Today’s Pain Is Real — But So Is Your Power

By LaDawn Sullivan

Let’s go ahead and say the quiet part out loud: the pain is about to get worse. Yep, I said it. Government shutdown hovering over us like a dark cloud, deportations increasing, tariffs rising, racism escalating, and the word “authoritarianism” being thrown around as just another policy trend. Chile, if stress were a stock, we’d all be billionaires by now.

Folks are tired. Motivation’s on E. People scrolling the news like it’s doom-flavored TikTok, whispering, “I just can’t.” And yet, this is when we must.

Because democracy isn’t something we inherit; it’s something we defend, maintain, and renew. It’s messy, exhausting work that requires more than hashtags and hot takes. It needs hands, hearts, and habits. When the system breaks faith with the people, people lose faith in the system. That’s where we are. Many of us are running organizations trying to hold the line and hold our people together, while balancing budgets that never balance and explaining to funders that resilience isn’t a renewable resource.

We can’t fix every crisis at once. But we can refuse to surrender to paralysis. We can name the pain, acknowledge the fear, and still move with purpose. Because we’ve been here before. Our ancestors organized under far worse conditions. They didn’t wait for permission or perfect timing; they built networks, pooled resources, and carried one another through storms and silence.

Here’s what I know for sure: we’re not powerless, just pressured. There’s a difference.

• Start local. Check in with your city councils, school boards, and neighborhood coalitions. National politics may be chaotic, but local action changes lives every day.

• Vote, volunteer, verify. Make sure your people are registered, your elders have rides, and your youth know their rights.

• Invest in Black-led and community-rooted organizations that are already doing the work – because when national systems fail, we are the safety net.

• Find your “we.” None of us can outwork oppression alone. Build your kitchen cabinet, your joy circle, your resistance squad.

• Guard your joy. I mean that. Take walks. Laugh loud. Eat the peach cobbler. Joy is not escapism. It’s rebellion.

At the Black Resilience in Colorado (BRIC) Fund, we see the pain, but we also see the power. We know that when Black nonprofits are resourced, whole communities rise. That’s why we’ll keep funding, training, convening, advocating, and building coalitions—because democracy doesn’t just need voters, it needs visionaries. And y’all, that’s us.

So yes, the pain might get worse. But so will our courage, our organizing, and our collective insistence that we belong to a future worth fighting for. We’ve survived too much to stop now.