I Still Love America. That's Why I'm Writing This: what I've seen from afar, and why I haven't stopped caring

(photo taken on my trip to NY, May 2022)

The most stunning book I’ve read in a long time is the one I’m reading now: Defying Hitler, a memoir by Sebastian Haffner. He was born in Germany in 1907, and the book—written in 1939 but unpublished until 2000—covers the years from his birth through 1933, just as Hitler came to power.

It traces the rise of Nazism in Germany from the perspective of an ordinary German, offering a rare and immediate eyewitness account. Haffner wasn’t a politician or a historian; he was simply someone who paid attention. And as I read, I can’t help but draw parallels between the rise of fascism in Germany and the political events in the U.S. I find myself checking off boxes. Yes, that’s already happened. Yes, that too. I want to go back and build a timeline, to place the events Haffner describes alongside what has unfolded in the United States over the past decade.

This isn’t a subject I usually write about, but I feel compelled, not just to share my thoughts, but to bear witness to my feelings. Although I've made my home in Mexico, and haven't lived in the U.S. for over twenty years, I still vote. I still care. And I still do what I can from here to support politicians who act in the interest of the common good—for all people, including immigrants, and for the environment.

Haffner, who at one point worked as an apprentice law clerk, writes honestly about how events that were devastating to some of his fellow Germans barely touched his own daily life. Here’s one passage that struck me:

"[Were we] entirely unaffected? Did not some of the surface waves send out vibrations, as evidenced by a new jittery tension, a new intolerance and heated readiness to hate, which began to infect private political discussions, and even more by the unrelenting pressure to think about politics all the time?"

I ask you, reader—do you remember when we didn’t have to hate each other? When families and friends could gather for a barbecue, even during election season, without fear of a political blowup? I remember those days. I miss them.

Reflecting on the mood of 1932, Haffner writes:

“What was no longer to be found was pleasure in life, amiability, fun, understanding, goodwill, generosity, and a sense of humor.”

He and his friends formed a group they jokingly called “clever”—not because they thought themselves smarter than others, but because, as he puts it, they had managed to retain some sense of their individual lives.

Trump, like Hitler, has fostered a political climate driven by fear, cruelty, and division. I find it difficult, some days, to even imagine a better world. The relentless tide of news takes a mental toll. Since he rode down that escalator ten years ago, political headlines have been part of my daily rhythm. Sometimes, I have to take a break. But I dare not look away for long. It is a struggle to maintain any sense of inner life in the face of the vast suffering that one man’s power has unleashed.

Today, the so-called “Alligator Alcatraz” is operational—a remote immigrant detention center located on an airstrip in the Florida Everglades. Reports suggest that around 600 people are being held there under conditions that resemble concentration camps. With no due process, no access to legal counsel, and no formal charges in many cases, detainees face extreme heat, disease, constant fluorescent lighting, and psychological torment. Many will die—not from executions, but from neglect.

I’m writing this because it’s what I can do. There are not many avenues open to me for action, but this one remains: to stay informed, to continue to feel, and to write what I can. To refuse to become cynical or numb.

Haffner writes about what kept him from falling for Nazism:

“What saved me was…my nose. I have a fairly well developed figurative sense of smell, or to put it differently, a sense of the worth…of human, moral political views and attitudes….As for the Nazis, my nose left me with no doubts. It was just tiresome to talk about which of their alleged goals and intentions were still acceptable or even ‘historically justified’ when all of it stank!”

My birthday is this week. I’m turning 63. I’m also in the process of becoming a Mexican citizen. This country has been my home for over twenty years, and I have no intention of leaving. “America—love it or leave it,” used to be the conservative slogan. Well, I have left it. But I still love it. I want it to become strong again—truly strong, the way a country is strong when it protects opportunity, dignity, and diversity. When it draws on the creativity of many cultures to solve the urgent problems we all face as a species. When innovation arises from minds working together.

It was a stunning realization—there’s that word again—to see how close in time my life is to the events Haffner describes. I was born on July 20, 1962, exactly thirty years to the day after the Emergency Decree of July 20, 1932, issued by the president of the German Reich to "restore public safety and order" in Greater Berlin and the Province of Brandenburg. 

That decree:

• Suspended key civil rights, including freedoms of speech, assembly, press, and privacy (letters and telegrams were opened, and phone lines were tapped)
  
  

• Transferred executive power to the Reich Minister of Defense and militarized local police
  
  

• Imposed severe penalties for disobedience—including death
  
  

• Authorized the creation of extraordinary courts outside the normal justice system
  
  

• Took effect immediately

It was one of many steps that allowed the Weimar Republic to slide into dictatorship. It normalized authoritarian control under the guise of security.

Today, in the U.S., ICE agents are authorized to arrest individuals in public spaces—on streets, at workplaces, even in hospitals—without a warrant, as long as they have probable cause (which can be a flimsy one). These agents often wear masks and operate with legal protections under qualified immunity. While not equivalent to the Emergency Decree, these actions reflect a similar erosion of democratic norms, masked as law and order.

In Nazi Germany, the judiciary eventually folded under pressure, which completely paved the way for Hitler to seize total power. By contrast, in the U.S. today, some courts are pushing back. And on No Kings Day, millions gathered to protest authoritarian overreach (some estimates say as many as 12 million), showing that many are still willing to speak out. We must keep the pressure on.

I had always wondered, once I was old enough to understand the outlines of world history, what I would have done if I had lived in Germany in the 1930s. Would I have spoken out against the atrocities? Looked the other way? Been swept up in the tide of ideology? Or, like Sebastian Haffner, would I have tried to live in the quiet in-between: resisting with the stubborn insistence on keeping the inner self alive and capable of feeling, doing what I can to bear witness, and documenting the small, daily choices that determine who we really are?

I no longer ask that question as a hypothetical. The world we live in now demands an answer, and I do my best to respond with my life, my actions, and my refusal to look away. Because at the heart of it, this is what matters: We are all human. We all want the same things: to live in safety, to raise our children with hope, and to build a better life. Trump’s regime is the opposite of that.

And so I resist, in the ways I can.

I did not vote for Trump, but I don’t feel smug about that. I feel heartbroken for all the suffering he and his regime continue to inflict on other human beings, and on the natural world itself. The scale of harm defies comprehension. And yet, we must try to comprehend it. We must stay present, even when it hurts.

With the regime’s recent refusal to release the Epstein files, something seems to be breaking open, even inside the MAGAverse. People are burning their red hats. Many are starting to feel what some of us have felt for years: disillusionment, betrayal, grief.

If you’re angry, confused, heartbroken—you are not alone.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance to turn this pain into something else. Into unity. Into courage and a deeper kind of patriotism, the kind that doesn’t rely on slogans, but on shared humanity.

Maybe there’s still time to reclaim the best parts of who we are. Maybe there’s still hope.
And maybe, if we act together, there’s still a future worth fighting for.