Life Goes On...But How? And For Who?
A Personal Recounting Of The First Two Days Of A Tech-Oligarchy
"Quisieron enterrarnos, pero no sabían que éramos semillas." - Mexican Proverb
I’ve had a first post in my drafts for a few weeks. Since then, however, I’ve found myself pivoting how I would introduce this Substack, given the swearing in of our 47th president and the tech-oligarchs positioned to seize further control of our sociopolitical climate. I could not not say anything, and it just so happens to be a large part of what I’m personally navigating at the moment along with many other - and this is what is so central to what I need this digital space to be - raw and relevant reflections of the world I and others are experiencing at the moment. So I’m going to publish the original post after this one while reflecting upon the past days of our new regime.
Prologue: Day 2 - January 21, 2025
Driving down the windy, desolate Wueste Road with Cascades by Metric blasting through my speakers, I found myself at Otay Lakes County Park—a spot I was surprised to realize I’d never visited in my 35 years, despite being born and raised in Chula Vista. Wearing my black suede Adidas Busenitz, I figured my shoes would get fucked up from hiking but that this would also be a great spot to find a trail nonetheless. I found a trail alright. At least I thought so.
As I climbed up the mountain trail that overlooks the dam and beautiful view of the lake, I walked past a rickety old sign that said “STOP – DANGEROUS CLIFF SIDES” or something like that. From where that sign was placed, it honestly looked safe enough with a wide open trail despite no rail guarding on the side of the cliff. So as an amateur hiker, I continued onward. It got to a point where I couldn’t exactly distinguish where the trail was leading and if I just had to climb up the rocky side of the hill or continue down the path alongside the cliff, which was getting narrower and narrower. I chose the path alongside the cliff, passing a large rock that had obstructed the view of a trail that was now only a couple feet from the ledge of the cliff.
At this point, I had no idea why I allowed myself to put myself in such danger. Looking down past the cliff was at least a 150-foot fall, with one trip or misstep leading to my death. Part of me thought, as I carefully stepped forward along the trail with rare adrenaline, “this has to get better, right?” “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, this is crazy.” I finally had to climb up a slightly steep part and just sat down there giving myself a moment to reflect on whatever the fuck I was doing and to figure out what to do next. Eventually I would slowly climb back down, calculating each step carefully, so I, like, wouldn’t die. To my relief, I got back up on my feet, started going back on the trail and eventually would go back to the part where you have to climb up the rocky side of the hill, Adidas and all. I got to the top of the hill (or what seemed to be one of the tops), only to be met with high speed winds that thankfully picked up once I was on the safe part of the trail. Either way, it was a clear sign to start hiking back down on the other side of the hill and back to the park.
To be in such a place of physical vulnerability with a beautiful sight to behold started to put some things in perspective for me. To fear for your own death from any means of violence—accidents in nature (in this case), physical violence, state violence, domestic violence, etc. But it also made me consider what it means to continue living under this current political regime. It made me wonder exactly who has the privilege of living through these next four years and beyond. Most importantly, I’m left with the “how.” How do we live under these vulnerable conditions and take the best care of ourselves? How do we live a life of purpose that creates fulfillment in us and our communities?
That hike left me thinking about the fragility of life—not just on that narrow trail but in the world we live in now and the political landscape that has come to be. Each step felt like a reminder of how much care is needed to navigate dangerous terrain, both in a literal and figurative sense.
Day 1 - January 20th, 2025
I knew the day was coming. I just didn’t know how my body would react, exactly what would happen, and what I would allow myself to engage with on social media and TV. Despite some moderate anxiety (tight chest, shallow breath, elevated heartbeat, etc.), my body got through the day. I didn’t know it at the time, but through recent practice of yoga and mindfulness guided by my “stay grounded through the discomfort” mantra, it was almost as if I had prepared myself for the moment and really any sudden moments that trigger an anxiety disorder.
Among the terrifying flurry of executive orders occurring on Day 1, there were two that personally affected me. One no doubt being the executive order which according to Associated Press, “declare[s] that the federal government would recognize only two immutable sexes: make and female” and “federal prisons and shelters for migrants and rape victims would be segregated by sex as” AND “federal taxpayer money could not be used to fund ‘transition services’”. It’s almost incredible how many intersections are crossed there from trans identity at the base to those incarcerated, undocumented, those affected by domestic violence, to the threat of losing life saving transition related care for a great number of trans folks.
The other, mentioned in the same article, is the rolling back of federally funded DEI programs which have laid important groundwork for DEI programs across America, including my eldest sister’s work at The National Gallery of Art. Through her program, she ensured the gallery’s curation process practiced equity by including the work of artists from diverse backgrounds to be featured at the nation’s most prestigious art gallery. She called my mom crying letting her know the program was just cut by the president as well as her position.
I must also acknowledge my privilege - living in California, therefore having trans health care through the state, and not holding the status of incarcerated, undocumented, DV survivor, or even trans youth. But here’s what really scares me: the influence these executive orders have on our culture and how the lack of respect and acceptance for marginalized communities becomes normalized especially for those already existing on the threshold of hate. This, terrifyingly so, could now allow them to cross into realm of hatred joining those who have already existed there. And if not explicit hate, it adds to the cognitive dissonance (that exists across nearly every political ideology) by no longer supporting programming that challenges our own implicit biases to then create a more just and equitable society.
The hope I cling to, in the face of this and every other action or statement from this new political regime, comes from what I’m hearing from my fellow comrades: that this is merely political theater with no tangible impact on the communities being targeted. And yes - a huge part of me find comfort in that. But I can’t deny the level of emotional impact and devastation that many of us are experiencing at the moment. Let’s not forget the fact that the Trevor Project’s crisis line saw a staggering 700% surge in calls and texts from trans and queer youth during the week following Trump’s re-election this past November compounded by a 72% increase of suicide rates linked to anti-trans related laws being passed from 2018-2022. The fact that evidence and data like this exists and is readily available by a simple Google or SearchGPT inquiry has me searching for an understanding beyond cognitive dissonance and towards the reality of insecurities that exist among many individuals who show outright hatred towards trans and queer community - which honestly makes me even more upset that DEI programming is once again being defunded - for that it needed to grow into programming that allowed for the self-exploration of identity and the beautiful ecosystems we create together through such exploration.
The discomfort I felt on the trail, standing near the edge of that cliff, mirrors the state of uncertainty I and many others are living in now. Just as I had to calculate each step carefully, I find myself navigating how to survive emotionally and physically under such oppressive circumstances. The strong winds that pushed me forward once I reached the safe part of the trail remind me that even in the harshest conditions, resilience is possible - but only if we find ways to take care of our own selves to then tend to each other.
So this all leads me back: as life goes on, how does it go on and for whom? Who is privileged enough to survive the next four years and everything that follows as a result? How do we survive? How do we survive emotionally? What’s going to keep us grounded this time around? What movements will grow from the seeds we never wanted to plant but had to out of necessity?