This is Not Normal

German officers and Parisians mingle on the Champs-Elysées on Bastille Day in 1940. Photograph: Chas. Baulard/Bettmann/CORBIS

The man who made a mockery of democracy, who turned cruelty into entertainment and lies into strategy, who is a predator of both kindness and women, is set to return to the White House. He hasn’t even taken office yet, but the ground is already shifting beneath our feet. Yet millions act as if this is some normal transfer of power. That electing a rapist, a racist, a useful idiot for the right is normal. That it is just democracy being democracy. That nominating a known Russian bot to run US intelligence is normal. That nominating a Christian Nationalist to run the US military is normal. And so, so much more.

This is not normal. None of this is. This is fucked up. Believing otherwise is fealty.

How did we get here? The answer starts with an unshaken finger pointing to what was supposed to be a protector of democracy: corporate journalism betrayed us. For years, they laughed at him, dismissed him, turned him into a sideshow. Every rally, every grotesque soundbite, every act of open corruption was packaged as spectacle, a ratings bonanza. He wasn’t treated as a threat to democracy—he was treated as content. The anchors smirked, the panels chuckled, and the headlines spun his crimes into clickable gossip. The result? Millions of people stopped seeing him for what he was: a danger to everything we claim to value.

Why? Because he was good for business. Trump wasn’t just good for ratings; he was a goldmine. His chaos turned eyeballs into ad dollars. The networks leaned into the circus, chasing the profits of polarization while ignoring the consequences. The more grotesque his behavior, the more they amplified it, treating every lie, every insult, every assault on democracy as entertainment. To them, he wasn’t a warning sign—he was a commodity, a money-making machine.

This wasn’t just a failure of journalistic integrity—it was a business model built on exploiting the erosion of trust and truth. The media’s bottom line became dependent on feeding the very fires they should have been extinguishing. In normalizing Trump, they weren’t just complicit—they were profiteers. They sold us the spectacle and left us with the ashes.

But this betrayal isn’t just about bad reporting. It’s about normalization—the slow, insidious process of turning the unacceptable into the everyday. Over time, the shock wears off, and what should horrify us becomes background noise. A president who openly undermines elections? Par for the course. A leader who gleefully incites violence? Just another Tuesday. By the time 2024 rolled around, many Americans were numb. Not because Trump’s actions were any less dangerous, but because we’d been trained to see them as normal aspects of a presidential campaign.

Normalization isn’t just a media failure; it’s a coping mechanism. When confronted with something too big, too wrong, too terrifying to fully comprehend, the mind’s instinct is to minimize it. “It’s not that bad,” we tell ourselves. “The system will hold.” But that’s a lie, and deep down, we know it. Denying insanity doesn’t make it go away—it makes you insane. Normalizing evil isn’t survival; it’s surrender. It’s self-gaslighting, the refusal to acknowledge what’s happening even as it unfolds in real time.

This is the same strategy abusers use to control those they harm. An abuser relies on normalization to distort reality, conditioning their victim to accept the unacceptable. They escalate their behavior incrementally, pushing boundaries and then minimizing the harm: “You’re overreacting,” or “This is just how things are.” Over time, the victim internalizes these lies, questioning their own perception of reality and dismissing their valid outrage as irrational. By normalizing their abuse, the abuser ensures compliance through confusion and self-doubt, breaking resistance before it can begin.

When we normalize political or societal abuse, we’re falling into the same trap. The abuser—in this case, a man who has openly undermined democracy and incited violence—relies on our willingness to rationalize his behavior, to think, “It’s not as bad as it seems.” But it is. And every time we allow ourselves to believe otherwise, we hand over more power. Normalization isn’t just dangerous—it’s a tool of control, a weapon aimed at silencing resistance. To resist, we must first see clearly and refuse to be gaslit into complacency.

Why does normalization matter? Because it kills resistance. It dulls outrage, numbs empathy, and blinds us to the urgency of the moment. Every time you tell yourself, “It’s not that bad,” you’re making it harder to fight back. Anger at injustice is a moral imperative. It’s what keeps us sharp, keeps us human. To let that anger fade is to accept the unacceptable. It’s why so many people are already retreating into apathy, convincing themselves that life will go on, that we’ll get through this. But that’s not optimism—it’s capitulation.

Staying angry is hard. It’s exhausting. But it’s also necessary. Resistance isn’t just about showing up to protests or writing checks to the right organizations. It’s about refusing to let go of your outrage, even when the world tells you to move on. It’s about naming the insanity, calling it what it is, and refusing to look away. It’s about saying, over and over again, this is fucked up.

Trump hasn’t even taken the oath yet, but the damage has already begun. His win is emboldening the worst impulses in our culture: authoritarianism, bigotry, greed. The people who spent years tearing down democratic norms now see his victory as a vindication. They’re gearing up for a new wave of cruelty, corruption, and chaos. And if we don’t confront that reality head-on, if we let ourselves fall back into the trap of normalization, we’ll be complicit in what comes next.

“Practice corporeal politics. Power wants your body softening in your chair and your emotions dissipating on the screen. Get outside. Put your body in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people. Make new friends and march with them.”
― Timothy Snyder

But there’s still time. Resistance starts now, not after the inauguration, not after the next crisis. It starts with rejecting the lie that this is normal. It starts with refusing to look away. It starts with staying angry, staying awake, and staying engaged. We are the new resistance—not because we chose to be, but because history has forced our hand. This isn’t just about politics; it’s about morality, humanity, and the future of everything we claim to stand for.

Those that refuse to normalize this are the new resistance.

Speak openly.

Make art that offends.

Organize the unnormalized.

Support independent journalism.

Demand businesses join the fight.

Stop funding politicians. Fund nonprofits that protect people.

Truth. Creativity. Action. That’s how we win.

Resistance doesn’t start in the streets or the voting booths—it starts in the conversations we have with those who have normalized the unacceptable. The people who shrug and say, “This is just politics,” or “We’ve survived worse,” need to be reminded: we can accept the results of the election, but we do not have to accept the consequences. Resistance means naming the harm, rejecting the gaslighting, and refusing to let normalization go unchecked in our relationships, our workplaces, and our communities. Every time we engage in these conversations, we’re chipping away at the foundations of complacency that allow abuse to thrive.

Resistance begins with words—uncomfortable, honest words spoken to friends, family, colleagues, and anyone willing to listen. It means challenging the minimization of what’s happening, no matter how awkward or exhausting it feels. It means not letting every phrase like “It’s not that bad” or “It’ll blow over” go unchallenged. We confront these ideas not because we want conflict but because silence is complicity. By engaging with the normalized, we plant the seeds of awareness and resistance. We make it clear that accepting reality doesn’t mean rolling over for it.

This is not normal. This is not fine. This is fucked up. To believe otherwise is fealty. If you’re angry, good. Hold on to that anger. Let it fuel you. The fight is just beginning, and we are the ones who will decide what comes next.