It always starts quietly. A subpoena. A cease and desist letter. An arrest on technical grounds. The regime insists it’s just “following procedure.” But the reality is clear: the legal system is being weaponized to suppress dissent. This is not new. From abolitionists to anti-colonial organizers, the law has long been used to punish those who disrupt the status quo. But now, it’s accelerating—and increasingly public. In just the past few weeks: The DOJ is investigating ActBlue , the nation’s leading progressive fundraising platform. The FTC is targeting Media Matters , a group known for scrutinizing right-wing media. DHS has been pressuring Harvard  amid political protest fallout. The Executive Office has turned its sights on law firms aligned with Democrats . A sitting Democratic lawmaker has been indicted by a U.S. Attorney . A liberal activist has been arrested under questionable pretense . Foreign students have had their legal status revoked , reportedly in connection to protest activity. This isn’t governance. It’s message-sending. These actions don’t just punish individuals—they warn the rest of us. Organize, and you’ll be audited. Speak, and you’ll be charged. Align with the wrong cause, and you may be erased. But this is also a moment for clarity. Authoritarianism thrives on confusion and fatigue. The antidote is visibility, shared language, and collective readiness. That’s why we’ve created a concise Action Guide —not as legal advice, but as a field manual for bearing witness, building response , and staying upright  when the law is used to knock you off balance. It outlines how to name repression for what it is, build support networks, defend public narrative, and protect your emotional bandwidth while continuing to organize. The goal of legal repression is to isolate and demoralize. Our response must be to connect, communicate, and endure. Read the guide. Share it with your circles. And remember—when fear is the point, courage is the answer. [Read the Action Guide →]

Five days into Malta—a small island that wasn’t on my bucket list, hadn’t been romanticized in my mind, and came without grand expectations. I was more interested in the tax code than the culture. And yet, I felt something here that has become rare of late, a sense of ease. A sense of being welcome. A sense of belonging. It’s a quiet thing, hard to describe but unmistakable. The woman at the bakery who greets me like a neighbor. The stranger at the bus stop who offers help without suspicion. The absence of the low-level wariness that colors so much of daily life back home. These are small gestures, yes—but they carry moral weight. They whisper a truth I hadn’t realized I missed: this is what it feels like to live among people who still know how to be people. In America, we’re told we’re free, but too often we feel unmoored—atomized in a landscape of privatized interactions and polite avoidance. Our culture rewards independence and self-reliance, but it increasingly resembles a kind of social loneliness, dressed up as empowerment. The coffee shop barista smiles because it’s protocol. The self-checkout kiosk never forgets to upsell. There is warmth, but it’s branded. There is connection, but it’s conditional. The American experience prizes individual liberty—but what if that liberty has come at the cost of a shared public life? What if, in our pursuit of autonomy, we’ve lost something quieter but no less vital: the daily rhythms of trust, ease, and mutual recognition? In Malta, I am not a client or a consumer—I am a guest. And that distinction matters. It suggests a kind of moral architecture that still holds: one built not on suspicion or performance, but on the assumption that we are, in fact, in this together. It may sound romantic. But if anything, it’s a critique. It shows what we’ve normalized in the U.S.—a society where suspicion feels safer than generosity, where efficiency trumps hospitality, and where belonging is too often something you pay for. I don’t want to make Malta a symbol or an ideal. It’s just a place. But the fact that it felt so different, so instantly human, should give us pause. It should make us ask what kind of culture we want to live in—and what we’re willing to trade in order to feel less alone.

After two days in Malta—a sun-bleached outcrop in the middle of the Mediterranean—I’ve come to a conclusion as plain as the local bread and as bitter as the espresso: I feel more welcome here among strangers than I do back home among my own tribe. There is a peculiar kind of warmth here. Not the saccharine, scripted kind dispensed at American retail counters by people who know the boss is listening, but a natural, unstudied ease. The woman who hands me my pastizzi seems to actually want me to enjoy it. The teenager who helped me to decipher the bus schedule didn’t glance nervously to see if I’m armed. The greetings are not obligations; they are customs born of a society not yet fully atomized. Compare this to the land of the free, where one is technically surrounded by fellow citizens, but feels adrift in a fog of mutual suspicion. Neighbors avoid eye contact, cities become mazes of self-checkout kiosks and privatized sadness, and human connection is relegated to app-based approximations. America, for all its swaggering wealth and rhetorical freedom, increasingly feels like a fortress of solitary confinement cells. One begins to suspect that our condition is not just political or economic, but existential. We are estranged not just from each other, but from the very idea of a shared public life. We are ruled by what Mencken might call “the iron whimsy of individualism run amok.” Everyone is sovereign, everyone is a brand, everyone is an influencer, and everyone is alone. In Malta, I am no one’s client. I am a guest. And that, perhaps, is the distinction that makes the ache of return so acute. Let the technocrats automate connection. Let the demagogues offer tribal belonging with a heaping dish of bile. I’ll take instead the nod from the baker, the wave from the man on the scooter, the brief illusion—no, the real sensation—of being among people who still know how to be people

In Derrick Bell’s haunting allegory  The Space Traders , America is offered untold riches, clean energy, and the promise of a renewed golden age—in exchange for handing over all its Black citizens to an alien civilization. The shocking part of the story isn’t the offer—it’s how quickly the American public, the media, and the government rationalize it as a necessary sacrifice for the nation’s future. Bell’s critique lands hard: when progress is on the table, justice is often what gets bargained away. That story has never felt more relevant than now, as we watch Elon Musk’s  Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE)  advance a proposal to "retool" the entire federal workforce using AI. On paper, it’s pitched as efficiency: smarter government, leaner systems, fewer errors. But the real numbers tell a darker story:  285,000 federal workers displaced , vital public programs gutted or turned into automated shells, and countless lives—particularly among the most vulnerable—left at greater risk. Bill Gates recently cut to the core of it:  “ The picture of the world’s richest man killing the world’s poorest children is not a pretty one .”  The gutting of food programs, medical access, housing support, and tribal and rural services isn’t hypothetical—it’s already begun. Like Bell’s Space Traders, DOGE offers a gleaming future built on a cruel tradeoff. It seduces the public with the promise of AI-run efficiency while ignoring the very real  human infrastructure  that keeps society alive: teachers, health workers, data analysts, grant managers, community program staff. People, not code, are still the soul of public service. What makes the Space Traders allegory so chilling is its quiet inevitability. It asks: what are we willing to trade for the illusion of progress? Who gets erased so that others can believe in the fantasy of a perfect, technological tomorrow? In our fight to resist authoritarianism, we must also resist the dehumanization disguised as innovation. Because the future we’re being sold isn’t just a vision—it’s a transaction. A transaction where the people least equipped to pay - will pay the most. P.S. “Space Traders”  is one of his most well-known works of critical race theory fiction , blending science fiction with legal and social commentary. Now you know why they hate it - it makes people think about injustice.

No Act Too Small is more than a flyer gallery—it’s a full platform designed to support sustained, strategic activism. At the core of the site are four distinct  hubs , each built to serve a specific need within the movement. Whether you’re organizing, learning, recovering, or showing up for the first time, there’s a space for you here. 🔹 Action Hub The heartbeat of NATS. The Action Hub features a constantly updating collection of  flyers from across the country —protests, teach-ins, mutual aid drives, vigils, and more. You can  filter by date, city, or type of action , making it easy to find what’s happening near you or amplify what matters most. This is where movement energy takes visual form. 🔹 Resource Hub Practical and always growing, the Resource Hub is your go-to for  legal guides, organizing tools, tactical playbooks , and strategic insights. Whether you're running your first meeting or planning a direct action, this hub helps you get smarter, safer, and more effective. 🔹 Safety Hub We take safety seriously—on the street, online, and everywhere in between. The Safety Hub includes guides for  digital security, protest readiness, legal rights , and how to keep your community protected while staying engaged. Stay prepared and know your rights. 🔹 Self-Care Hub Movements can’t last without care. The Self-Care Hub centers  mental health, recovery, and resilience , offering resources for rest, reflection, and community support. From burnout prevention to trauma-informed tips, it’s here to help sustain the people who sustain the work. Each hub is updated regularly, designed with usability in mind, and part of our broader mission: to make grassroots action more accessible, durable, and connected. Explore the hubs. Share them widely. And stay in the fight—on your terms, with the support you need.

No Act Too Small is growing—and not just in numbers, but in depth, functionality, and reach. This past month, we’ve welcomed a wave of new members, each bringing new energy and perspective to the movement. Whether you’re organizing on the ground or following from afar, we’re glad you’re here. We’ve also launched a new Resource Hub —a curated space filled with tools, guides, and reference materials to help you take action, stay informed, and build stronger communities. It’s just the beginning of what we hope will become a deep well of knowledge for organizers of all experience levels. On the tech side, we’ve made important improvements to our flyer sorting and filtering features. Finding events that matter to you—by location, date, or type—is now smoother and more intuitive. And yes, the site itself just feels better: we’ve refreshed the visual design to make everything more clear, more vibrant, and more accessible. Behind the scenes, our automated data flows are working 24/7—adding new protest flyers to the Action Hub every day. This means the map of movement activity you see is always in motion, always growing, and always ready for you to explore. Thanks for staying connected. Every click, every share, every conversation helps us grow this thing into something even stronger. Stay tuned—the Digital Flyer Maker is tantalizingly close.

This will be paywalled for some - apologies in advance - but I have to share it. Stanley's views are starling and impossible to discount. His views that we are pretty far along into authoritarianism and accelerating track with what I am seeing inside the government. What do you think? https://apple.news/AC56awzqlS-K6L5mHlAMnUA

Now is the time to prepare—not with panic, but with purpose. Begin building networks rooted in trust, resilience, and mutual respect. Form cohorts not based on ideological purity, but on shared commitments to core principles: the dignity of people, the rule of law, constitutional norms, and the defense of democracy itself. These are values broad enough to unite across differences, yet strong enough to resist authoritarian drift. Develop alternative channels of communication—spaces where truth can circulate freely, immune to distortion or suppression. Organize with intention: anticipate repression and prepare responses that are grounded, strategic, and nonviolent. If force is used, meet it not with chaos but with coordinated defiance. Create a constant, diverse current of disruption—not for spectacle, but to preserve space for justice, decency, and democratic life to survive and grow. This is not about being all-in on any one political project—it’s about being all-in on freedom, truth, and the future. And always remember, joy is an act of resistance. #Organize #Resist

[If you have a history of trauma or abuse you may find the following material distressing.] Is anyone else feeling that sinking sensation in the pit of their stomach today? I am. An unhinged ideologue is running the economy. Laura Loomer is shaping national security strategy. Musk! If you’re not  feeling anxious, are you even paying attention? But the feeling I’m talking about goes deeper than anxiety. It’s not just fear of bad policy or the next chaotic headline. What I’m feeling—what I think many of us are feeling—is something else entirely. It’s what it feels like to be abused . To know something dangerous is coming, and to be powerless to stop it. I want to share a story. Maybe it will help make sense of this heaviness. I was in third or fourth grade, deep in a Michigan winter. The cold was brutal, the kind that turns your skin raw. I stepped off the school bus and saw my father’s truck pulling into the drive. That was a bad sign. He was a construction worker. If he hadn’t been drinking, he’d have been home earlier. If he had  gone to the bar, he wouldn’t be home for hours. But if he’d been at the union hall doing shots all morning? This is when he’d show up. And that meant danger. My mother—my buffer—wouldn’t be home until later. So I did what I had learned to do. I went behind the garage. I sat in the snow. And I waited. As daylight faded, the cold crept in. My hands hurt. My feet ached. The only thing keeping me company was that old, gnawing sense of dread. I had known, even as a kid, that my family wasn’t okay. Some children grow up surrounded by abuse, addiction, or mental illness and never recognize it for what it is. I did . I saw  it. But seeing it wasn’t a gift. It was a sentence. Time is different when you’re a kid. Everything feels like forever. You don’t think, “I’m eight, only ten years to go.” Ten years is a life sentence  when every day carries the threat of harm. And with that sentence comes the same weight I feel today: the heavy, sickening sense that something terrible is on its way. That it’s already begun. It was well after dark when I heard my mom’s car in the drive. She scolded me, told me I didn’t have the sense to come in from the cold. But I had denied my abuser his moment. That was a victory. It was worth it. That’s what it feels like living under Trump. It’s not politics—it’s abuse. I’ve survived worse. I’ve spent the last 40 years consciously confronting that wreckage. Processing it. Healing. Learning to live anyway. I hate  what is happening. I hate how it makes me feel. But I will live—and I will live well , as I always have. If you have a similar history, and you’re struggling today, I want you to know: You’re not alone. You’ve survived worse. Be gentle with yourself. And come in from the cold. “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Good morning, shipmates. Rough seas ahead. What do we do? We don’t wish the storm away. We don’t wait for calmer waters. We get our bearings. We check the lines, tend to each other, and face the wind. The sea does not care how tired we are. It will do what it does. Our job is to stay steady. In a world like this—where propaganda is sold as truth, where obedience is rewarded more than thoughtfulness—being fully awake is a kind of rebellion. The pressure to conform, to go quiet, to keep your head down—it’s constant. But staying human means saying no to that. It means thinking for yourself, holding fast to your values, and speaking plainly when silence would be easier. They’ll tell you to stay comfortable. To go along. That rocking the boat helps no one. But you weren’t made for still waters. You were made to feel the pull of the current and still steer by your own compass. To be fully alive in times like these is not to be fearless. It is to be alert, grounded, and unwilling to be swept along by the tide. You don’t need to shout. You don’t need to rage. But you do need to hold your course. Storms pass. But who we are in the storm—that’s what matters. So tighten what needs tightening. Say what needs saying. And keep watch. We ride it out, together. #ThoughtForTheDay

The links between flyer thumbnails in the gallery and the event detail are fixed. Social media sharing links are to be added to the event detail tab later today. The built in site search is half functional, which is to say, broken. Once Wix, the hosting platform, indexes a broken link it’s a challenge to eradicate the broken links. Fixing those issues is akin to a cat chasing a laser pointer, lots of focus and intensity spent chasing a quarry that refuses to be captured. The site search feature may have to go away if the issue isn’t resolved today. Next feature in the queue is the Digital Form Maker, a tool for making and syndicating your own flyers. The vision behind #NATS is to act as a hub of information that connects people to protests, events, actions, people, and communities. The flyers (courtesy of the blop.org ) are only the first steps. Other information sources are in the works along with providing users the means to register an event, be it a protest of thousands, or a book club for ten. When it comes to resisting authoritarnism and building inclusive democratic communities, there is litterally no act too small.

Some changes that went into place over the past few days have resulted in broken links. The issue is being worked. Thanks for your patience.