It opened with glissandi, repeated sweeps of fingers across
Keys, but like waves seen from a distance, making their way
Along the shore, the machine guns that ripped through the village
Can no longer be heard. Even the church bell lies on the floor of the
Sanctuary, tongue melted to the cheek of its mouth like the fingers
Of Thomas pressing the holes in Christ’s side in order to
Believe. Batter-batter, batter-batter, we’d all start to chatter
When someone on the other team got up to bat. The deep red dye
Made from wild madder, when eaten, turned the bones
Of animals red, the claws and beaks of birds, too, and cloth dyed
With madder was used to wrap Egyptian mummies. By candlelight
We now confront a second Trump presidency.
There’s not a moment to lose. We must harness our fears, our grief, and yes, our anger, to resist the dangerous policies Donald Trump will unleash on our country. We rededicate ourselves to our role as journalists and writers of principle and conscience.
Today, we also steel ourselves for the fight ahead. It will demand a fearless spirit, an informed mind, wise analysis, and humane resistance. We face the enactment of Project 2025, a far-right supreme court, political authoritarianism, increasing inequality and record homelessness, a looming climate crisis, and conflicts abroad. The Nation will expose and propose, nurture investigative reporting, and stand together as a community to keep hope and possibility alive. The Nation’s work will continue—as it has in good and not-so-good times—to develop alternative ideas and visions, to deepen our mission of truth-telling and deep reporting, and to further solidarity in a nation divided.
Armed with a remarkable 160 years of bold, independent journalism, our mandate today remains the same as when abolitionists first founded The Nation—to uphold the principles of democracy and freedom, serve as a beacon through the darkest days of resistance, and to envision and struggle for a brighter future.
The day is dark, the forces arrayed are tenacious, but as the late Nation editorial board member Toni Morrison wrote “No! This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.”
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Onwards,
Katrina vanden Heuvel
Editorial Director and Publisher, The Nation
In the Villa des Brillants, Rodin loved in the evenings to linger
With his fragments of ancient statues—hands, heads, fingers,
Arms, and feet—because they held some trace of a former
Life. He cast small nude female bodies in white clay and placed them
In antique terracotta pots: we still watch them struggle to climb out
Of the past. Before they were taken out to be executed, the women held
In Ravensbrück put on lipstick, pinched their cheeks, and arranged
Each other’s hair. The women and children of Oradour-sur-Glane
Tried to escape from the village church after the soldiers shut
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The doors, set fire to the building, and began to shoot. Only one
Woman escaped, broke glass and climbed out of the window behind
And above the altar, the stone altar now pitted by the rounded heads
Of bullets, niches into which you can place the tip of your forefinger as if
You were waiting at a counter, in quiet light, about to be fingerprinted.
Angie Estes