Domestic Terrorism.

There’s a switch in language. A domestic terrorist has a legal definition; it is harder to tack that term onto a person who is obviously not a terrorist. So instead, our government is now saying people are engaging in acts of domestic terrorism. All a person has to do to fall into this group is disagree with what the President says, does, and supports.

Look at Alex Pretti if you don’t believe me.

I am writing for him and all the people who are in the streets of Minneapolis facing the active threat of our federal government.

If somewhere there’s a list of people who engage in domestic terrorism, this is me asking to be put on it.

I want it to be known where I stand. I will not loom in the shadows as these atrocities continue.

I am affected by my government every day, in every choice I make. I have my little rebellions, but there are also ways they force me in line.

Hey, Mr. President, I can’t afford my groceries. If it weren’t for the help of my mother-in-law, my kids would be hungry. You see, my husband makes what most would consider “good money,” but when nearly half goes to taxes, good money doesn’t feel so good. The price of my house keeps increasing, so does everything else. How is anyone above water?

It’s a small rebellion, but I do it when I make my baked goods fresh from home. I don’t buy your junk food with all its weird preservatives. You’re making us sick; this I know.

You want us sick and in need of doctors who prescribe us medicine that introduces more problems, giving us bills we can’t pay. You’re okay with us dying. Dying is expensive. The taxes there are insane.

I keep my kids home with me. I could blame the cost, but what it really boils down to is trust. I can’t trust the burnt out overworked, underpaid employee who could snap; I wouldn’t even blame her. No, I keep my kids home with me and protect their childhood. One place I won’t let the government leak.

My oldest could be in public school kindergarten, but we homeschool. Images of sending her to school to get shot flood my brain. I could never. That sounds dramatic, but in this country it’s a reality we all have to be thinking about.

I was a teacher. I taught my kids to duck in a corner and be quiet. If the shooter is real, we don’t want to attract them with sound.

No, my five-year-old doesn’t know that reality, and for me, that’s important. As she grows, she will learn the truth about our country and its history, its heroes and those forgotten. Was America ever that great?

But as her mother and a former teacher, my rage and fear know no bounds. I read the stories and the reports of what’s happening. Our government is traumatizing our children. Gunmen snatching kids from schools. Parents working together at daycare pickups, telling their littles they are trying to keep their friends safe. I have goosebumps. When do we all stand up and say enough?

I could go on for so much longer. I haven’t even spoken about racism and how it’s a privilege many of us white people didn’t have to care. It wasn’t on our porch until now. That realization makes me sick. I am so sorry to all the blacks and the browns.

Women? They’re slowing pulling us away, taking our seats from the table, until one day our voices won’t make a sound. They’re policing our bodies and concerned with our fertility. All the books I’ve read... alarms ringing. You hear it, right?

In all of this, I only focused on our country, but our interactions abroad only deepen my fears. The powers we want to be in bed with show the grime of our president. There’s no denying it, and the way it’s just happening is sick.

By the way, where are the Epstein files?

Video evidence shows us the truth. Our lived realities know the truth. You feel the truth in your body.

Our government says differently.

What do you think the history books will record?

I’m scared for our children and the future we may leave them if we all don’t stand up and get heard.

I have my rebellions.

I read books, especially the ones the government says I shouldn’t.

I create. Writing poems, stories, and essays like this. I take my experience and place it under the microscope. How it feels matters. My truth, they can’t take this.

I opt out of social media and big news, refusing to ingest and digest the rhetoric they want us to hear. I seek my news from many sources, but I listen to the people who are there and experiencing it firsthand.

I used to turn in and focus only on my own, that was a rebellion in itself.

But I realize my mistake and perhaps I’m one among millions who are ready to exit our caves in the quiet woods and enter the streets with signs of unity because togetherness is what we need.

Let’s not make this about hate; of that, there is plenty. Let’s search out for the people who understand love. That’s what this country needs. The world needs compassion. Treat a human like a human, no matter what.

This shouldn’t feel brave. Speaking out should be safe.

That was a core belief in this country not long ago.

I am acting in domestic terrorism.

Link your arm in mine and let’s stand.