Last week, I raised my voice in a declaration of care. Today, I follow up—with a deeper vow… and a nod to BTO. E.Z.
“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.”—Maya Angelou
They ask me why I care—
Why I speak on a country not my own.
But when your neighbour’s house is burning,
You don’t ask for ID.
You grab a bucket.
You ring the bell.
You shout: Fire.
Because fire spreads.
And this one—
Isn’t wildfire.
It’s white fire.
Polished. Packaged. Passed as policy.
Suited-up supremacy.
Boardroom bullies with bloodless hands,
Rebranding hate as business.
They call it order. Taking care of business.
I call it history. Echoing.
Rome didn’t fall in a day.
It rotted—
From inside.
Compromise by whisper.
Deals in the dark.
Comfort over truth.
The gates weren’t broken down—
They were opened.
From within.
And now?
Goons snatch people from sidewalks—
Mothers. Students. Peaceful hands holding signs.
Gone.
While the Constitution bleeds out in the background.
This isn’t just America’s story.
It’s ours.
Culture crosses borders.
So does fear.
So does silence.
And silence—
Holds the door.
But so does love.
And I want to hold that door.
Stand in the space between free and falling.
Speak from the sacred center—
Where Gandhi lit a flame.
Where angels hover.
Where politics isn’t dogma—
It’s duty.
To care.
To act.
I remember a story—
The Little Hero of Holland.
A boy saw water rise through cracks—
And didn’t look away.
He pressed his finger to the breach
And held back the flood
With nothing but courage
And his own small body.
I carry that story in my bones.
Because to stop collapse
You must see the cracks—
And not look away
When the water comes in.
And it does.
Not just waves—
But whispers.
Ideas dressed as common sense,
Drenched in fear,
Laced with lies.
Old poison in new bottles.
Bigotry rebranded as “tradition.”
Racism repackaged as “security.”
Cruelty cloaked in “free speech.”
It seeps—
Drop by drop—
Until the soil shifts beneath us.
And if we’re not vigilant,
Those cracks
Will cross our borders too.
So we name it.
We stop it.
We salt the roots before they take hold.
To protect:
Our queer kin,
Our women,
Our Black, Brown, and Indigenous family,
Newcomers crossing oceans
With hope in their hands.
There is wealth in a country shaped by many cultures—
Riches not counted in dollars,
But in dance, dialect, ritual,
In resilience.
I imagine a wall—
Not one that divides,
But one that uplifts.
Because integrity is not polite.
It is brave.
When the flood came,
Mexico sent help—
Not out of duty,
But humanity.
While others cast blame,
She cast lifelines.
And I’ve learned—
The best walls aren’t steel.
They’re built of values.
Of vision.
Of virtue.
So if we must build—
Let it be this:
A wall of empathy.
A wall of courage.
A wall of integrity.
Compassion.
Unity.
They ask why I speak of this.
Why I care about a country not my own.
Because love needs no passport.
Because silence is complicity.
Because justice—true justice—
Requires every voice,
Every heart,
Every neighbor
To show up.
Taking care of business—
And working overtime.
