In his recent State of the State address, Illinois Governor J.B. Pritzker delivered a powerful critique of the Trump administration, drawing sobering parallels to the rise of authoritarian regimes throughout history. His words, rooted in both his Jewish heritage and his work with the Illinois Holocaust Museum, serve as a stark reminder of how easily democracy can be dismantled when fear, hate, and blame are allowed to take root. As a transgender woman living in America today, Pritzker’s address resonated with me on a deeply personal level.
Governor Pritzker highlighted the ways authoritarian leaders scapegoat marginalized communities—immigrants, LGBTQ+ individuals, people of color, and women—to sow division and consolidate power. This rhetoric is not abstract to me; it is a reality that has shaped my life and identity. Growing up, I was acutely aware of the social stigma surrounding my identity. Even after transitioning, I’ve encountered moments where prejudice and misunderstanding threatened my sense of safety and belonging. Pritzker’s words brought back memories of navigating a world that often seeks to erase people like me, reinforcing the importance of standing firm in the face of fear and ignorance.
Pritzker’s reference to the Nazis’ attempt to march in Skokie in 1978 is a chilling reminder that hate does not disappear—it waits for an opportunity to resurface. His question—“After we’ve discriminated against, deported, or disparaged all the immigrants and the gay and lesbian and transgender people… what comes next?”—echoes my own concerns. I’ve witnessed how quickly negative rhetoric can escalate, especially when it targets vulnerable groups. This question resonates deeply because I know what it’s like to feel as though society is questioning your right to exist.
Yet, Governor Pritzker’s speech was not one of despair, but of defiance and hope. His words, “Tyranny requires your fear and your silence and your compliance. Democracy requires your courage,” speak to the resilience I’ve had to cultivate throughout my life. Coming out as transgender required courage, but advocating for my rights and the rights of others demands even more. Pritzker’s message reaffirmed my belief that silence is not an option—speaking up is essential to preserving both personal freedom and collective democracy.
The governor’s commitment to protecting Illinois residents from the harmful policies of the Trump administration is particularly meaningful to me. His support for affordable healthcare and inclusive education directly impacts my life. Access to gender-affirming healthcare has been crucial to my well-being, and knowing that Illinois prioritizes these services makes me feel more secure. Similarly, the proposed Prescription Drug Affordability Act and expanded mental health services will provide essential support for many in the transgender community who face barriers to care.
Pritzker’s reflection on reciting the oath of office on Abraham Lincoln’s Bible highlights the responsibility leaders have to defend democracy. His refusal to “bend the knee” to authoritarianism aligns with my own determination to live authentically despite societal pressure to conform. I’ve experienced both discrimination and acceptance, and I understand the power of allies who stand up for marginalized communities. Knowing that Illinois has a governor who openly supports LGBTQ+ rights gives me hope that progress is possible, even in challenging times.
History has shown us that silence in the face of injustice allows hatred to thrive. As Governor Pritzker reminded us, it took the Nazis less than two months to dismantle a constitutional republic. We cannot afford to wait until it is too late. His story of the 20 Nazis who marched in Chicago and the 2,000 Illinoisans who came to counter-protest illustrates the power of collective action. Their courage smothered the embers of hate before they could ignite into a wildfire. This serves as a powerful reminder that everyday people have the power to shape the course of history.
For me, this is not just about politics—it is about my right to live, love, and thrive without fear. Governor Pritzker’s call to “gather your justice and humanity, Illinois” resonates deeply because I know firsthand what it means to fight for visibility and acceptance. I am committed to using my voice to advocate for those who cannot speak out and to stand in solidarity with anyone whose rights are threatened. History has taught us the dangers of silence, and I refuse to let fear dictate my future. In this moment, as authoritarianism looms on the horizon, I choose courage.

The Problem with “Owning the Libs”
By Katherine Walter
On September 20, 2025
In political science
Illustration contrasting “own the libs” cruelty with progressive compassion. (Image generated by ChatGPT, 2025)
In recent years, the phrase “own the libs” has become a rallying cry for many conservatives. At first glance, it might seem like harmless political banter—a way to laugh at the other side. But taken seriously, this mindset reveals something troubling about how politics is being practiced in the United States. It shows a shift away from solving problems and toward something much darker: treating politics as a game where the goal is to make other people suffer.
The idea of owning the libs is not about making life better for ordinary people. Instead, it’s about celebrating when someone else is angry, humiliated, or hurt. Passing laws that restrict healthcare, rolling back rights for LGBTQ+ people, or undermining voting access aren’t framed as solutions to real problems. They are framed as victories precisely because they upset progressives. Cruelty itself becomes the goal.
But politics should not be about harming others—it should be about helping people. That is the central difference between the conservative “own the libs” mindset and progressive politics. Progressives, at their best, focus on policies that improve people’s lives: expanding access to healthcare, making schools stronger, reducing poverty, and protecting the freedom to live authentically. The success of progressive politics is measured in lives improved, not tears shed by political opponents.
This difference matters because it points to two fundamentally different visions for our society. One vision treats politics as a contest of domination, where the worth of an idea lies in how much it angers “the other side.” The other vision treats politics as a tool for compassion, where the worth of an idea lies in how much it improves the lives of our neighbors.
Of course, no political movement is perfect. Progressives sometimes stumble, and not every policy works out as intended. But there is an important moral distinction between trying to help people and trying to hurt them. If our politics is driven by spite, we will end up with policies that deepen division and suffering. If our politics is driven by empathy, we have at least a chance at building a society that is fairer, freer, and more humane.
The question is not whether liberals or conservatives “win.” The real question is: do we want our politics to be about cruelty—or about compassion?