Book bans, fascism, and community: an essay

Hello. I don’t have much cheer to spread today, but I hope I do, maybe, have some hard-won hope for the future to share? This newsletter issue is going to look different than it usually does, for reasons1, and we’re just going to dive in.

I’ve felt sick to my stomach every day since Monday, Jan. 20th. You know why: because that’s the day that Donald Trump was inaugurated as our 47th President. That’s the day Elon Musk did two Nazi salutes on stage to cheers and raucuous applause, to defenses from places like the ADL. That’s the day our new president signed Executive Orders to dismantle birthright citizenship and DEI initiatives and so many more things.

As the week has continued, it’s gotten worse. The news has been unrelenting. I’ve found pockets of joy in leaving the house and hanging out with my friends and living in the moment, but the second I return to the news it’s like a punch to the gut, the face, and my nonexistent nuts all at once.

On Friday (I think it was Friday? The days have run together), we got the news that Trump was disbanding federal anti-book ban legislation. He called book bans a “hoax.” He spat in the faces of those who’ve spent years fighting and fearing for their lives and careers and facing down against Moms for Liberty.

This shook me. Not more than some of his other comments, but it hit me in a different part of my heart. The part that bleeds for kids and youth and wants to write stories that will make them realize they have so much to live for — no matter what their current circumstances are. I write queer books for teens not for the sake of recruitment to the mythical “gay agenda,” but because teens are already queer — and mentally ill, and struggling with body image, and trying to figure out where their faith does or doesn’t fit into their lives — and seeing other teens, even fictional ones, who live similar lives and are okay can be absolutely revolutionizing.

It scares me that someday, if I’m ever published, my books might be banned. That I might be labeled things like “groomer,” that I might be put on a watchlist, that I might be targeted.

But it scares me more to contemplate not continuing to write the books that I write. It scares me more to think about bending the knee into compliance2.

And that’s where community comes in. I found relief from the mounting hopelessness this week by searching up organizations that are doing work in New York City to protect immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, and more. I applied to their various volunteer opportunities, and I intend to continue searching and applying until I find the right place to land. Somewhere that can make use of my skills, such that they are, to keep doing the good work.

The thing about community is that it actually takes the pressure off each individual. I don’t currently have the money to donate to places like the ACLU; but I have time and motivation and communication skills, and I am a people person who’s good at making others feel welcome and at-home, and I think those skills would make me an asset both behind the scenes and doing frontline work. There are others in our communities who can finance the effort. There are those who can physically protest and fight. And there are those of us who can do quiet work in the background.

That’s what community is: a collective of individuals each bringing their own skills to add to the pot.

Together, in community, we are strong enough to halt the strides toward fascism that this country is taking.

So that’s my newsletter for today. I hope it’s brought you some hope, maybe, or given you a renewed sense of purpose to be reminded that there are things each of us can do, small as they may be, to contribute to the fight.

Love y’all.

— Karis xoxo