The next necessary thing
They’re declaring victory. Let them. I’ve spent enough mornings watching sheep graze through fog to know the difference between weather and climate. Between a battle and a war. Between noise and substance.
Let’s talk about what America has actually survived. In 1798, when our democracy was younger than my youngest lamb, the government tried to outlaw criticism of itself through the Alien and Sedition Acts. People fought back. Those laws died. We lived.
In 1861, this country literally split in half. Not metaphorically, not politically — actually split into two warring nations. More Americans died in the Civil War than in both World Wars combined. People said democracy was finished. They were wrong. We stitched ourselves back together and came out stronger.
The Great Depression wasn’t just an economic crisis. It was a crisis of faith in the American system itself. While people stood in bread lines, fascism rose in Europe. Plenty of Americans thought dictatorship looked like a good alternative. We chose differently. We chose social security, worker protections, and banking regulations. We chose democracy.
McCarthy tried to turn Americans against each other in the 1950s. He had the press, he had Congress, he had people terrified to speak up. Until they did speak up. A few brave people stood their ground, and his power evaporated like morning dew.
During Civil Rights, they turned fire hoses on children. They murdered activists. They bombed churches. The forces of oppression had police dogs, jail cells, and governors blocking schoolhouse doors. They lost. Because enough people refused to accept that this was as good as America could be.
Watergate wasn’t just about a break-in. It was about whether a president could be above the law. Our institutions held. Our press did its job. The system worked.
So here we are again. Another “crisis of democracy.” Another moment when they tell us it’s over, it’s different this time, just accept it.
I start my mornings checking on my sheep. Some days there are predators. Some days there’s sickness. Some days there’s rough weather. The work remains the same. Check the fences. Feed the weak. Protect the vulnerable. Do the next necessary thing.
That’s my response to their victory dance. I’m building something they can’t touch. When they scream, I talk quietly with my neighbors about local issues. When they try to divide us, I host gatherings in my barn where people actually listen to each other. When they tell us to fear our neighbors, I invite those neighbors over for coffee.
Let them claim this battle. Democracy isn’t a single fight or a single vote. It’s millions of people doing necessary things day after day. It’s showing up at school board meetings. It’s running for local office. It’s teaching kids how government works. How to determine a truth from a lie. It’s doing the unglamorous work of citizenship when nobody’s watching and nobody’s clapping.
Every morning I walk my pastures and count my sheep. The lambs grow stronger. The flock endures. And so will we.
We’ve survived worse than this. We’ve faced bigger threats than this. Every time, enough people stood up and did the necessary things to keep democracy alive.
So that’s what I’m doing. Standing up. Doing the necessary things. One day at a time. This isn’t over unless we say it’s over.
Non ducor, duco. Dum spiro, spero. Aude sapere.
I am not led, I lead. While I breathe, I hope. Dare to think for yourself.
Image by Gael MacLean ©2024
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