Many people today compare the United States to the Roman Empire in its final days, imagining a nation on the brink of collapse. But this comparison misunderstands both history and the present moment. The United States is not mirroring the fall of Rome it is echoing the rise of Roman imperial power. What we are witnessing is not the end of an empire, but the beginning of one. 

What is happening in Minneapolis and in parallel in parts of California and Chicago feels like a turning point toward a darker chapter in the United States. Reports describe federal immigration agents going door‑to‑door, creating fear reminiscent of past eras of state repression. This is happening despite the fact that Minneapolis has fewer undocumented immigrants than many major U.S. cities, and Minnesota as a whole has fewer undocumented residents than many conservative states. The pattern suggests an attempt to intimidate politically blue regions into submission and to push the country toward an increasingly authoritarian system that benefits a wealthy, insulated elite. 

It pains me to speak about this, because I genuinely support the vision many Iranian revolutionaries hold: a secular and democratic Iran where the rights of all people are protected. Their dream includes liberation for LGBTQIA communities, an end to persecution against Christians, Jews, atheists, and other non‑Muslims, and a revival of worker‑owned cooperatives and grassroots economic democracy. That vision is powerful, just, and deeply inspiring. 

We began the day intending to gather at Black Hawk State Park and the Singing Bird Sanctuary—places deeply connected to the history of the Sac and Fox Nation, to Black Hawk, to Singing Bird, and to the memory of the people whose lives were taken through displacement, warfare, and genocide carried out by the United States government. Our plan was simple and sacred: to fly kites in honor of the Thunderbird, to share stories, and to observe the New Moon, a Jewish tradition that we weave together with Apache and Indigenous teachings. This blending of traditions is at the heart of who we are as Nefesh Min Lozen. 

Controlled opposition refers to a situation in which a dominant ideology or power structure intentionally cultivates or elevates a political movement that appears oppositional but is ultimately easy to neutralize, redirect, or contain. Instead of allowing genuinely transformative movements to grow, powerful institutions promote groups that are ineffective, easily co‑opted, or structurally incapable of challenging the status quo. 

As time goes on, I genuinely want to see you succeed, not only in turning this county blue, but eventually the entire state. I hope I can offer some insight into how that can happen. Yes, in a free and fair election you are projected to win many races, but the goal isn’t just winning during this moment in the Trump era. The goal is maintaining victory and building durable support for the long term. 

We are living in a time where far-right movements and fascist ideologies are actively weaponizing every available avenue to suppress marginalized communities and silence dissenting voices. Their strategies are not random; they are calculated, systemic, and deeply embedded in cultural, economic, and religious institutions. 

The killing of Renee Good has become a catalyst. It has exposed fractures in local institutions, failures of oversight, and the deep harm inflicted on marginalized communities. But it has also revealed something else: a growing willingness among everyday people to confront these injustices directly and publicly. 

Fascism does not begin with marching boots or flags waving over conquered cities. It begins in the quiet places  in the moment a population starts to believe that their identity comes from the state rather than from one another. When people allow the nation to define who they are, when they surrender their sense of self to a political structure, the door to authoritarianism opens. Fascism thrives on this surrender. It needs people to forget that identity is something lived, not assigned. 

In early January 2026, as headlines across the country shifted toward escalating U.S. military involvement in Venezuela, a small but determined crowd gathered at the intersection of Kimberly Road and Welcome Way in Davenport, Iowa. Their message was simple, urgent, and unmistakable: No war in Venezuela. No intervention. No escalation. 

In late December 2025, as winter tightened its grip on the Midwest, roughly two dozen protesters gathered outside the CBS affiliate in Rock Island, Illinois. The air was sharp; the wind biting, and temperatures hovered near freezing, yet people still came bundled in coats, scarves, and determination. This demonstration was one node in a much larger, nationwide protest aimed at CBS after the network chose not to air a “60 Minutes” segment featuring interviews with migrants detained in El Salvador’s notorious high‑security prison, CECOT. 

Within days, the city deployed police to clear the homeless encampments surrounding the project site. Officers confiscated tents, clothing, blankets, and personal belongings with the few possessions people had left. Several unhoused residents reported to Nefesh that they lost essential documents during the sweep: IDs, birth certificates, Social Security cards, medical paperwork. These are not small losses. Without identification, people cannot apply for jobs, access services, or even enter shelters. The city did not simply remove property; it removed the tools people need to survive. 

The political landscape of the United States is shifting, but not in the way many hoped. Even as far‑right movements lose cultural ground and public approval, the left is not rising to meet the moment. Instead, it is struggling  not because its values are wrong, but because its internal capacity for collective action has weakened. The truth is uncomfortable: the left today is not failing because its ideals lack merit, but because its movements lack the resilience, discipline, and moral courage that once defined them. 

Every time new documents drop, we’re told to calm down, to accept half‑truths, to pretend the smoke doesn’t mean fire. It’s the same tiring performance: “Nothing to see here,” while the public is expected to stand in the downpour and pretend it’s sunshine. 

This critique is not about assigning blame to volunteers or local partners. It is about recognizing that national organizations cannot continue to drain energy from local movements without offering real direction, real strategy, or real support

Many of these organizers are doing real, tangible work on the ground, and I believe they deserve far better than what they are currently given. Their ideas, strategies, and long‑term visions should be heard, taken seriously, and engaged with not brushing aside, patronized, or treated as naïve. Too often, the people with the clearest understanding of material struggle are the ones whose voices are minimized in favor of those who speak the “right” academic language or who fit neatly into the organization’s preferred social norms. 

Antisemitism and Islamophobia have surged dramatically in recent years, often rising in parallel and sometimes even emerging from the same individuals or ideological networks. Scholars at Harvard note that both forms of hate have intensified since the escalation of violence in Israel–Palestine, with the Anti-Defamation League reporting a 337% increase in antisemitic incidents and CAIR documenting a 178% rise in Islamophobic complaints in the months following October 7. These spikes reveal how political crises can inflame pre-existing prejudices and create new opportunities for hate to spread. 

Saint Nicholas and Martin Luther King Jr., separated by centuries and cultures, share a common legacy: resistance against injustice, courage in the face of empire, and a vision of a world where dignity is not reserved for the powerful but extended to all. To reclaim Saint Nick is to reclaim the truth that resistance is an act of love. He is not merely a holiday figure but a timeless reminder that justice, generosity, and defiance belong at the heart of every movement. 

Funding resistance requires creativity, discipline, and sometimes uncomfortable compromises. By diversifying income streams—through trades, art, legal entities, events, and cooperative models—we can build sustainable movements that thrive despite systemic barriers.