In this episode, Danielle, Rebecca, and Jenny explore how political instability reaches far beyond elections—entering the body, the grocery store, the workplace, and the relationships people have with their neighbors. Jenny describes the physical relief she experienced crossing from the United States into Canada, revealing how much fear and vigilance her body had been carrying. Danielle brings the conversation into everyday economic life through rising food prices, unreliable food systems, and the growing need for neighborhood mutual-aid networks.
In this episode, Danielle, Rebecca, and Jenny explore how political instability reaches far beyond elections—entering the body, the grocery store, the workplace, and the relationships people have with their neighbors. Jenny describes the physical relief she experienced crossing from the United States into Canada, revealing how much fear and vigilance her body had been carrying. Danielle brings the conversation into everyday economic life through rising food prices, unreliable food systems, and the growing need for neighborhood mutual-aid networks.
The hosts examine fear as an intentional political strategy—one that convinces people to distrust their neighbors, align themselves with concentrated power, and blame marginalized communities for hardships created by corporations, billionaires, and inequitable systems. They connect today’s racialized scapegoating to a longer American history of separating poor and working-class white people from Black and brown communities who might otherwise build collective power.
Against this manufactured isolation, the hosts offer mutual aid as both resistance and repair. Directly feeding families, knowing one’s neighbors, verifying frightening information, and forming relationships across difference can interrupt stereotypes and restore a sense of shared humanity. At the same time, they wrestle honestly with whether local action can become large enough to produce meaningful structural change.
Ultimately, the episode argues that fear keeps people divided, while mutual aid helps them remember their interdependence—and potentially recover their collective power.
“When we drove across the border, I—not totally unexpectedly, but uncontrollably—just started crying. I knew my body was holding a lot being in the States, and just stepping away and crossing into another land, immediately my body was like, ‘Okay, you can rest a little bit for the next two weeks.’ It’s been mostly restful. It’s also been complicated, because it feels like such a gift to my body, while also recognizing what my body—as an American in a car with American plates—represents to people here.”
—Jenny, 01:27
“We have a lot of mutual-aid projects going in our little neck of the county. Neighborhoods of people are collecting set lists of things because food banks are overwhelmed. They collect it, we put it in a bag, and then some random things get tossed in—paper towels, toilet paper, toothpaste, whatever is needed. We’ve been trying to provide canned meat as well. Last month, we had twenty-five or twenty-seven bags go out, and over two hundred people were fed. This month, we’re hoping to do double. We’re in a pretty affluent area, and there’s still a high need for food help.”
—Danielle, 06:34
“So much of it is determined by the people making the most money. Billionaires are doing just fine right now. I think it’s the same kind of myth that created whiteness—the idea that if I align myself with the people who hold the most power, I’m going to be okay. Maybe that works for a little while. It’s so much more appealing to believe that the next president is going to make eggs cheaper and make all my problems go away than to say, ‘We actually have to face this entire system and figure out how to shift it so that it becomes equitable and sustainable.’ That is much slower and harder work.”
—Jenny, 11:46
“Even if I don’t individually take on changing the world or fixing the entire system, there is a simpler, localized perspective: I actually give a damn about the person standing next to me. I care that something, even if it isn’t affecting me directly, is affecting them. If we could care about that alone, we wouldn’t fall for the lie that because something doesn’t negatively affect me, I can afford to ignore it. It might be much more personal than taking on the whole system. It begins with deciding that I care about the humanity and safety of the person standing next to me.”
—Rebecca, 13:02
“What the documentary boiled down to was the culture of fear that is so rampant in the States. If you travel to many places outside the United States, not everybody walks around with this same paranoia, fear, or distrust. Someone said, ‘We view you locking your door not as locking someone out, but as locking yourselves in.’ I’ve been sitting with that. How do we get people to stop fearing their neighbor before we can get them to care for their neighbor? If you are constantly fed messages telling you that your neighbor is out to get you, it becomes really difficult to reach that place of care.”
—Jenny, 14:21
“I think the answer is to pull it down from the rafters—to take it out of this abstract space and bring it into your own neighborhood and your own sphere of influence. Then you realize that your next-door neighbor, who doesn’t look like you, is actually a fairly all-right person. You’ve known them for however long. You know their kids. If you allow yourself to do that, the individual humanity of another person can challenge every stereotype, every preconceived notion, and every othering ideology you hold about an entire group. If you let that sit with you, you might find yourself responding differently.”
—Rebecca, 17:07
“I’m big on mutual direct aid. I really believe in it. I feel so whole and pure doing it—it feels genuinely good. I know it’s not always possible, and I’m not saying there isn’t a place for nonprofits or other forms of support. But mutual aid was one of the main things that happened in Minnesota: it began knitting together people who didn’t agree with one another about everything. Even within social-justice movements, we have a thousand different opinions. But what can you coalesce around? What feels good? What feels right?”
—Danielle, 18:11
“The powers that be leverage fear. They weaponize fear on purpose to accomplish whatever their goal is. We have to ask: Is my fear actually well placed in this moment? Do I have personal, real-life information that tells me my fear is legitimate, or am I basing it on something someone else told me? Is it inconsistent with my own experience? If I see something on social media, my knee-jerk reaction is to check it against two or three other sources and see whether it is grounded in any level of truth. Maybe we could all do that a little more often.”
—Rebecca, 19:01
“The campaign of fear is targeted at making sure that coalescing doesn’t happen. The fear is not simply saying, ‘Your vote doesn’t matter’ or ‘Your voice doesn’t matter.’ It is saying, ‘You are not like the person standing next to you, and it would be to your disadvantage to align yourself with them.’ That is intentional. It is calculated. And it is a tactic as old as this country. What is happening under this administration isn’t actually a new set of tactics. It is someone intentionally bringing those tactics back to the front of the room.”
—Rebecca, 27:39
“Convincing working-class or poor white people that their enemy is everybody else is not new. After Reconstruction, poor and sharecropping white people were taught that there was no value in aligning themselves with newly freed Black people. Together, they outnumbered the ruling class. If they had pooled their resources and voted for a particular way of life, this could have been a very different country. There was a targeted, intentional campaign to separate the groups and villainize newly freed people. Part of the campaign is about values, but eventually they criminalize anything that looks like assistance—anything that looks like help. I would be on the lookout for that next.”
—Rebecca, 29:44
“When so many people are barely making it, people want a scapegoat. Pointing to that scapegoat feels easier, even though their problems are being caused by corporations and billionaires who are pinning people against one another rather than allowing us to work collectively to change things. In France, workers will simply not go to work, and they remind the government, ‘We run this country. You want your trains to run? Don’t mess with us.’ There is a sense that labor threads the culture and society together—and that people must be adequately compensated for their labor if we want a society that isn’t drowning in credit-card debt, bills, and expensive beef.”
—Jenny, 34:42