After a year on the front lines, I am frayed but not finished. I carry the constant, stomach‑tightening fear that laws will strip away the care that keeps me alive, and I shoulder the exhaustion of working full time, attending school, and organizing while others with more privilege debate strategy from a place of comfort. I break down in my car because there is nowhere safe to unload the grief of lives lost and the daily threats we face; I check my bank account before deciding whether to run an ad or rent a van for a protest. This is not a rhetorical plea it is a ledger of survival, a call for real solidarity, and a demand that those with power stop centering comfort over the lives of the most vulnerable.

There is a growing and dangerous tendency on parts of the left to treat Ukraine as a political Rorschach test: if you oppose Western imperialism, you must oppose Ukrainian resistance; if you oppose nationalism, you must reject any country’s right to defend itself. That framing is both morally and strategically wrong.

The antisemitism I encounter on the left and the refusal to acknowledge Jewish humanity are astonishing. Every time I try to speak about antisemitism or point out how some left‑wing rhetoric has absorbed literal Nazi talking points about Jews, I am met with the same refrain: “anti‑Zionism isn’t antisemitism.”

This campaign is a homecoming. It is an invitation to heal old wounds personal and communal and to build what Pueblo has needed for a long time: a movement rooted in compassion, solidarity, and collective liberation. 

This report provides a comprehensive analysis of Pueblo’s current challenges and explores actionable solutions. Drawing on recent data, policy documents, and best practices from comparable cities, the report addresses: 

Homelessness in the Quad Cities has reached a breaking point. The emergency is not simply the number of unhoused people; it is the persistent refusal of local leaders and institutions to treat those people as neighbors deserving of dignity, safety, and a real chance to rebuild. When policy treats human beings as problems to be moved along, the moral and practical costs are paid by everyone. 

For many people around the world, religion is a source of comfort, identity, and meaning. But for others, religion becomes a site of trauma especially when it is twisted into extremism. Whether someone has survived the violence of extremist groups in the Middle East, the pressures of Jewish ethno‑nationalism, or the suffocating culture of Christian nationalism in the United States, the impact can be profound. Religious extremism does not simply harm the body; it reshapes the mind, fractures trust, and leaves deep emotional scars. 

For years, many people in this country have sensed that something is deeply wrong at the highest levels of power in our government, in our corporations, and in the institutions that claim moral authority. The release of the Epstein documents only confirmed what survivors and advocates have been saying for decades: powerful individuals have been able to exploit, harm, rape, cannibalize and traffic children with near-total impunity. 

The Hebrew prophets warned against this kind of religious hypocrisy. Isaiah declared, “Learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow” (Isaiah 1:17). Jesus himself taught that the true measure of faith is found not in performance, but in compassion: “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me” (Matthew 25:40).

Across the political landscape, countless organizations compete for attention socialist groups like PLS, DSA, and CPUSA, and libertarian groups such as YAL or the Libertarian Party. Many of them invest enormous energy into doctrine, rhetoric, and ideological purity. They debate theory, refine dogma, and argue endlessly about the “correct” line. 

America’s political imagination has been trapped in a tired binary for generations: left versus right, blue versus red, progressive versus conservative. This framing has become so dominant that many people cannot imagine alliances that cross these lines. But what if the real divide is not left versus right at all? What if the true fault line is authoritarianism versus liberty? 

The idea of a “national divorce” has been gaining traction in American political discourse. A few years ago, it was a fringe slogan amplified by figures like Marjorie Taylor Greene. Today, versions of the same idea echo across parts of the political left as well. The argument is simple: the country is too polarized, too hostile, too divided to function as a single nation. But dissolving the United States is not a solution it is an admission of defeat. And more importantly, it is unnecessary. 

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.