I recently traveled through Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson Airport, which I’ve walked through countless times in my three decades of travel.
This time was different. The TSA security line was like something out of a disaster movie: It snaked through terminals with frustrated travelers as agents shouted updates to the restless crowd. I asked one of them what was going on. They shrugged, saying “DOGE cuts. Limited staff and we’re all suffering.”
I was two and a half hours early, had priority lane privileges and still barely made my flight. As I often do, I pulled out my phone to post about it to my private social media account — a space where I’m not shy about my political views. But just before I hit “post,” I paused.
I’m just a writer from Texas, I thought. There’s no way anyone from the Trump administration would see this. But I hesitated because…what if they did? What if someone flagged it? What if, in the vindictive spirit of this new era, someone decided to revoke my travel credentials or add me to a watchlist?
Some might say I’m being extreme. But that fear was real.
And that’s the point. That’s what Donald Trump wants.
“Real power is fear.” That’s what Trump once said — and he’s made good on that philosophy. His political playbook isn’t built on inspiration or unity; it’s built on intimidation, vengeance and control.
For Black Americans, who have always lived under the shadow of structural fear, that kind of leadership is not just threatening — it’s dangerous.
Trump has weaponized public shaming, social media attacks, frivolous lawsuits and government authority to punish those who dare to dissent. He’s gone after journalists, judges, prosecutors, and ordinary citizens who speak out. His administration treats criticism as betrayal and disagreement as criminal.
The impact on Black communities has been especially chilling.
Black-led movements like Black Lives Matter were labeled “terrorists,” and peaceful protesters were tear-gassed for photo ops. Civil rights protections were gutted. Affirmative action dismantled. Fair housing policies rolled back. Police accountability weakened. The word “woke” has become blasphemous.
And all of this I wrapped in a campaign of fear: fear of “crime,” fear of “illegals,” fear of change, fear of Black power.
This is not new. Throughout history, African Americans have been silenced through fear—through lynching, through voter intimidation, through job threats, redlining, surveillance and censorship. Trump is not the inventor of this tactic. He’s simply its loudest, most shameless modern-day champion.
What frightened me most about that moment in the airport wasn’t the line. It was realizing that I was self-censoring out of fear. I eventually posted my message, but I watered it down. I muted my outrage. And afterward, I sat with sadness.
What kind of “free” country do we live in if a journalist — someone whose job is to speak truth — is afraid to voice frustration over an airport delay, for fear that it might be held against her?
That’s not democracy. That’s dictatorship.
Fear works best when it isolates us and when it convinces us that speaking out isn’t worth the risk. It works when it persuades us to be quiet, to fall in line, to sit down. That’s why Trump leans on it so heavily.
Here’s the truth: Fear can only win if we let it.
Black America has always resisted, even when it was risky, even when it cost us everything. We’ve marched, organized, voted, protested and created, knowing that silence was never an option.
Now, more than ever, we must continue to push forward — unafraid, unbought, and unbossed.
Yes, I posted my (albeit watered-down) update. I’ll keep posting, writing and raising my voice. Because if we stop speaking, they’ve already won.
Stay vigilant. Stay loud. And never, ever let fear decide your truth.
RaShonda Tate is managing editor of the Houston Defender Network
This story originally appeared here.