Action 1Stop Spiraling & Pick Up a Shovel“No, we aren’t moving to Canada.” I found myself saying these words in exasperation to a friend who had asked me to lunch out of “concern,” given my line of work. The previous weekend, Elon Musk, at the time allied with the president, had tweeted about a court order that our team had won. Unrelenting and escalating online attacks had followed the tweet.
This particular case, as with all our cases, had been filed quickly and out of necessity. Shortly after the inauguration, a White House memo announced that by 5p.m. the next day the administration would order all government agencies to freeze federal funds to services and programs across the nation. This included meal programs for senior citizens, childcare for youth, and important cancer trials and research. That same day, reports surfaced that Medicaid portals were being closed, and within hours, we began hearing from people around the country who were scared and confused about what would happen if the president’s order went into effect. Would they be able to access healthcare? Would Meals on Wheels still operate? What about kids who rely upon Head Start? Or community programs in rural areas where there are no other options for assistance?
The White House’s directive threatened red and blue states, big cities and small towns, and everywhere in between, risking the well-being of millions of Americans and likely to fall especially heavily on vulnerable populations. It was deeply unpopular with both those who had voted for the president and those who had not, and it was instilling fear for people’s well-being, and, in some cases, their lives. Congress, again, was slow to act. Congressional Republicans were unwilling to call out the White House publicly so soon after the inauguration, although many felt pressure from constituents who were about to have essential services removed. Many Democrats protested, but they were in the minority, and with Republicans in control of all three branches of government, they had limited options.
And so our team at Democracy Forward did what it has done so many times: We went to court to sue the government. We represented nonprofit organizations, small businesses, and public health professionals—groups with different priorities, but all of which were going to see their members and missions affected by a freeze of funds.
The people in these organizations were not politicians, billionaires, or celebrities. They were ordinary people doing their jobs who put themselves in the spotlight by taking on the administration in a public way, opening themselves up to the tweets and threats from the powerful. But they decided that the cost of not acting, of not going to court, was greater than the cost of challenging the president. They knew that allowing a government to trample on the people it is supposed to serve was too high a price to pay. The lawyers on our team at Democracy Forward who brought the case to court in a matter of hours are humans too. With determination and will—and caffeine—our team filed the lawsuit the next morning, the day the freeze was set to take place. A hearing was set for later in the day.
And we won.
At the time of writing this book, our court order has stayed in place for many months, keeping federal funds available for essential services and programs, protecting people and communities across the nation. It was that win that caught the attention of Musk, the president, and their allies, who took to social media with threats. And it was those threats that led my friend to be so afraid about what might happen next that she suggested that we consider leaving the country.
Her concern is shared by many of us and for good reason. In the months leading up to this book’s publication, the administration has ratcheted up its attacks on our freedom, unleashing brutal ICE raids on our communities and in our schools and sending masked federal agents into the streets of our cities; these agents engage in violence against and even occasionally kill peaceful protesters. There have been relentless efforts to deprive 42 million Americans of supplemental nutritional assistance (SNAP) and to reduce access to health insurance, and countless rash actions by the government that have harmed people by taking away their jobs, discontinuing important community and public programs that threaten their futures. They do not hide their agenda, their targeting and racial profiling of Black and Brown Americans and immigrants, their intent to sow fear in the LGBTQ community by rolling back rights and protections, or their attempts to discredit science and undermine the media.
Fear simmers everywhere. In the city where I raise my young son, the national guard has been deployed, and ICE has been in the street for months. The idea of moving to Canada or another country is not hyperbole but a talk that many people are having with their loved ones. According to a recent Gallup poll, more than 40 percent of young women between the ages of fifteen and forty-four want to move abroad. Beyond this, many of us wake up every day to the constant deluge of social media posts and news, scared about what’s coming next.
Living with the real fear of threat is not distributed equally. Black and Brown people in the United States have long lived in terror of being arrested, killed, or attacked without cause—for simply existing. The threat is now amplified as well as for immigrant communities. With this administration, however, the net of people targeted by the government has been cast more widely, the disregard for the law has grown more blatant, and many more people are feeling afraid. These are unprecedented times. And while where to live is a personal decision for each individual, the vast majority of Americans—hundreds of millions of people in this nation—don’t have the resources to uproot themselves and move to Canada or anywhere else. This is our country and we are not going anywhere. We must find a way out of the panic, demoralizing fear, and negative spiraling.
We must, as my grandparents would have said, dig in. We must pick up a shovel and get to work.
My grandparents were ordinary people without fancy degrees or credentials. They grew up in modest circumstances in tiny towns in Texas during the Great Depression and learned to tend farms, grow and fish for their food, and live simple lives. They carried their lessons into their adult lives. As a kid, I spent time with them; I learned from them and their neighbors.
My mother’s parents lived on a small farm amid the East Texas pines. On many occasions during my visits with them, something unexpected would happen as we were working on the farm, walking in the woods, or helping with the farmhouse. There would be sudden harsh weather, flash floods, or hailstorms sweeping in unannounced, or a backed-up drain or septic tank causing havoc. My cousins, sister, and I would often panic. We’d be worried about seeds we just planted or an outdoor project that might be ruined or slowed due to the weather, and, as we circled around panicking, often my grandparents would come through. One of them would look at us and, with their Texas drawl, say, “Kids, stop fretting and pick up a shovel,” and we’d start working together, digging ourselves out of whatever was happening.
One day, when my grandmother, sister, cousins, and I were walking through the woods, we saw a copperhead snake cross a trail and block our path. As usual, we kids panicked, freezing in our tracks. My grandmother went to get a shovel, came back to the woods, and while we stared at her with confusion, she cut the snake in two, burying its head. She then looked up and said, “When are you going to learn that being scared wasn’t going to do anything. The shovel did.”
My grandparents were not immune to fear, far from it. They knew well the potential impacts on their lives from grave misfortune, but they understood that panicking was not going to get us out of where we were. We had to calm down and get to work.
My grandparents survived the Great Depression and World War II, and while I don’t know for sure what they would say about this moment, I imagine that they’d look anyone who would listen in the eye and say, “It’s time to pick up a shovel.”
It’s time to get to work.
Copyright © 2026 by Skye Perryman. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
