Frontline Diaries: What to Do When You Feel Powerless

When the rules change overnight, this is where we begin...

While I’ve never discussed any of the Substack artwork I’ve chosen to accompany these essays, this week is a bit different. I had originally selected a picture of a single flame. But Lord of the Rings fans will recognize this picture from the Return of the King, released in 2003, the third installment in the trilogy. The scene, one of the most powerful in the film, is known as “The Lighting of the Beacons.” It shows a single torch igniting a mountaintop fire, which then sparks another, and another, until a chain of flames blazes across the mountain range. It’s a cinematic reminder that it only takes one spark to ignite a movement. One small act of courage, seen by the right person at the right moment, can ignite something far bigger than itself.

That’s what this moment feels like to me.

In recent months, anyone working in healthcare, academia, education, or institutions tethered to federal funding has felt the ground shift beneath them. Jobs have been cut. Entire programs dismantled. Schools of Public Health and federal workers have been hit especially hard. My friends and colleagues who are immigrants—even those with citizenship—are feeling increasingly exposed. The list of those who suddenly feel their employment, life’s work, or identity threatened is long.

But perhaps the hardest thing for me to witness hasn’t just been the structural upheaval. It’s the fear.

A low-grade, ever-present anxiety is seeping into conversations, inboxes, and daily decisions. People are pulling back—not just from public discourse, but from private conversations. Colleagues worry about how their opinions will be perceived, even in text messages. Friends hesitate before weighing in. Thoughtful leaders are going quiet. People who’ve dedicated their lives to truth, equity, and service are questioning whether it’s still safe—or even useful—to speak up.

So I’ve been sitting with this question: What do we do when we feel powerless?

I don’t pretend to have all the answers. But here’s a truth I keep coming back to: small actions matter. They matter more when the systems we’ve trusted feel unstable. They matter more when the loudest voices are sowing fear and the most courageous ones are being silenced.

If you’ve been feeling anxious or uncertain of what to do next—this is for you. Not because I can fix it, but because I believe we still have more power than we think.

Don’t Let the Moment Change You

Fear doesn’t shrink in silence, it grows.

Brené Brown writes, “You can choose courage or you can choose comfort. But you cannot choose both.” I wish that weren’t the case, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s true. And every time I’ve chosen “comfort” over courage—keeping quiet instead of speaking up—the fear simply becomes heavier.

I’ve also been thinking a lot about another quote a friend sent me back in January. It comes from Cleo Wade’s book Where to Begin,

“There are times when we must speak, not because you are going to change the other person, but because if you don't speak, they have changed you.”

I still think about this line again and again. Because it names the quiet erosion of self that happens when we swallow our truth too many times. Telling your story—your truth—isn’t always about changing someone else’s mind. Sometimes, it’s simply about making sure the moment doesn’t change you.

So if you’re wondering where to begin: begin by speaking. Write it down. Say it out loud. Share your thoughts with someone you trust. Let your words remind you of who you are and what matters to you.

Tell Your Story

Once we’ve found our voice, the next challenge is deciding where—and how—to use it.

That’s where storytelling comes in.

This doesn’t have to mean shouting from a podium or publishing an op-ed. It might mean saying one honest sentence in a staff meeting. It might mean raising your hand when you’d rather stay invisible. It might mean reaching out to a colleague or student who’s scared and letting them know they’re not alone.

Stories create bridges. They remind people they’re not imagining things. They bring shape to what otherwise stays invisible. And in times when trust in institutions is shaky at best, the most powerful tool we have is our own lived experience.

The act of naming what’s happening—to yourself and others—breaks the spell of helplessness. It invites others to do the same. Individuals across the country have begun penning open letters and sharing stories about what they believe and why. These stories don’t just offer catharsis. They build connection. And connection is where collective action begins.

Broaden the Impact

When chatting with a good friend recently about some of the issues most important to me—the threats to public health and medical research—he advised me against attempting to do anything. He told me it was impossible that anyone could make any kind of difference, and the stakes were too high.

He may be right. There may be little single individuals can do. But what is surprising—and what gives me hope—is that even relatively small numbers of individuals can collectively have an enormous impact.

Political scientist Erica Chenoweth has studied what makes nonviolent movements successful. Her research found something remarkable: when just 3.5% of a population actively participates in sustained, nonviolent resistance, it’s enough to drive real, measurable change. Not once in the historical record has a movement reached that threshold and failed.

Think about that for a second. We don’t need half the country. We don’t even need a quarter. We just need 3.5%. In a nation of 330 million, that’s a little over 11 million people. It’s not nothing—but it’s within reach.

Where to Begin

Action doesn’t have to mean organizing rallies or writing op-eds (though if that’s your thing—do it). It can mean showing up to a local meeting, writing a letter to your representative, or supporting public health or charitable organizations under threat. If you’re wondering what to do, here are a few ways to start—tailored to where many of my readers sit in academia or healthcare:

• Join a professional or advocacy organization
  Many, many professional organizations are engaging on behalf of their membership. This is a great place to start. For university faculty, AAUP is another organization to check out. For physicians and public health professionals, organizations like Doctors for America and APHA also offer advocacy opportunities.

• Speak up locally
  Host a teach-in, join faculty governance groups, write op-eds, or coordinate a department-wide discussion.

• Vote
  Especially in local and state elections, where decisions about education, healthcare, and civil rights are often made.

• Use your lane
  Whatever your space, there’s a way your voice and skills can carry weight. You don’t have to do everything. Just begin where you are.

None of these actions may feel big. But the tipping point isn’t about any one person. It’s about enough people doing what they can, consistently and with intention. Because movements don’t always start with a blazing fire. They may start with a single flame.

The Upshot

Even when formal structures are dismantled, the spirit of advocacy lives in the people who carry the mission forward.

This isn’t the end of the story. We’ve seen this before—systems roll back, and people step up. That’s how change has always happened. Not through sweeping, sudden victories, but through steady waves: one story, one room, one coalition at a time.

Even when the scaffolding is torn down, the spirit of advocacy lives on. In you.
In me. In the communities that refuse to give up on each other.

So if you’re asking what you can do—start there. Speak. Connect. Show up. Choose courage, even when it’s uncomfortable. That’s more than enough. This is how it begins.