I wrote the following article eight years ago when Donald Trump was elected the first president of the United States. I was in charge of this business at the time HuffPost Gay VoicesThis is a section of the site that I was hired to create and oversee in 2011.

I spend most of my time writing about what needs to happen for queer people to feel visible, safe, and hopefully at some point gain full equality in this country. Thanks to tireless activism, excellent organizing, and many brave people making many bold moves, we have made some incredible gains in the relatively short time I have been at HuffPost. From Marriage equality becomes law of the land to your arrival “trans tipping point” This gave trans people more visibility and support, and beautiful and once unthinkable things happened. But we still faced extraordinary bigotry on a regular basis, so I saw each day sitting at my desk as a new chance to say something that might matter.

After Trump won in 2016, friends, readers, and complete strangers immediately began asking me: “What do we do now?” At that moment, caught off guard by Trump’s unexpected victory and what it might mean for me and my community, I had no idea what to tell them.

Then, a few days later, I wrote the following essay and sent it out into the world in the hope that, if not a definitive plan for survival, it might at least offer a record of where we have come from and what we have already overcome. and why we have to continue.

In 2018, I became the moderator of HuffPost Personal, a section featuring real stories from real people. I don’t write regularly about the queer community anymore, but after Trump won again last week, I started hearing from people who wanted to know once again if I had any idea what we were doing now. I didn’t. The fear I and many of us feel makes the events of 2016 feel almost quaint, and I have spent the last eight days alternating between numbness, nausea, and anger.

Then I remembered this article. I hadn’t thought about this topic since I posted it almost a decade ago, so I researched it again and when I re-read it I was shocked and overwhelmed to find that much of what I had written was still valid.

So now I’m republishing it. While my target audience in 2016 was primarily queer individuals, I now realize how much of what is written here applies to many communities who find themselves in the crosshairs of the incoming Trump administration.

And of course, things are different than they were eight years ago; It feels like there’s even more at stake, even more about to go wrong, even less guardrails, even more danger awaiting us, and so much more. The pain is about to be revealed. But then the essence of what I believe remains the same, and somewhere far away I can still see a light, no matter how dim, that refuses to die.

I went to bed last night before Donald Trump was officially elected the next president of the United States because I didn’t know what else to do with myself. The anxiety was all too palpable. The fear was all too real. I felt my soul leave my body and repeatedly hit my living room ceiling to knock itself out.

I woke up at 3 a.m. and thought Tuesday night was some kind of sick dream; It’s like I’m a character at the end of a poorly written horror movie who finds out that the monster is just a figment of his imagination.

But I wasn’t dreaming – we’re not dreaming – and this isn’t the ending of a horror movie. This is just the beginning.

So what do we do now? How can we as queer people move forward knowing so many people (some of whom are our families, friends, neighbors, co-workers) living in a country that is supposed to believe in and protect freedom, liberty, and justice? Did you vote for a man who is so fiercely anti-women, anti-racial, anti-immigrant, anti-gay, and so unfit to lead this country? How do we look at their faces and not want to cry, spit or punch them?

I really don’t know. What I do know is that no matter how lonely you feel right now, sitting at your desk reading this, lying in bed, or waiting in line at Walgreens, you are not alone. Millions of you—us—are restlessly searching for answers, trying not to collapse on the subway, forcing ourselves to put on our clothes, going out into the world and trying to be useful in some way in a country where there seems to be no way. Use it for us in a country that we are sure does not want us, and that we are worried will not keep us safe.

For now, we must hold on to each other as we fall apart, as we simultaneously succumb to our despair, drown in our panic, burn with the hottest, bluest flames of despair.

And then we must hold on to each other as we put ourselves back together, as we remember who we are – who we have always been – and as we remember what we looked at before and refused to give in to. When we remember what we and those before us have overcome together through hundreds of cold and dark years.

We must be exactly who we are – perhaps more than ever before – not by denying our fears, but by willingly pumping them into our veins as proof that we exist despite the real dreams of those who don’t. Let these fears fuel us as we remind ourselves and everyone who dares to look at us that we are not going anywhere, that we fully deserve our love and desire because they are real, they belong to us, and they make us who we are. these days.

Let’s be angry. Let’s be afraid. Let’s tell ourselves that everything will work out somehow, then believe it, and then let’s do it. If you haven’t gone out and you can find a way to get out without endangering yourself, go out. If you have gone out and it is still safe to go out, go out again and again; to your families, to the officials elected to represent you, to the woman sitting next to you on your plane. In San Diego.

May our hearts be broken. Let’s be sure. Let’s learn, relearn and teach each other our history and never let ourselves or each other forget it. Let’s vote. Let us donate our time, money, and attention to those who have less than us and more reason to fear than we do.

Let’s be alert. Let’s be brave. Let’s give ourselves and others as many orgasms as we can muster with our bare hands, open mouths and beautiful, trembling bodies and realize how radical an act this really is – especially now. Whether we fall in love with ourselves or someone else at any given moment – ​​just because we can, just because – look at us! How can we not?

Let’s be rooted. Let’s be determined. Let’s refuse to hear “no,” but let’s not be afraid to say it. Let’s look for moments when we can offer ourselves compassion. Let us hold those who wrong us accountable for their actions and words. Let’s not be afraid of righteous anger or the real power it can have to get things done. Let us know when and how we should forgive and when and how we should not forgive.

Let’s see – really let’s see. Let’s talk about what needs to be talked about. Let us wake up and stay awake today and every day from now on. Let us fight side by side with each other, with our words, our actions, and our hearts, and let us never stop fighting, even when we tell ourselves and each other that the world is ending, even when the world is ending. came.

Noah Michelson is the director. HuffPost Personal and co-host of HuffPost “Am I Doing Wrong?” podcast. She joined HuffPost in 2011 to launch and oversee Queer Voices, the site’s first vertical dedicated to queer issues, and continued to oversee all of HuffPost’s community sections before creating and leading HuffPost Personal in 2018. He received his MFA in poetry from New. at York University and has served as a commentator for the BBC, MSNBC, Entertainment Tonight and Sirius XM.

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