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Since November 5, I have been in a place of rage, and fear, and disbelief, that frequently leaves me paralyzed and immobile. I try to work on my novel, I try to continue my acts of resistance, but I am sluggish, unable to picture a future. I have panic attacks and suffer from agoraphobia which were never part of my life before. I even thought of canceling my trip to Denver, but I blushed as I imagined the conversation with conference organizer Lucinda Surber � I can’t leave my house, I can’t leave my dog � and so I came.

I am glad common sense prevailed over fear.

I have met other writers who shared my fears, including Canadians who overcame the very real fear of U.S border agents to attend.  I have learned new perspectives from other writers on how to think and write about justice and truth. Above all, I have found a community of writers committed to speech, and to our Republic.

When we watch World War II movies about the Resistance, or the war itself, we know that the ending will be celebratory: forces for freedom and democracy will triumph.

We don’t know how our movie will end. We are in the opening scenes of a horror story of terrifying proportions. We don’t know if we will defeat the monstrous forces seeking to break our cherished Republic and destroy our sacred Constitution.

But this we do know: we will survive only if we continue to speak, to write, even if, as is often true for me, my legs are trembling and my voice is shaking. Every truth we tell of what it means to be human is a political act, an act of resistance.

Speech is fundamentally political. Who speaks, who is heard, who is silenced � the answer to those questions tells us everything we need to know about a time and place. In our time and place, big media, big corporations, and the government itself, are seeking to silence speech by women, people of color, queer and transgendered people. Every sentence we write is a political act, an act of resistance.

All of the major publishers have issued strong statements of support for writers of all races, all sexual orientations, and we are grateful. However, the FBI has frozen the accounts for Habitat for Humanity and other groups, accusing them of climate terrorism.

We don’t know how the movie will end. We don’t know whether the next reel will bring extreme pressures against the press and against publishing houses. We don’t know what will be asked of us, and that is why we must continue to be in community, and support each other’s voices.

2600 years ago, the poet Sappho wrote:

Although they are only breath,/Words, which I command,/Are immortal

In the intervening 2600 years, empires have risen and fallen. Petty tyrants have strutted and fretted their hour upon the stage. They have committed monstrous acts of cruelty, but they have never silenced the voices of the poets who keep our humanity alive.

We must keep speaking, because in the end, it is our words, our words that are only breath, which will endure.

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