When Hatred Walks Among Us

A Morning That Shook Me to My Core

The Collapse of American Civility—and How We Fight Back

This morning, I went to McDonald’s with my wife. She wanted a breakfast sandwich, and I didn’t think much of it—just a quick trip to grab some food. But what happened there shook me in a way I haven’t felt since February 26, 2002—the day I first stepped foot in the United States.

The line at the drive-thru was long, so I went inside. It was crowded, filled with working-class folks—people like me—grumbling about the wait. It had that usual vibe you get when breakfast is about to switch to lunch, everyone a little impatient but mostly just trying to get on with their day. But underneath that, there was something else in the air—something I didn’t fully recognize until it came spilling out.

As a working-class Latino living in a place with a good mix of Hispanic and white folks, I’ve seen how things can get tense sometimes. Over the years, I’ve heard my fair share of ignorant comments—someone saying something racist or making a pro-Trump remark to stir the pot. But usually, those moments ended the same way: awkward silence. People would give the person a weird look, maybe roll their eyes, and move on. It was clear nobody really agreed or wanted to engage.

But this time, it wasn’t like that.

One guy, loud enough for everyone to hear, said, “I’m tired of this crap. Can’t wait for Trump to fix it.”

The room went quiet for a second, and then it happened. Six or seven people joined in—not just agreeing, but piling on. Some laughed, others nodded or grunted. One guy said, “Yeah, this is not America anymore.” Another muttered something nasty, something directed at the mostly Hispanic staff behind the counter. You could hear the hatred in their voices, see it in their faces. The workers didn’t say anything—they just kept working. But you could see it in their expressions too—the way their faces tightened. It was that kind of practiced look you get when you’ve had to deal with this kind of thing before.

It wasn’t just what they said that hit me. It was the vibe in the room. There was this unspoken energy between them, like they’d all silently agreed to hate the same people. Their faces weren’t just angry—they were full of this kind of loathing that didn’t just want to hurt. It felt like it wanted to erase. And for the first time in my 20-plus years here, I felt like I was watching something crack—like the thin layer of civility holding us together was starting to break.

Fear and Recognition

I’ve seen scary stuff before. I’ve been mugged. Back when I lived in Harlem, I used to see fights break out on my way to school—people getting beaten down right in the street. I worked at a bank once that got robbed by guys claiming to be armed. I know fear when I see it. But this… this was different. This wasn’t about me or my personal safety. It was bigger than that. It was this collective fear—aimed at people like me, people who don’t fit into their narrow idea of what America should look like. And it was terrifying to realize just how close we are to letting this kind of hatred become normal.

As I stood there trying to process what was happening, my mind went to the millions of immigrants in this country who must feel like those workers behind the counter—stuck in silence, knowing that speaking up might make things worse. The way those workers’ faces tightened, the tension in their expressions—it all spoke to something deeper: the constant weight of being seen as “other” in the place you call home.

And as an immigrant myself, even though I’ve got the relative protection of a green card, I felt it too. I know what it’s like to wonder if this country you’ve worked so hard to be part of still has your back. I couldn’t stop thinking about the countless moms and dads, kids and teenagers, who carry that weight every day. People who don’t have the privilege of thinking, “Maybe they won’t come for me.” People who already feel the walls closing in.

It was surreal—like watching the first sparks of a fire you know could burn everything down. I couldn’t help but wonder: Is this how it felt in Germany in the early 1930s, when open contempt turned into public cruelty, and public cruelty became government policy? The danger in that room felt real, and it felt close.

A Nation on the Brink

For decades, we’ve told ourselves that America’s strength is in its diversity. That we’re a melting pot, a place where people from all over the world can come together and chase the American Dream. But that dream is under attack. And if we don’t do something now, we won’t just lose the dream—we’ll lose the soul of this country.

If you think this isn’t your fight, think again. Fascism doesn’t just stop with the most marginalized. It starts with them and works its way to anyone who doesn’t conform. What I saw today wasn’t just a bad moment. It was a sign of something bigger—something dangerous that’s spreading across this country. And it’s not going to go away on its own.

How We Fight Back

If you, like me, believe America is worth fighting for, here’s what you can do:

• Stand with the vulnerable: If you know someone who could become a victim—whether it’s a friend, a neighbor you barely know, or just someone you see in passing—reach out to them. Let them know they’re not alone, that you got their back. I know it might feel small, but it matters. I’ve felt that isolation myself, and while I doubt they’ll come for me first—thanks to my green card—I can only imagine the fear of those who don’t have any protections. A simple word of reassurance can make all the difference. And when—not if—the time comes, be ready to stand by those words.

• Call out hate wherever you see it: Whether it’s online, at work, or in your community, don’t stay silent. Hate grows in silence. Don’t let it take root.

• Educate yourself and others: Learn how fascism rises—not just from history books but in real life. Start by talking to people around you, and if you need a guide, check out my other article: Fighting Fascism: How We Push Back and Win​.

This is a moment of reckoning. The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the path forward is going to take courage, compassion, and action. The dream of an America that’s inclusive and just can still be saved—but only if we refuse to let hate win.

And maybe they’ll come for me eventually, but I’m not going to wait for them to come before I take a stand.

My question is: Will you stand with me?