I’ve been sitting with something. Not a headline. Not a protest. Not a tragic news story this time. Just a moment of reflection that cracked something open in me again—a reminder I can’t ignore.

It’s this: we’re always standing on a precipice.

Every single day, we are given a choice—each of us. We can choose to protect, to listen, to build something better. Or we can choose fear, greed, and indifference. The thing is, most of the people in power—those with generational wealth, corporate reach, and unchecked influence—have already made their choice. And more often than not, it’s self-interest at the cost of everyone else.

But we’re not powerless.

We can still choose each other. We can still decide to prioritize people over profit, connection over division, and collective well-being over individual excess. I know I speak up a lot—sometimes rant, sometimes rage—but it’s because I refuse to go quiet while the world is being swallowed by a handful of people who have more than they could ever need, yet still want more. And they’re willing to destroy the planet, and the people on it, to get it.

And here’s what I can’t stop asking: Why is it that the men calling us to war, to violence, to hatred—why are they never the ones with skin in the game? Why are the ones pulling the levers, issuing the orders, deciding who is “undeserving” of freedom, safety, or dignity—why are they never the ones whose lives are on the line? Why is it always the children of the working class, the vulnerable, the poor, the desperate—those already scraped raw by the weight of the world—who are sent to the frontlines, sacrificed for causes they never chose?

And to what end?

These decisions are made behind gates, shields, walls, guards, conference tables, and press podiums. Meanwhile, those of us on the ground are the ones who bury the dead, feed the displaced, and carry the grief. The cost is ours. The reward is theirs. For what? More land? More oil? More control? How long will we let these power brokers gamble with lives they’ve never once cared to understand?

I recognize—because we must—that there are people in this world who choose to do harm. There are those who commit evil. We cannot pretend that violence, cruelty, or oppression don’t exist. But even in those cases, the answer should not be more dehumanization. Our response must be rooted in justice, not vengeance, humanity, not bloodlust. The moment we become indifferent to suffering, anyone's suffering, we've traded meaning for noise.

This isn’t about politics or perfection. It’s about humanity. It’s about seeing each other as human beings—worthy, complex, flawed, beautiful—and deciding to care anyway.

We live in a time when everything is so easily weaponized: identity, religion, nationality, even language. The powerful exploit these differences, turning them into battlegrounds to distract us from the truth—that we are not each other’s enemies. The real threat is a system designed to keep us disconnected and struggling, while a few benefit from our exhaustion and division.

There is enough. Enough food, enough land, enough resources. What we lack is not supply. What we lack is equity. What we lack is the will—especially among those with the most—to redistribute access and dignity in meaningful ways. One man owning five homes while children go hungry should never be normalized. Luxury should not come at the cost of someone else’s basic survival.

I see it in my own city. I live in Austin, Texas, where the number of unhoused people keeps growing. I drive past tent communities and know that many of these folks aren’t “lazy” or “dangerous” or whatever label makes them easier to ignore. They’re people who slipped through the cracks of an economy designed to catch almost no one. And instead of helping, we vilify them. We criminalize poverty and mental illness. We blame the vulnerable while the ultra-wealthy hide their hoarding behind gates, brands, and “success stories.”

And still—I keep coming back to this: How is it that world leaders, elected officials, military commanders, even self-declared “patriots” can openly proclaim hatred for the very people they govern? How is it acceptable that some of the loudest voices in power can say they hate entire races, entire religions, entire nations—and still be rewarded with votes, airtime, and unchecked influence?

What kind of society not only tolerates but uplifts that kind of sickness?

What does it say about us that we’ve normalized leaders who vow harm against people they’ve never met, never known, never tried to understand? Who stereotype, profile, and dehumanize from pulpits and platforms? How is this good even for the people who support them?

It’s easy to feel hopeless. I get it. I feel it, too. But hopelessness is not the same as powerlessness. And silence is not neutrality—it’s complicity. That’s why I keep speaking up. That’s why I’m writing this now.

Because I still believe in our capacity to choose each other.

I’ve traveled. I’ve walked foreign streets, tasted spices I’d never imagined, listened to languages I couldn’t speak but still felt in my bones. I’ve smelled rain on different soil, seen animals I’d only read about, stood before lakes that made me cry without knowing why. I’ve met people so unlike me, and yet something in their laugh or their music felt like home. And every time, I’ve been reminded—this planet is stunning. Stunning. The colors, the creatures, the mountains and oceans and wild open skies. There is so much worth saving. And we must preserve it. We must.

I believe in the potential of humanity when we move beyond fear and lean into care. That choice might not be innate, but it is possible. And it is urgent.

We don’t need to go to war to protect the wealth of governments or corporations that do not protect us. We don’t need to sacrifice lives for greed dressed up as nationalism. We are not pawns in their pursuit of more.

So here is my ask: Choose better. Choose slower. Choose to notice. Choose the harder, kinder thing. Whether it’s who you vote for, how you spend your money, what you amplify online, or simply how you treat the person next to you—make it count. We are still capable of transformation, but only if we stop waiting for someone else to do it for us.

We don’t need to be perfect. We just need to care enough to try.

And I do.

Always.

Tasha Monroe
Founder, Simply Edyn & Co.
Editor & Writer, The Commons Dispatch

 

P.S. - I’ve always been quite fascinated by penguins (also, dolphins). How they survive the coldest conditions not through force or dominance, but by choosing each other. Emperor penguins rotate in and out of the center of their huddles so no one stays in the cold too long. They instinctively protect the most vulnerable. No one gets left out in the ice.

We could learn a lot from that.

If you're curious, this short piece by Joe Gentry is a lovely reminder of how much the natural world still has to teach us about community and strength:
Penguins can teach us a lot about community, strength