Trump didn’t speak to the public to calm fears. He didn’t promise an investigation and accountability. He didn’t hold a single moment of silence for another life lost or take one breath to promise it won’t happen again. Instead, he hosted a black-tie gala for Melania’s new documentary, a private screening for their billionaire friends, corporate donors, and the political elite inside the People’s House, using taxpayer resources to celebrate themselves while the country burned.

The event took place in the East Room and drew about seventy handpicked guests, including Queen Rania of Jordan, Apple CEO Tim Cook, Amazon CEO Andy Jassy, Zoom CEO Eric Yuan, New York Stock Exchange CEO Lynn Martin, AMD CEO Lisa Su, Amazon Studios chief Mike Hopkins, Mike Tyson, and self-help mogul Tony Robbins.

It came with branded popcorn boxes in black and white, take-home cookies with Melania’s name stamped across them like wedding favors, and collectible screening tickets for attendees to cherish. Photos from inside showed luxury chocolates arranged like a designer showroom, a black-and-white candy bar built for Instagram, and tuxedoed men holding up glossy boxes labeled MELANIA like they were at the Oscars. In one image, the camera pulled back to reveal the full theater setup: Melania standing at a podium under a crystal chandelier, dwarfed by a massive screen bearing only her name, while a sea of elites watched in silence. The White House was turned into a palace of self-worship, and while they toasted themselves, a man was dead, a state was under siege, and the rest of us were being told to deny what we just saw with our own eyes and believe their fantasy version instead.

This wasn’t just a party. It was a message. They are showing us exactly who they are and how little they care about what’s happening to the rest of us and our country. Trump and his enablers do not care about America or the people they were elected to serve. People are being hunted in the streets. Parents are hiding their children. Nurses are being killed in front of donut shops. And what do they do? They throw a tone-deaf, black-tie event at the People’s House. They hand out popcorn and take pictures like everything is normal and good. Like, this is some kind of golden age. It’s intentional. They are creating chaos and then rubbing our faces in it. They want us to feel like nothing we say or do matters and that no one can or will stop them. And that’s why they go so hard with the distractions. Because if we stop for even a second and really look at what’s happening, it all unravels, and they lose control.

Because the chaos isn’t just meant to distract us, it’s meant to divide us. They want us to hate each other. That’s the whole strategy. That’s how this works. Trump and his enablers don’t just rule with force; they rule by convincing people that the real enemy is their neighbor. They want white people to fear brown people, and brown people to fear Black people. They want men to resent women, and women to distrust men. They want immigrants to feel unwelcome and Americans to feel invaded. They want LGBTQIA+ people pushed out of public life, and they want parents afraid to speak up. They need us divided, suspicious, and cut off from each other, because connection is the one thing they can’t control. They know that if we see each other as human, if we start talking and planning and reaching out instead of looking away, we win. And they lose everything. That’s why the cruelty keeps escalating, and the propaganda is nonstop. That’s why your news feed feels like whiplash every single day. Because if they can make you believe that you’re alone, that no one will help, and that everyone is out to get you, then they don’t even need to convince you to support them. They just need you to believe that they are the only ones who can protect you. The only ones with the answers. The only ones who can make you feel safe. Even if they’re the ones you should be afraid of.

In the middle of everything that’s happening, I keep finding myself pulled back to my time in Europe. Trying to make sense of what happened 80+ years ago, while watching something terrifyingly similar take shape right in front of us now, and trying to make sense of this as well.

And today took me back to a moment on a winding road in Austria. We had The Sound of Music playing, just as the hills were starting to flatten, and Edelweiss came on. Back then, I thought it was a traditional Austrian folk song. It sounded like something passed down for generations. I learned later that it was written for the 1959 Broadway musical first and then used in the film in 1965, and that it was placed there on purpose, in that exact moment in the story, when everything was slipping away, and the question of who you serve and what you love is no longer theoretical. And it makes sense that Rodgers and Hammerstein were both progressive Jewish Americans who wrote it as a warning, knowing how fast fascism spreads and how easily people forget what’s at stake.

I’ve had Edelweiss in my head ever since, and it’s been comforting with the weight of everything happening here. I sat down and thought about it, word by word, line by line, and the whole song gave me such clarity. Every part holds something hopeful and heartbreaking. And I think the message behind it might feel even more relevant today than it has in decades.

“Edelweiss, edelweiss.” The edelweiss flower grows high in the Alps. It’s small, rare, and hard to reach. It stands for endurance, loyalty, and love of your homeland. Starting the song by repeating its name feels like a quiet prayer. It centers something fragile, but strong enough to last.

“Every morning you greet me.” This line is about constancy. The flower is still there each day, even as everything else changes. Even as Austria is being swallowed up by Nazi rule. It’s a line that offers comfort, something steady, something familiar, something unchanged when the rest of the world feels like it’s falling apart.

“Small and white, clean and bright.” This line speaks to innocence and moral clarity, not racial purity. The flower represents something untouched by the hate and power of the Nazi regime. In the movie, it stands out against the backdrop of red swastika banners. It’s gentle. And it’s honest.

“You look happy to meet me”. This is about recognition. The homeland still sees its people, even if the regime doesn’t. There’s a quiet reminder here that the love between a place and its people came before fascism and can outlast it.

“Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow.” Snow blossoms don’t thrive easily. This is a wish for survival, even in brutal conditions. A quiet kind of hope that something good can still grow, even when the world is cold and hostile.

“Bloom and grow forever”. This is the emotional heart of the song. It isn’t about conquering or winning. It’s about lasting. It’s about staying rooted through time, no matter what. That matters.

“Edelweiss, edelweiss”. Saying it again here turns it into a kind of vow. A promise. A gentle act of devotion that refuses to be shaken.

“Bless my homeland forever.” And that’s where the whole song shifts into something bigger. That line isn’t about loyalty to a flag or a government. It’s about the people. The land. The memory of what a place could be before authoritarianism took over. In the film, this moment happens in front of Nazi officers. Von Trapp’s voice breaks when he sings it. The rest of the audience joins him. The Nazis don’t. That moment, that silence from them was the whole point. It was cultural resistance without confrontation. It was saying, I love my country enough not to follow you.

Edelweiss wasn’t just written to be pretty; it was written to help people remember. To humanize resistance. To protect cultural memory before it could be erased. It says you can love where you’re from and still refuse to go along with what’s being done in its name. It reminds us that resistance doesn’t always start with shouting. Sometimes it starts with a song. And that’s the warning too, if you wait until the moment feels obvious or loud, you waited too long. Sometimes, by the time resistance is allowed to get loud, it’s already too late.

But it’s not too late for us, like it was for so many people during World War II. We can still stop this. We still have time. And maybe we need a song to remind us of that. Maybe the message from more than seventy years ago is reaching us now because this is when we need it most. What if Edelweiss becomes our anthem? As a memory and as a reminder that others came before us, faced the same rising threats, and never lost hope for better days. What if we let it remind us that we do not have to let this get as far as it did then?

And I’m not just finding comfort in this heavy moment from this song. I’m also finding comfort knowing so many people are finally saying this is too much and needs to end. Two of our former presidents, Bill Clinton and Barack Obama, released statements condemning what happened in Minneapolis and calling for action. This matters because democratic norms are not just rules on paper; they live or die by whether people with influence are willing to call out abuse of power when they see it, especially when silence would be easier and safer. When leaders speak up, it gives others cover to do the same, and it makes it harder to dismiss truth with excuses or deflection. It sets off a chain reaction of courage.

Bill Clinton’s statement began by saying, “Over the course of a lifetime, we face only a few moments where the decisions we make and the actions we take will shape our history for years to come. This is one of them.”

And Barack Obama’s words were even clearer: “The killing of Alex Pretti is a heartbreaking tragedy. It should also be a wake-up call to every American, regardless of party, that many of our core values as a nation are increasingly under assault.”

These former presidents didn’t just issue condolences; they challenged all of us to recognize what’s at stake and to act. Their statements echo a growing chorus of voices refusing to look away, refusing to normalize violence and injustice under the guise of authority.

Mariska Hargitay wrote in bold, stark lettering: “WHAT DIVIDES US NOW IS NOT OUR POLITICAL VIEWS, BUT OUR ETHICAL BELIEFS.” And that’s exactly it. This moment isn’t red or blue. It’s right and wrong.

Edward Norton spoke during a Sundance panel, sitting beside Olivia Wilde and Seth Rogen, and didn’t hold back. “These days it’s: ‘What are we gonna do about mass Gestapo shooting American citizens?’” he said. “We are sitting here talking about movies while an illegal army is being mounted against US citizens.” That’s clarity and calling this what it is.

Natalie Portman too spoke out at Sundance and named every part of it. “What’s going on in our country right now is absolutely horrific,” she said. “With the federal government. Trump’s government. Kristi Noem. ICE. What they’re doing is really the worst of the worst of humanity.”

Lisa Rinna posted, “ICE does not belong in our communities,” and added, “Because they’re coming for us next. This is just the beginning.” And she’s right. People who once stayed out of politics are starting to realize this isn’t just about immigration or policy. It’s about authoritarianism. It’s about human rights. It’s about whether we let fear and lies turn neighbor against neighbor until there’s nothing left but violence and grief.

The growing voice of people finally taking a stand leads to our next steps. We have to start thinking like those who have taken over our government. We must think beyond our normal rhythms and habits and do whatever it takes (non-violently) to force change. This is our country, the people’s country, not the playground of the elite who are enabling a madman. They want us exhausted. They want us divided. But we don’t have to play their game.

We don’t have to be loud to be powerful, and we don’t have to be perfect to be effective. We don’t have to agree on every single detail to move in the same direction. We can layer acts of resistance together. We can protest in the streets. We can speak the truth. We can take care of each other, share resources, document what’s happening, and refuse to comply with cruelty. Every act of defiance matters.

Because that’s the only way we win. By doing the exact opposite of what they want. They are trying to fracture us, to make us see each other as enemies, as threats, as less than human. That’s how authoritarians win. That’s how they erase entire groups, pit neighbor against neighbor, and make people believe they’re alone. But we are not alone. And we cannot let them dehumanize us or each other.

We must come together across every line they want to use to divide us. Race, class, religion, gender, immigration status, disability, political affiliation, none of that can be used to turn us against each other now. We must move together, stand together, and be there for one another with the full force of our shared humanity. Because solidarity isn’t soft. It’s power. And it terrifies them. But I know we are strong enough to choose each other anyway. Strong enough to hold the line and to eventually build something better, together. That’s why I still have hope for America. And I hope you do too.