I’m the One Who Should Apologize?
This isn’t about borders, but about what we lose when we stop seeing each other
"I get it. What’s happening in Ukraine is horrible. But honestly? Sometimes it feels like you’re asking Americans to care more about your country than their own."
I stayed quiet. Let him keep going:
"We’re falling apart over here. You know what eggs cost now? People are living in cars. Half the country can’t afford rent or a doctor, and the other half thinks civil war might be a solution. It’s getting worse. And then I open Substack and read one more piece telling me I need to pay attention to Ukraine. To another war. Another government. Another name I can't even pronounce. And it feels like a guilt trip."
That hit hard.
He wasn’t being cruel.
He was just being honest.
I thought so much if I owe an apology to this man.
He could be right.
Writing about Ukraine the way I do might make me part of the problem.
He told me that I could be asking too much.
That by talking about this war, I'm taking something away from your fight.
That Americans have their own suffering to carry, and it's getting heavier every day.
And he was not wrong.
You tell me so often that food costs more. That the rent is crushing. That the divide in your country feels like a chasm now.
One that no vote, no leader, no hope seems able to cross anymore.
You told me you feel like you're living in a broken home.
One where half the family pretends everything’s fine while the other half tries to scream through the walls.
Sometimes someone comes and say:
"I don't have time to worry about a country I can’t find on a map."
And for a moment, I had nothing to say.
Because I know how it feels to have nothing left to give.
And if you're living that right now, just trying to get to next month without losing your home, or skipping a meal so your kid doesn't have to, how can I ask you to care about a war thousands of miles away?
How can I ask you to carry us, when you're already carrying too much?
So yes. Maybe I’m the one who should apologize.
But then I remembered what I actually believe.
And I can’t stay silent, even if it costs me sympathy.
Because I’m not writing just for Ukraine.
I’m writing for the people being crushed.
Everywhere.
By the same machine.
The one that made Trump.
The one that made Putin.
The one that keeps telling you it’s your fault you’re poor.
The one that tells me I don’t exist.
That machine doesn't care where you live. It only cares that you stay tired and divided.
Too ashamed or constrained to fight.
Some of you think what’s happening to Ukraine is far away.
But I’m telling you: it’s your story too.
Same tools. Same targets. Same silence from those who profit.
Trump and Putin are not opposites. They’re not enemies.
They are partners.
Different masks on the same face.
One wants to rewrite your democracy, while the other wants to erase my country.
And both will win if we keep believing our fights aren’t connected.
So no. I won’t stop writing.
Because when I write about missiles hitting homes, I’m also writing about people losing theirs because rent tripled.
When I write about sirens in the night, I’m also writing about fear of being pulled over just for being the wrong color.
When I write about borders being crossed by tanks, I’m also writing about people hunted down for crossing invisible lines without documents.
This isn’t charity. This isn’t distraction.
This is the same war.
And I will not let it be fought in pieces.
Sometimes you may feel you don’t have energy to think about Ukraine. But what if thinking about Ukraine is what reminds you you’re not alone?
What if our survival means your survival, too?
What if saying “this is wrong” here gives you the strength to say it there?
I’m not asking for your pity. I’m not even asking for your time.
I just want you to know that if you’ve ever been afraid to speak up, or too tired to keep going, I’ve been there, too.
And still, I write.
I’m not doing this thinking it will save us.
I’m doing it because disappearing would mean they already won.
So I will not stop.
I will not shut up.
And I will not let you forget that we are in this together, even if some people don’t want to admit it yet.
That’s not patriotism. That’s not idealism.
That’s just the last light I have left.
Please don’t look away.
Not now.
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If you lose, we all lose.
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