s not all that great at holding it. Still, give Trump credit for his remarkably relentless pace of presidential threats, orders, and mind lint to keep our synapses sparking and, while he’s at it, overwhelming any opposition with the enormity—and folly—of resisting him or his administration.
Always leading with his chin, Trump employs a variety of tactics, including:
Ultimately, the last of these may be Trump’s greatest menace, but also his greatest weakness, because what he does give a damn about is his image. It doesn’t take an armchair psychologist to recognize why Trump preens and puffs himself up or a master strategist to know how easy it would be to make him lose his cool (which may be the only time the words “Trump” and “cool” appear in the same sentence). And boy, can he not take—or make—a joke!
So, one simple way we could resist is by denying him our full attention. Of course, we can’t ignore him completely, since willful ignorance is self-defeating and, like an adolescent testing parental limits, he’ll just keep upping the ante to see what he can get away with. But it’s necessary not to be derailed by every inanity or outrage. I’m choosing to concentrate my attention on two or three areas I know something about, while counting on my fellow outragees to attend to other issues.
Not that I think Trump cares what I do, but if enough of us focus less on what he says and more on his actions that have discernable policy outcomes, we might indeed be able to cover all the bases and have enough energy and attention left over to push back more quickly and effectively.
As for the longer range, I’m tired of being told resistance is futile, not to mention a bad strategy. The Democratic Party may be in disarray and protests probably were more impressive during Trump’s first term, but enough already! It’s time to focus on the majority of the electorate who didn’t vote for Trump and who still think democracy is worth working toward.
Which leads me to Gene Sharp, an unsung but influential theorist of nonviolent resistance, whose pragmatic ideas about peaceful protest were picked up by popular liberation movements around the world in this century. He argued that the power of governments depends on the cooperation and obedience of those they govern, which means the governed can undermine the power of the governors by withdrawing their consent. “When people refuse their cooperation, withhold help, and persist in their disobedience and defiance,” he wrote, “they are denying their opponent the basic human assistance and cooperation that any government or hierarchical system requires.” While his suggestions for challenging power included individual resistance, he advocated a nonviolent insurgency big enough and sustained enough to make a country ungovernable and so force the governors to truly pay attention to the governed.
How big? Political scientist Erica Chenoweth has suggested that about 3.5% of a country’s population participating actively in nonviolent protest can bring about significant political change. If that’s accurate, an effective resistance would need about 12 million Americans taking to the streets. And yes, that’s a lot, but keep in mind that the women’s protest march early in Trump’s first term gathered more than 5 million Americans on a single day, many of whom were part of a political protest for the first time.
Imagining change is a crucial step to achieving change.
When I allow myself to dream big and boldly, I envision a nation of Bartlebys, the title character in a Herman Melville story who replies to all work assignments with the impenetrable refrain, “I would prefer not to.” We Bartlebys, then, would withhold our cooperation by staging a massive national strike. For a day, a week, or as a rolling walkout, we could shut down the economy and most governmental functions and bring the country to a standstill. But unlike the systemic disruption going on now in Washington, the change would be at the will of millions of Americans cooperating with each other.
The United States hasn’t seen a major general strike since 1946, when workers from multiple unions shut down Oakland, California for 54 hours, but there have been recent, small-scale versions, notably, A Day Without Immigrants this February, when businesses across the U.S. closed in solidarity with the approximately 8.1 million undocumented immigrant workers in this country.
Recent actions of the so-called Department of Government Efficiency are reportedly driving more workers to unions and, well before the last election, the United Auto Workers invited other unions to align their contract expiration dates in preparation for a giant general strike planned for May Day 2028. But 2028 is a long way off and a lot of damage will be done in the meantime. What I’m envisioning would go beyond organized labor to include anyone who contributes to the economy and civil society, be they employees, managers, owners, government workers, freelancers, independent contractors, retirees, students, homemakers, volunteers, or whomever I’ve missed.
Pie in the sky? Probably. I can easily envision 20 things that could go wrong. For starters, even the most grassroots of actions require coordination and a means of communication beyond the capacity of TikTok, while preserving the requisite element of surprise. And some work can’t be safely left undone, even for a day. Worse yet, those in power tend to respond harshly to challenges from below, so it’s not without risk. But there is some safety in numbers and Sharp believed protesters could turn retaliation to their advantage by continuing to struggle nonviolently—he called it “political jiu-jitsu”—only increasing sympathy and support for their cause.
Of course, in the era of Donald Trump, organizing millions of people across the country could prove a breeze compared to getting them to agree on a set of demands or even a central goal. But recent polls show that, in what should be Trump’s honeymoon period, his approval rating is 15 points below the historical average for presidents since 1953, when Gallup started keeping track. Overall, the polls indicate that the majority of Americans are not okay with much of what’s going down in Washington now and there are signs that some who voted for Trump are already starting to feel betrayed, if not by him directly, then by Musk, who excels at pissing people off.
Twenty years ago, a young veteran who had fought in Iraq and then turned against the war there explained to me why he became involved in the anti-war movement of that time. As he put it, “Someone sees [me] and says, I agree with that guy, I just didn’t have the courage to do it alone. So now he comes and stands next to me. I’m not alone, he’s not alone, and more people come. It just takes one person to start a movement.”
To which I would add that imagining change is a crucial step to achieving change. Without it, we’re stuck with Donald Trump and Elon Musk in an untenable present.