If you’ve only met me in classes, there’s a good chance you’ve never heard me say more than five or six sentences. I’ve never really been the epitome of academic weaponry in a seminar format, and I’ve become progressively more introverted as I’ve aged. At a ripe 31, I tend to keep to my immediate circle (that is, my wife and dog). However, we are not in normal times, and we cannot afford to act like we are. The point is, that silence ends now.
As someone who studies history at the College and served in the Marine Corps before that, I’m familiar with how fragile democracies can be. I also know what complacency looks like — how easy it is to believe that someone else will fix political problems for you. For years, I assumed the next generation of leadership would arrive when we needed it. That someone, anyone, would see what was coming and stop it.
But no one did. No one is going to. Living in a democracy is not just a matter of being born in one and voting every so often: It’s a daily responsibility — one that we have collectively failed to uphold.
Picture yourself walking back from class, heading to your dorm, when a group of men in plain clothes approach you and tell you to come with them. They may or may not tell you they work for Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), show you a badge, or tell you why they’re taking you. The reality is that you are going.
After the initial panic settles down, you might take a breath and say to yourself: “Okay, this is the United States — surely I’ll get in front of a judge, and my family will find out what happened, or my friends will have seen this and tell someone, and we’ll sort this out. It must be a mistake.”
Maybe it is, or maybe you’re an international student who had your visa revoked without any notice to you or the school. Before you know it, you find yourself on a plane to a hell-on-Earth detention center in El Salvador before anyone can intervene on your behalf. The United States government has already stated that it’s either made an “administrative error” or deemed you a national security threat — maybe even both. Regardless, you’re out of their hands. The Trump regime refuses to rectify mistaken deportations and those in the Justice Department who even so much as admit to making a mistake are swiftly removed.
This scenario should seem significantly less outlandish following the panic last Wednesday — eerily similar incidents are already a reality for an increasing number of students and citizens across the nation. Due process is no longer regarded for those being sent to this foreign black site, and if there’s no due process for one person, there’s none for anybody. All of the evidence in the world doesn’t matter: Once you’re on that plane and off to El Salvador, your life as you knew it is over. The President will laugh with his entourage of sycophants as he talks about sending more U.S. citizens to keep you company.
As all of this has unfolded over the past few months, a startling number of people, even here at the College, have just, well, shrugged. I can empathize with people who feel helpless, but I have no love lost for those who don’t care. You might hear things like “it’s only four years,” or “there’s nothing we can do about it.”
This is demonstrably untrue, and it’s that kind of gutless apathy among 90 million voters that thought it was acceptable to sit out the 2024 election that put us in this position to begin with. Historic institutions and crucial welfare programs are being dismantled far quicker than lawsuits can be adjudicated. Judges, on the cases that are reviewed, lack any method of enforcement against an executive branch gone rogue.
As for the military, I — as someone who spent five years on active duty, for what that perspective is worth — seriously doubt any willingness to enact brutal suppression on behalf of the commander in chief. However, the armed forces won’t be initiating any revolution, either. Military leadership, for better or worse, is insulated from politics and unlikely to attempt mobilization in one direction or the other.
This has never happened before in U.S. history, a phrase I’m sure we’ve all become reluctantly familiar with. As institutions crumble in real time, as an openly dictatorial president consolidates power to the thunderous applause of a sycophantic judiciary and legislature, and as even the most basic opposition folds at the first sign of pressure, I’ve arrived at a conclusion that many of us are struggling to avoid: The cavalry isn’t coming.
We are witnessing the deliberate destruction of democracy, and those with the power to stop it have not just failed us; they’ve chosen the wrong side. Congressional Democrats have proven themselves either too inept or too cowardly to act in their constituents’ interests.
Those who could have stalled, mitigated, or resisted, haven’t. Decorated, lifelong civil servants are resigning, rather than fighting glaringly illegal overreach. Protests, once a vital peaceful mechanism for change, are being undermined by those in power.
Even private companies, law firms, and institutions that are not legally required to abide by executive orders are bending the knee at an alarming and embarrassing pace. Some private colleges, such as Columbia and Dartmouth, are quickly submitting to threats and oversight from the regime while others, such as Wesleyan University, have dug in. So-called “leaders” are falling over themselves to obey in advance, choosing short-term comfort and conflict-aversion over their responsibility to resist.
The purple bubble’s isolation may often insulate us from unwanted interference, but we cannot dismiss the fact that international students are already being taken away by ICE at other schools, with no prior notice to the institution and no due process. If it weren’t so horrifying, it would almost be funny that a Yale professor who studies fascism has fled to Canada.
We cannot make the mistake of thinking that authoritarianism is something you simply wake up to one day. The College cannot just change the names of initiatives and acquiesce to bully tactics from the regime, hoping to wait it out. The College cannot count on running out the clock against a dictator who has said, verbatim, that he is not joking about remaining in office beyond Constitutional limits. Appeasement and cowardice will not suffice if the College values its continued existence.
So what am I asking the College to do?
Our community must stop being stuck on the defensive against Trump’s aggressive, strategic, and well-funded right-wing movement. The modern conservative project has spent decades capturing institutions in the judiciary, media, legislation, and now, higher education through long-term planning. No longer can we continue to be part of a perpetually reactionary form of liberal ideology. It’s time to be proactive in implementing a peaceful solution before a collision course with the fourth box of liberty becomes inevitable.
Working groups that develop strategies and marshal resources to support noncitizens within our community are great. Supporting an amicus brief, I fear, is an outdated approach, particularly when the Trump regime has demonstrated a willingness to ignore the highest judicial authority we have. It’s already a bit beyond the pale that we continue to hold classes, continuing life as normal — not only as students, but as people living in the U.S — while men in masks abduct people off of the street and send them to foreign prisons without due process. Why not arrange for buses to take students to the next protest in Boston or New York?
Let this be the moment the College chooses to lead rather than become another name on the list of formerly great institutions. Let alumni, donors, and faculty — especially those in political science, history, and public policy — come together to develop a counter strategy to the right’s institutional takeover.
The College should begin investing in long-term civic empowerment. That means proactively guiding students into public service, economic policy, and institutional influence — not just consulting and finance. Let’s establish formal pipelines into government internships, fellowships, and political organizing, especially for students who might not otherwise consider them. Let’s rethink what it means to “lead” after graduation, and start treating public accountability as a form of success rather than a detour.
If you’re a student at the College wondering what you can do right now, the answer is anything. President Mandel spoke recently about building appreciation for higher education; you can do that by enacting the necessary change. Join or start organizations that advocate for causes you believe in. Write or record for national publications. Show up to town halls and local government meetings. Volunteer your time to grassroots efforts or voter registration drives. Begin researching and working on real solutions to improving our collective quality of life. The College equips us with the tools to think critically and speak confidently — don’t let that privilege go to waste.
Let’s cultivate a generation of leaders prepared not only to repair what’s been broken but to erect safeguards so it never happens again. The next generation has much more power than you think.
Lastly, the College has a duty to protect its students. As to what that might look like in practice, I’m not qualified to answer. Last week’s false alarm regarding ICE proved that the Williams community is willing and able to look out for each other; the College should make doing so as easy and accessible as possible.
None of us can afford to think that we are untouchable. No one is coming to save us.
It’s time to act.
Joe Picard ’25 is a history major from Haverhill, Mass.
