Through The Storm: Why we need each other now more than ever
Monica, our Partnerships Manager, shares a powerful reflection on the turbulent emotions stirred by today’s U.S election results, likening the uncertainty to waiting for a hurricane. Drawing from her experiences of both natural and social upheaval, she explores how resilience, community, and mutual support can help us weather even the darkest storms together.
Waiting for election results feels very similar to waiting for a hurricane to come. When a hurricane is coming you prepare yourself. You buy tinned food, water, batteries and anything else you can think of that will make your life a little easier when the electricity eventually goes out and the running water stops. You pray to god it’s not as bad as the news is predicting. During an election, we prepare in a different way, hoping for the best but knowing, deep down, that the outcome could turn our world upside down.
I know what living through a hurricane feels like. I lived through many – growing up in the Caribbean you get used to them – when the hurricane comes the winds shriek like a collective of women wailing in mass. Truly, it is one of the most horrifying experiences a person can experience. And I guess for some, elections can also feel like a hurricane passing through, we all scream, we all shriek. In person and online, the noise of different opinions roars loudly into the subconscious mind and in person, the loudness of it all can become almost deafening. Like hurricane winds and rains lashing down, the opinions and attacks in election season can cut deep, leaving scars that linger long after the storm has passed.
Donald Trump has won.
For me, this is what the eye of the storm feels like. The quiet, that moment that you know more devastation is coming but in this moment of stillness and quiet you think about the future and what it all means.
To me, It very much feels like Batman has lost his fight, Gotham has fallen and he’s somewhere under the rubble, the villain of the story has won. Unsurprisingly many are grieving, others are celebrating and as for me, all I seem to be feeling is anger.
I am angry not only because a candidate I did not support won. That is democracy and the collective vote should always be respected. I am angry because I feel collective division is what caused this. I lived in the USA during the first Trump presidency. I moved there after Hurricane Maria, a powerful hurricane that came and destroyed my home, the island of Puerto Rico. I remember arriving in a country almost as broken as the one I’d left behind. While Puerto Rico struggled to get electricity back and rebuild, America was fighting its own battles. I remember seeing MAGA caps everywhere, a reminder that some parts of this society wanted nothing to do with people like me. It felt like living in alternate dimensions, with people on each side in their own worlds, driven farther apart by radically different news, beliefs, and realities all the while living in the same areas and working at the same places.
How did we get here?
This wave of political extremism isn’t only rising in the U.S. We’re seeing it in Europe, Latin America, and even here in the UK, where many feel unheard and see far-right ideologies as the only way to be seen. At the core, people just want to feel heard. But as the next wall of this hurricane looms, ready to uproot anything that isn’t firmly grounded, I think of the aftermath, the painful reality we’re left to face when the storm finally moves on.
I think about the feeling of the aftermath when you come out from being holed up in your house for hours on end to see what nature left behind. The upturned roofs or in the case of an election the devastation at things not going the way we expected. There is a term in Spanish called ‘autogestion’, it roughly translates to “self-management”. It was a topic that became huge after Hurricane Maria. Where people – tired of seeing that no one was going to save them, no superheroes, no humanitarian aid, no governmental help – rolled up their sleeves and relied on one another, neighbours helping neighbours. Picking up the rubble, cooking over a fire for the whole neighbourhood where electricity coming back was a distant dream. Many of these communities passed a year like this.
This community self-reliance can be adopted here, too. Not with the drastic survival measures we needed in Puerto Rico, but in a way that suits the UK. In a UK context, this self-reliance could mean local people taking charge of their resources and community. It means mutual aid networks, neighbourhood councils, and shared spaces where people can gather to discuss what they need and to work together. This approach allows us to build resilience from the ground up. It’s about creating a community where we can connect, support, and rely on one another, no matter our differences. We saw it during the pandemic, when people turned to each other to check on their neighbours, deliver groceries, or offer a kind word when it felt like the world was crumbling. We saw it during the summer riots, when ordinary people, from all walks of life, stood together to fight hate, lifting each other up in solidarity.
It’s not always grand gestures. Sometimes it’s as simple as a conversation with someone who feels isolated, or extending a hand to someone struggling, whether they’re a stranger or a neighbour. These small acts, often unnoticed in the grand scheme of things, weave the fabric of a community that can weather any storm. These moments remind me that while society might feel divided, there’s still an undercurrent of quiet kindness and empathy that flows beneath the surface—waiting for the right moment to rise up.
So yes, the storm is here, and more may come. Right now, it may feel like the darkness is all around, overwhelming and unrelenting. In this moment, where I feel powerless and ready to surrender, I remind myself: I’m not giving up. We might not be able to save everything, but that doesn’t mean we can’t save something—or someone. Every small act of saving, no matter how insignificant it might seem, is worth it. Even if that’s just holding on to hope.
It’s in these quiet moments, in these shared efforts, where the real power lies. It’s in the simple connections we make, the kindness we offer, and the resilience we build together, from the ground up. This is where we find our strength to rebuild, to forge bonds that can endure whatever storm, political or otherwise, comes our way. So let’s rise to the challenge, take action where we can, and build something that can stand strong against the winds of the storms that may come next.
