Wage peace

In the face of tyranny, we don’t retreat—we wage peace.

A few weeks ago, I found myself in Austin, Texas, with nothing but time. That’s unusual for me. I cram work trips with meetings and Zooms and wrangling my inbox. But it was the perfect mix of late winter and early spring. And I was wearing my favorite Ray-Bans that deserve to see the town, so I let myself wander.

I couldn’t remember the last time I walked new ground without a plan. Can you? I passed food trucks sizzling with carnitas. I stopped at each guitarist who found a perch to sing for their supper that night. I admired all the boots and cowboy hats that passed by—wondering how these city slickers acquired them and if they were ever used as Jesus and John Wayne intended. And then wondered again if maybe, just maybe, I could pull them off without being a poser? Decidedly not, I told myself. I kept going. And then something amazing happened.

Bats.

Frickin’ bats.

They filled the night-ish sky. It was that time of day when the moon is just rising and the sun still has the upper hand. A prick might describe it as crepuscular, but I’d just like credit for knowing the word, thank you very much. I turned a corner and found a river, spanned by a bridge.

And the bridge was, much to my childish delight, surrounded with thousands, and I mean thousands, of bats. And boy, were they gonna show you this place was theirs. They swarmed in ribbons that collapsed into waves and made little spirals and weaves.

I knew where I was the moment I saw those bats. Named with good-headed common sense that tells you consultants had nothing to do with the branding, Texans call this “bat bridge.” I had wanted to visit this particular spot for some time. I had been to Austin about a year prior and put visiting it on a lengthy to-do list that inevitably got crowded out by all those blasted meetings and zooms and emails.

I hadn’t planned any of this. I just walked. And wonder found me. All I had to do was mosey.

That’s what democracy requires of us now—not a master plan, but motion.

My friend

Aaron Parnas

sat down with Senator Cory Booker right after his historic 25-hour filibuster. He asked Booker what came next—what to tell people who think a single speech isn’t enough.

Booker’s answer struck me:

“That’s the truth. It is one tactic. It has to be part of a larger strategy—and I daresay a larger movement. But I’m playing catch-up, the Democrats are playing catch-up, because so many people are already out there, lifting their voices, going to rallies. There’s something growing… this is outrageous.”

Then he added:

“All of us have to think about what creative things we can do to be little points of ignition for this movement… Let’s demand more. Let’s demand it of ourselves—to think of the tactics we can do that are different, that can cause some good trouble.”

That’s it. That’s the path.

Far too many are still waiting—for the perfect plan, for the right moment, or for someone else to take the lead. But we can’t wait for one heroic figure.

We need a million people doing small, brave things.

The greatest country in the history of the world is facing one of the most consequential moments in its history. Authoritarianism grinds you down. It wants you to feel small, helpless, and defeated.

But even against the most powerful man in the world and the wealthiest man in the world, we can win—through a million small acts. Seemingly aimless. Surprisingly ordinary. But powerful because they are part of a larger chorus.

So don’t wait. Don’t overthink it. Start small, but start. You don’t know what you’ll stumble into—or what might come alive because you moved.

If we want to protect democracy, we have to practice it. Show up in our communities, talk to our neighbors, play music with our friends, have family over for dinner. Join clubs and socialize. Volunteer for legal aid clinics and bring food to the local shelter.

We must wage peace.

You and I are creatures of hope. We are meant to love. We ought to seek understanding. The world needs us to console those who have been injured. In this age of despair and darkness, we must wage peace.

And when the world is a little overwhelming, just give yourself the space to breathe and step away, with the knowledge that you’re not in this alone. That others will continue to wage peace. And then you’ll come back in so we can rest as well. We’ll be salt and light for one another.

When someone speaks an unkindness, and you turn to the accosted offering a shoulder to cry on, you’re waging peace.

When someone believes a falsehood—because they’ve been lied to by those who profit off misinformation—and you sit with them in patience to surface the truth, you’re waging peace.

When someone’s job has been ripped away by an unceremonious purge of public servants, and you refuse to look away or offer soft condolences, but step in with meals and maybe half a month’s rent, you’re waging peace.

When national media conglomerates buy up your local paper and gut the newsroom, leaving your neighbors in the dark—and you step up to share real community updates—you’re waging peace.

Peace is not passive. It is not, merely, the absence of violence. It is the fruit of active pursuit. Peace mobilizes our better angels in service of healing, justice, and reconciliation.

When you choose dialogue over destruction, you are waging peace. When you choose nonviolence in the moment of provocation, you are waging peace. When you practice temperance in an age of immoderation, you are waging peace. Peace is not some meek or modest sparrow. It is an eagle that refuses to be cowed. It is steady because it has someone from whom to stand.

We must wage peace.

We live in a time of tyrants. Fabled monsters and wicked kings make for heart-racing stories and blood-chilling realities. Their attacks are coordinated, relentless, and brutal. It’s tempting to believe they’re too powerful to overcome—that our efforts are too scattered, too late, too small.

But that is a lie.

The seduction of tyranny is the belief that the underdog isn’t enough. That history is already written. That nothing we do matters.

But history tells a different story.

We win when we stay in the fight. When we overwhelm cruelty with courage. When we overwhelm lies with truth. When we overwhelm hate with hope.

Peace does not—cannot—win at any cost. It can only deliver victory through truth-telling, accountability, and forgiveness. It takes more effort. But it endures. It follows the higher, harder, longer road—but it is the road that lasts.

I believe in the goodness of America and Americans. We’ll wage peace through a million different hands, in a million different ways, with a million different methods. Yes, it will be messy. Yes, it will feel disjointed and scattered.

But democracy is messy. It is disjointed. And still—through a thousand points of light—we can overcome the darkness.

So, what will you do?

Let us not give up the fight.

Let us wage peace.

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Here’s what I’m doing next…

Want to meet up with other Americans fed up with Trump and Musk?

Donald Trump and Elon Musk believe the country belongs to them. On Saturday, April 5th, millions of Americans at thousands of events across the country are meeting up to peacefully demand: “HANDS OFF!”