Blog

July 2, 2026, we marked the 62nd anniversary of the Civil Rights Act — not as a celebration of American principles, but as a reminder that the rhetoric of liberty and freedom has always been selective, conditional, and denied to many of us. While this landmark law had a profound impact, it offered Black people in the United States only partial access to the rights, protections, and full citizenship this country had long promised and violently withheld. 

The Civil Rights Act did not end white supremacy. It did not end misogynoir, poverty, policing, medical violence, voter suppression, wage theft, educational apartheid, or the daily harms Black and Brown women, queer and trans people, disabled people, migrants, workers, and poor communities continue to face. And today, we are bombarded with unrelenting reminders of just how fragile progress can be. 

As a result, a culture of fear has taken hold, producing an intense backlash against any attempt to recognize the harms this country has inflicted on its own people — and on billions around the world whose lives are shaped by U.S. plunder, power, and policy. Across the United States, thousands of organizations are continuing to brace for defunding, surveillance, and political targeting. Workers and organizers have been pressured to soften their language, scale back their demands, and reshape their programs to avoid the reach of a racist and fascist regime. 

The current political reality has affirmed that our institutions are, indeed, prone to self-preservation. And under the current manifestation of racial capitalism, preservation requires the intensification of antagonism and intimidation against marginalized communities. In other words, our most targeted and afflicted communities are being treated as if their safety, dignity, and survival are not worth the risk of institutional discomfort. 

This culture of fascist repression further exacerbates the trend of backsliding by quieting the resistance of dissenters, making it even more likely for institutions to buckle under pressure, and appropriately contort themselves to ensure compliance. Our history teaches us that institutions do not become more equitable through benevolence; they change because people organize, resist, and force them to change — through law, decree, disruption, and collective power. 

It is difficult to see a clear path to reverse the damage already done. But the spirit of the Civil Rights Act is rooted in the courage to confront and combat this repressive administration. And we need all of you in that struggle. 

Now is the time to ask the hard questions: Who is being harmed disproportionately? Who is being surveilled? Who is being denied care? Who is being erased? Who is being forced to choose between survival and silence? Who is being asked to make themselves smaller so institutions can protect themselves? 

We need our institutions and leaders to act beyond the virtue signaling and demonstrate, in material terms, what side they are on. We need more than statements. We need budgets, policies, protections, data, accountability, and consequences. We need leaders willing to defend equity when it is politically costly, not merely when it is fashionable. We need institutions willing to risk comfort, funding, reputation, and proximity to power in defense of the people they claim to serve. We implore you all to defend every right under attack, expand the boundaries of freedom, and remind our institutions that compliance with fascism is not neutral stance — it is betrayal.