The Great American Unraveling

Technofascism and the death rattle of democracy.

Renee Good and Alex Pretti. Image via insidernj.com

This is not a political newsletter.

But when ICE murders two people in three weeks, it’s impossible to think about anything else: American democracy is coming undone.

In the first few weeks of 2026, the United States military abducted Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro and his wife, Donald Trump threatened to take Greenland the easy way or the hard way, and ICE continued to occupy cities across the country, their brutality culminating in the killing of Renee Good and Alex Pretti in Minneapolis.

Meanwhile, late stage capitalism has made manifest a world in which you can bet on it all while rotting in bed.

Add to this the mass surveillance we’ve all accepted in the name of convenience and suddenly it appears we’re living in a technofascist state.

I keep asking myself the same question: how will I know when it’s time to leave?

I like to imagine I’ll feel it in my chest, something passed down from one displaced generation to the next.

But my ancestors didn’t know. They stayed too long. Centuries on the same land grew roots strong and deep. By the time they came loose, it was too late. My family had to run, leaving everything behind.

My roots are shallow but spread out, something more like a desert plant.

I can’t help but wonder — was it my father’s childhood uprooting that made it easier for him to leave India for the United States?

My mother used to have a recurring nightmare where futuristic tanks rolled down our street during some kind of military occupation. When Tesla came out with the Cybertruck, she was floored.

“That’s the tank from my dream,” she said.

* * *

I’m still in New Jersey, in the house I grew up in, where I’m getting ready to sell it after the unexpected death of my mom. I’m also making a film about the whole process — a lyrical hybrid documentary on grief, loss, and the meaning of home — as part of the 50 NonDē Films for 2026 Project.

The spine of the film is me clearing out the house and selling it, and through it I’ll weave my ancestors’ parallel stories of exile. The sale of the house was supposed to function as a metaphor for displacement, but with everything happening in the U.S. right now, it may actually become more than that.

My parents are gone. Soon the house will be gone. If there was ever a time to leave, this feels like it.

I always like to say I come from a long line of flee-ers on both sides. Maybe my part of the story is fleeing my own country of birth.

I don’t want to leave. I want to live in a country that values human life, and I have so much respect for everyone in Minneapolis protesting in subzero weather right now.

But I fear the window to stay and resist is closing.

If I do go, I want to leave on my own terms, with a plan. I want to go before the flights are grounded and the borders are closed.

The hard part is figuring out exactly when that’s going to be.

Until next time,

Tara