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We need more Jared and Laurie Berezins who are standing up for democracy as civil rights and due process rights are being undermined by the Trump administration.
For Jared and Laurie Berezin who live outside Boston, the final straw was the video in mid-April showing an Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent in New Bedford, Massachusetts shattering a Guatemalan couple’s car window with an axe before dragging them out onto the sidewalk.
One week later, on April 23, the couple—an MIT lecturer and a jewelry maker—held their first protest outside ICE’s New England field office in Burlington, Massachusetts.
Standing alone on a grassy knoll holding a sign, reading, “Just Say No to Harassing Immigrants,” they watched ICE agents coming and going from the two-story ICE facility where thousands of immigrants have been detained, many for multiple days, since January. Both were struck by the casualness of it all, especially the unmasked agents walking around laughing and joking.
They also saw dozens of immigrants arriving, looking stone-faced and nervous, for their deportation hearings. Coming out, a few of them waved to the couple to thank them for their support.
History—from the American Revolution to the civil rights movement—has shown that chipping away at vital institutions can erode political power and force positive change.
Those twin moments—ICE agents performing their jobs with apparent nonchalance against a backdrop of immigrants looking petrified and powerless—struck a chord.
“The minute we started standing on that grass, it hit us that we needed to keep coming back,” Jared Berezin recalled.
One week later, four friends joined their protest. Six weeks after that, there were 60. On December 3, the 33rd consecutive Wednesday protest, there were more than 600.
Beyond speeches and songs, the “Bearing Witness” standouts are producing action: In October, after widespread media attention, the Burlington Town Meeting voted overwhelmingly in favor of a resolution demanding that the ICE facility end “inhumane” conditions and all overnight detentions, which violate local zoning limits set in 2007 when the facility first opened. After repeated requests from federal legislators, ICE has consented to site inspections in the coming weeks.
This is what peaceful, sustained civil resistance looks like.
We need more Jared and Laurie Berezins who are standing up for democracy as civil rights and due process rights are being undermined by the Trump administration.
But resistance needs strategy, training, and unwavering commitment to exercise that power.
In small but encouraging ways, it is happening. One Million Rising, a national civil resistance movement launched in July by the nonprofit group Indivisible, now has more than 350,000 trained volunteers organizing protests, sit-ins, and other types of nonviolent interference aimed at businesses, federal agencies, and other entities supporting the president’s policies.
This has less to do with broad-based demonstrations, such as October’s No Kings Day, and more with sharply focused, continuous collective action to disrupt key pillars of support, such as businesses and government enforcement agencies, that the administration is relying on.
History—from the American Revolution to the civil rights movement—has shown that chipping away at vital institutions can erode political power and force positive change. The president cannot be effective without airplanes to handle his deportation flights, banks that finance his detention centers, and a media that spreads his misinformation and squelches truth.
We’re seeing positive progress across the board.
When Disney and its ABC affiliate suspended Jimmy Kimmel’s show in September over his remarks about Charlie Kirk’s fatal shooting, viewers quickly responded. Disney’s streaming apps lost more than 1 million paid subscribers in a matter of days. The show was quickly restored—a major victory for free speech.
Avelo Airlines, a budget commercial airline that flies out of Hartford, New Haven and dozens of other US cities, is also facing intense opposition over its contract to handle deportation flights for ICE. After numerous protests at Bradley Airport, Avelo announced in October that it was ending all Bradley flights. Similar protests are underway in New Haven and other airports.
Protesters are also targeting local governments such as Holyoke, Massachusetts, a mostly Latino city sensitive to escalating ICE raids. Like Burlington, the first protest was started last spring by a young woman, Claire McGale, who stood alone at a popular street intersection holding a sign reading, “Solidarity Without Action is Meaningless.”

The weekly protests swelled. McGale then organized a diverse coalition, The Real Holyoke Majority, that took its protests to City Hall where city councillors were considering a resolution declaring that Holyoke is not a sanctuary city and supports all federal laws, including ICE raids. In October, after Latinos, youth, and trans residents spoke in opposition, the resolution was defeated in a 7-6 vote. A few weeks later, the councillor leading the resolution effort was voted out of office
The movement needs more people like Claire McGale and Jared and Laurie Berezin.
They are writing American history right now. What will your story be?
The Epstein files aren't about one dead predator or even about the powerful men who enabled him. They're about a revelation that terrifies the ruling class: We're finally seeing the structure of division and dehumanization clearly.
Over the past few years, Jeffrey Epstein has dominated our collective attention in ways that are both revealing and troubling. On the surface, the sustained focus on a wealthy sexual predator who trafficked children over decades seems like progress. Perhaps a sign that we're finally holding powerful people accountable. But look closer. This has unfolded during a backlash against survivors of sexual violence, a rollback of protections for women, and the systematic removal of women from positions of power. Research funding for gender equity has vanished. So what does our obsession with Epstein really mean?
Part of it is obvious: The details are sensational, and social media algorithms reward outrage. The names in those files read like a global directory of power: political leaders, billionaires, academics, celebrities. Everyone who's anyone seems to orbit this depravity. That explains the clicks.
But I want to suggest something else is happening. Something more profound. As a psychologist who teaches students to analyze complex social problems, I see us collectively engaging in what I call for in my classroom: a dual analysis, what Lois Weis and Michelle Fine termed as critical bifocality. We're learning to hold two truths, two ways of understanding the world, at once. And that terrifies the powerful.
Americans have been trained to see failure as personal. Lost your home in foreclosure? You must have been irresponsible. Can't afford groceries? You should have worked harder. This is the logic of capitalism, and it's everywhere.
Psychologists call this the fundamental attribution error: We overestimate individual responsibility for others' suffering while excusing our own struggles as caused by circumstances. It's a cognitive bias that protects our self-esteem but destroys our capacity for solidarity.
This isn't just about one man's moral failure. It's about a system where wealth creates impunity. Where the rules simply don't apply.
Right now, this error is especially dangerous. Grocery prices are up nearly 30% since 2019. Jobs feel precarious as AI reshapes entire industries. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids are terrorizing communities, disappearing neighbors and co-workers. For millions in Appalachia and the Rust Belt—regions promised economic revival—things have only gotten harder. This is the case all over the country, no matter whether red or blue designations have been imposed on us by the pundits.
When we're scared, we want simple answers. We want someone to blame. The fundamental attribution error gives us that: blame the immigrant, blame the lazy, blame anyone but the system itself.
But here's what I see happening with Epstein: We're refusing that simple narrative. We're doing something more sophisticated, more dangerous to power.
We're using what I teach as the individual lens: Yes, Jeffrey Epstein made choices. Yes, every person who enabled him (the many who looked away, who benefited, who participated) bears individual moral responsibility. We must hold them accountable. Children were harmed. Yes, Megyn Kelly, they were children. That demands justice.
But we're also using the structural lens: What system allowed this to happen? What conditions enabled it? And here's where it gets uncomfortable for the powerful in the world, like Donald Trump, one of Epstein’s closest friends.
In 2008, Jeffrey Epstein was convicted of soliciting prostitution from a minor. He served barely a year in the private wing of a county jail with work-release privileges, where he was able to leave 12 hours a day, and even the door to his cell was unlocked. Most Americans would have gone to federal prison. But Epstein had connections.
Fast forward a decade. Between November 2018 and July 2019, 10 years after his conviction, Larry Summers was texting with Epstein, seeking advice on how to seduce a female colleague he called his "mentee." Summers was former president of Harvard, former treasury secretary, one of the most powerful economists in America. And he was asking a convicted sex offender to be his "wing man" in pursuing a woman professionally vulnerable.
The correspondence ended July 5, 2019, one day before Epstein's arrest on federal sex trafficking charges.
This isn't just about one man's moral failure. It's about a system where wealth creates impunity. Where the rules simply don't apply.
The wealthy aren't just getting richer. They're extracting from the rest of us at an accelerating rate.
Today, the top 1% hold 30.5% of America's wealth. The bottom 50% (that's half of us) hold only 2.5%.
Imagine 100 of us in a room with a meal to share. It is a delicious platter of burgers and warm, salty fries that fills the room with a savory smell. All of us are hungry.
One person walks up and takes nearly a third of everything. They pile their plate high and walk away.
Nine more people step up and take most of what's left, about another third of the food between them.
The Epstein files are thousands of emails, each one a point of light illuminating how the system actually works. And it's terrifying to those who benefit from it.
That leaves 90 of us to divide the remaining third. But here's the thing: It's not divided equally. Forty people in the middle get modest portions. They have access to just enough to take the edge off their hunger. And the last 50 of us? We're left fighting over a few cold fries and some burger crumbs on the edge of the platter. That tiny pile is 2.5% of the meal that fed one person so lavishly.
The one person who took a third? They're not worried about the 90 of us who got less. They're counting on the 40 who got modest portions to blame the 50 who got crumbs. They're counting on all of us to fight each other instead of asking why one person gets to take so much in the first place.
It wasn’t always this way. Since 1989, the richest 1% have increased their share of national wealth by 34%. The bottom 50% have lost 26% of theirs.
This isn't about hard work or merit. The system is designed for extraction. You work every day. You show up. And still your debts deepen. Your loans grow. Your ability to build security evaporates.
Meanwhile, the wealthy fly on private jets to private islands where they commit acts of cruelty most of us can't imagine but all of us (except Megyn Kelly) agree are unlawful and immoral.
The Epstein files are thousands of emails, each one a point of light illuminating how the system actually works. And it's terrifying to those who benefit from it.
Watch Trump's reaction. On November 14, when Bloomberg reporter Catherine Lucey asked about the files aboard Air Force One, Trump jabbed his finger at her: "Quiet! Quiet, piggy." Days later, he threatened ABC's broadcast license when reporter Mary Bruce asked similar questions.
This is the powerful suddenly being exposed, the curtain is lifting, and we see that these monsters are just tiny pathetic, greedy people. This is fear.
Trump campaigned in Appalachia promising economic relief. Eleven months later, he's proposed cutting the Appalachian Regional Commission by 93%, from $200 million to $14 million. In a region with 75 counties classified as economically "distressed," he's pulling the last federal lifeline.
The people who voted for Trump because they were promised someone who would fight the elites are watching those same elites protect each other. They're watching the system close ranks.
The Epstein files aren't about one dead predator or even about the powerful men who enabled him. They're about a revelation that terrifies the ruling class: We're finally seeing the structure of division and dehumanization clearly.
This is why they are afraid: the 50 of us fighting over crumbs have far more in common with the 40 who got modest portions than any of us have with the one who took a third of the meal. The worker whose factory closed in Ohio and the immigrant whose neighbor was disappeared by Immigration and Customs Enforcement? We’re all being crushed by the same system. The rural Appalachian who can't afford medication and the urban renter who is being priced out? Same system. The young person drowning in student debt and the parent who can't afford childcare? Same system.
We can hold individual wrongdoers accountable AND dismantle the systems that enabled them.
The powerful maintain control by convincing us we're each other's enemies. Red versus blue. Urban versus rural. Immigrant versus native-born. But Jeffrey Epstein's private island wasn't divided by those lines. It was divided by one line only: those with enough wealth and power to do whatever they wanted to whoever they wanted, and those without.
The Epstein files show us something the powerful never wanted us to see: They protect each other. Across party lines, across industries, across borders, wealth creates a solidarity among the ruling class that transcends everything else. Larry Summers stayed loyal to Epstein a decade after his conviction. Trump's fear when reporters ask questions isn't about embarrassment, it's about exposure of that solidarity.
The question isn't just, "What will we do with what we know?" It's "Who will we do it with?"
The answer has to be each other. All of us who show up and work and still fall further behind. All of us whose neighbors are disappearing, whose communities are being stripped of resources, whose futures are being extracted by those private jets to private islands.
We can hold individual wrongdoers accountable AND dismantle the systems that enabled them. We can refuse the fundamental attribution error that asks us to blame our neighbors while ignoring who's taking the largest share.
This is the moment for clarity. This is the moment we refuse to unsee what's been revealed. This is the moment we recognize each other.
The 99% of us who aren't eating the majority of the meal? We have everything in common. Let's build with each other instead of for those who extract from us.
Trump plasters his social media with a floor-to-ceiling marble bathroom remodel while families across America wonder how they can keep their children from starving.
I know what it means to be starved by those in power. As a little girl, if not for my grandparents' ancient walnut tree that fed us, and not for my grandma’s beloved chickens who laid eggs and now and then were a very special Sunday soup, if not for my sister—just a few years older than me—standing in line at dawn to fight adults for bread, I would have been significantly malnourished. I would watch my sister come home exhausted from those pre-dawn battles with full-grown adults, clutching a loaf of bread that meant we might be a little less hungry than we were the day before.
I never thought I'd see that kind of chosen starvation—the kind that Romania’s Nicolae Ceaușescu was notorious for—in America. I was wrong.
On November 3, day 33 of a government shutdown, President Donald Trump's administration said it would provide only partial Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) food stamp benefits for November. This has a devastating impact on millions of Americans. And, this is after two federal judges ordered the administration to tap into emergency funds to cover food assistance. What’s worse is this partial aid Trump is willing to concede to give might not reach these families for months.
And what was Trump doing as families wondered how they'd feed their children? Posting 24 photos on social media of his newly renovated Lincoln Bedroom bathroom—covered floor to ceiling in black and white marble with (surprise, surprise) gold fixtures—as he headed to Mar-a-Lago for the weekend. He has already golfed multiple times during this shutdown and traveled internationally, something other presidents would have refused in order to focus on ending the shutdown that is devastating the country. Millions are unsure about what they’ll eat tonight, and Trump posts about the luxury renovations and packs his golf clubs while the government remains shut down.
Trump wants us to watch him build monuments to himself. Fine. We're watching. And we're remembering.
Ceauşescu was similarly fond of gold and glitz while the people starved. Like this Romanian dictator, Trump is demolishing the historic East Wing of the White House to build an over $300 million ballroom, removing commemorative magnolia trees planted in the 1940s for Presidents Warren G. Harding and Franklin D. Roosevelt. According to White House aides, Trump spends hours obsessing over marble choices and column styles, even fidgeting with 3D-printed models of the ballroom during tense moments. Watch me, he seems to say. Watch me build monuments to myself while you starve.
Ceauşescu built his lavish palaces that included a golden bathroom with gold plated fixtures while my sister, a child, stood in line to fight for a half a loaf of bread to feed her family. Trump plasters his social media with a floor-to-ceiling marble bathroom remodel while families across America wonder how they can keep their children from starving.
Yes, by now we know full well, the cruelty is the point, it's policy. The "big beautiful bill" Republicans passed earlier this year delivers massive tax breaks to the ultra wealthy: Starting in 2029, those making $30,000 or less would see a tax increase, while the top 0.1% would receive an average $309,000 tax cut annually, more than three times what a typical American household earns in an entire year. Sixty percent of the tax cuts go to the top 20% of earners, while the bill is coupled with cuts to Medicaid and SNAP that leave low-income Americans worse off on net.
The bill kicks more than 15 million people off health insurance, makes the largest cuts to nutrition assistance in history, and makes higher education less affordable. Congressional Budget Office analysis shows this bill adds over $4 trillion to the national debt while worsening inequality.
Meanwhile, billions of dollars are being poured into Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids, with masked federal agents in unmarked vehicles conducting workplace sweeps and detaining our neighbors outside courthouses, with more than 75% of those booked into ICE custody in fiscal year 2025 having no criminal conviction other than immigration or traffic-related offenses. Trump is choosing to continue to fund, and even increase the funding, for the modern-day Gestapo, ensuring masked ICE agents can continue to brutalize our communities. But we do not have to look at other places to understand what is happening before our eyes. In the 1850s in the United States, the federal government enforced a policy to hunt down and “return” what the government dubbed to be “fugitive slaves,” people who were formerly and brutally enslaved and who had escaped captivity to flee north. No, we do not have to look at Nazi Germany to understand what ICE is doing, we have to look at our own history.
All of us Americans, who love our neighbors, who care for our families, who love our cities and our country, should see Trump for who he is. He is making a choice. This is a choice about who gets to have resources and who gets to suffer. This is about billionaires running the government and watching the people who actually make this country run—the workers, the families, the communities—go hungry while they build their ballrooms.
When the wealthy choose to watch their neighbors starve, when they fund masked agents to terrorize communities while slashing food assistance, this isn't leadership. This is corruption masquerading as governance. Ceauşescu did it. Now Trump is doing it. Sending social media messages from his golden toilet while we the people go hungry.
They want us to be too hungry, too tired, too scared to fight back. They want us watching marble-bathroom reveals while we worry about our own children's empty stomachs.
We won't give them that satisfaction.
Every community that's ever survived oppression has known this truth: We have to take care of our beloved communities. You share what you have. You build networks of care that the powerful can't dismantle because they're not built on their permission.
Start a community fridge in your neighborhood, like many of us did during the pandemic. Organize a weekly soup kitchen. Form a food co-op. Create a network of families who share meals and resources. This is how we survive, this is how we resist.
And then, fed and strong, we organize politically. We vote out every representative who voted to starve their constituents to feed the rich. We primary the ones who won't fight. We run our own people, people who remember what it's like to be hungry, to watch your sister fight for bread, to rely on a grandparent's walnut tree.
Trump wants us to watch him build monuments to himself. Fine. We're watching. And we're remembering. Every marble tile laid while children went hungry. Every gold fixture installed while families lost food assistance. Every historic symbol of American’s greatness lying in rubble while more Americans lost access to healthcare.
But we're not just watching. We need to be building too. Building the mutual aid networks, the political power, the community resilience that will outlast any administration's cruelty.
The walnut tree that saved my life didn't ask permission to grow. Neither will we.