Today’s the day none of us thought could happen—but here we are. As we cross the noon hour, Donald Trump, despite being caught (and in many cases convicted) of one crime after another—including staging a violent coup in 2021—has been sworn in as the 47th President of the United States. 

Many of us are taking the day to sign off, turn away, and check out. This is totally understandable. In fact, even some of Trump’s most passionate fans are doing the same—forcing the incoming president to move his inauguration inside to avoid facing record low inaugural turnout despite Washington being surrounded by clear skies, sunshine and seasonal temps right around 30 degrees.

None of us need to hear his address to know what he’s going to say—so missing a day won’t matter that much. But, as you head into this evening, feeling that you’ve sent a message by not watching news coverage, please know that the Executive Orders will have been signed and the very threat we’ve worried about will have arrived in full force.

The 1,461 days are going to be brutal. And, as we all know is possible, the United States may not survive this round. 

But we cannot go quietly and we cannot wait until November of 2028. 

Tomorrow, roll up the sleeves. Turn the news back on. Grow your network. Defend your allies. Fight for your friends. Stay engaged. Be on alert. But do not give up. Never give up. Never surrender to the dying of the light.

In the words of Welsh poet Dylan Thomas:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.