If you’re anything like me, you are probably exhausted by the political atmosphere we find ourselves living in these days. I’ve seen things about George W. Bush recently that made me pine for the “good old days” when he was president. Remember when we thought he was the worst it could possibly get? We were so cute back then.
This moment feels different. And not just because of who’s in power, but because of what’s being revealed around us.
For a long time, whenever I spoke about politics, my tone was sharp, aimed squarely at those in charge, but also at people around me. I needed time to sit with that. To separate justified anger from something else I was noticing underneath it.
What finally came into focus wasn’t just policy, or corruption, or even ideology.
It was how deeply many people want a savior.
I’m not sure why this surprised me. I grew up Catholic. I was surrounded by people who were taught to surrender their own intuition in exchange for rules handed down from above. Don’t get me wrong, there was a lot of community and togetherness that stemmed from my Catholic upbringing that I miss, and always saw as a positive.
But it came with a cost.
That togetherness required submission. It discouraged questioning. It trained people to outsource moral responsibility rather than practice it. And as a child, I had no agency within it. I was simply submerged.
Breaking free as an adult was harder than I expected. Conditioning runs deep, even when you resist it the whole time.
What stayed with me wasn’t the theology. It was the pattern.
A system that claims moral authority. A narrative that asks you to trust the structure more than yourself. A promise of safety in exchange for obedience.
And here’s the part that matters now: I recognize that pattern.
What we are watching in the United States today isn’t new. It’s familiar. It’s the same logic scaled up — the same desire for certainty, for authority, for someone else to decide who belongs and who doesn’t. The same comfort found in surrendering complexity in exchange for simple answers.
That’s what makes this moment so tiring. I already did all this work. I already untangled myself from a system that insisted conformity was virtue and doubt was danger. I didn’t expect to have to do it again, only this time as a citizen, watching it unfold at a national scale.
So here’s the question I keep returning to.
What if we didn’t build our sense of belonging around sameness?
What if community wasn’t something granted by an institution, but something practiced by people who refuse to abandon one another?
What if we believed that every single person has value?
What if we built systems that reflected that belief, protected it, and made it harder to violate?
Religion often fails at this not because people are bad, but because the structure itself demands conformity. A single sanctioned belief system. A single moral authority. A single gatekeeper of truth.
I will give credit where it’s due though. Because the Catholics also taught me about the Beatitudes. The Sermon on the Mount. These teachings of Jesus that actually did inspire me pointed in the opposite direction. Toward humility. Toward care for the marginalized. Toward responsibility without domination.
What if we took those ideas seriously? Not as symbols, but as obligations?
What if heroism wasn’t something we admired from a distance, but something we practiced quietly, together, when it actually cost us something?
What if we stopped waiting to be rescued, and started recognizing one another instead?
That’s the thread I keep pulling on. Not because I think I have answers, but because the old ones are clearly failing us.
We live in a culture built on performance. On image. On spectacle. We’re trained to mistake visibility for impact, and certainty for truth. We’re encouraged to pick sides, identify enemies, and wait for the right figure to lead us out of the mess.
But history suggests something else entirely.
Change doesn’t arrive as a savior. It arrives when ordinary people stop pretending they’re powerless.
So what if we told different stories?
Stories where empathy isn’t weakness.
Where responsibility isn’t punishment.
Where collective action isn’t an abstract ideal, but a lived practice.
Where no one is written off as disposable.
Where belonging doesn’t require submission.
What if we stopped asking who will save us, and started asking what we owe one another?
I don’t think that’s naïve.
I think it’s overdue.
