A Nation in Fight-or-Flight

I’m writing from the breach—not from a party, not from a platform, not from a side.

I’m writing from the place where systems begin to crack and nervous systems follow.

This letter is written during Black History Month, a time meant not for empty symbolism, but for reflection, reckoning, and moral clarity. Context matters in moments like these—especially when leadership chooses how to respond, not just what to remove.

Recently, a racially dehumanizing video circulated online depicting Barack Obama and Michelle Obama as apes. When public outrage followed, the response from the White House was not condemnation or concern, but dismissal: it was just a meme. The post was later taken down, but the signal had already been sent.

The deeper issue is not the video alone.
It is what leadership chose to minimize—and what that minimization teaches.

The Obamas are not merely political figures. They are one of the most consequential Black couples in American history. For millions of Americans, particularly Black Americans, they expanded what felt possible in this country—through intellect, restraint, and dignity exercised at the highest levels of power. To allow their dehumanization, especially during Black History Month, and then wave it away as inconsequential is not harmless humor. It is a failure of moral leadership.

And it is destabilizing.

I use that word deliberately.

From a mental-health perspective, what we are witnessing across our political landscape is chronic dysregulation. A nation kept in constant agitation—fight-or-flight, outrage to outrage—loses perspective. Judgment narrows. Empathy collapses. Everything becomes reactive.

I know what that looks like, not theoretically, but personally.

I live with bipolar disorder. I know what mania looks and feels like from the inside: the loss of proportion, the false sense of invincibility, the dismissal of consequences, the inability to step back and self-regulate. I also know the damage it can do—to relationships, to credibility, to trust—when it is unchecked or excused.

Mania is not strength.
It is a warning sign.

The same is true in leadership.

When cruelty is reframed as humor, when legitimate concern is brushed aside, when those in power refuse to pause, reflect, or regulate, the system absorbs that instability. Anxiety rises. Civility erodes. People retreat into camps. The pendulum swings harder.

This is not resilience.
It is erosion.

Most Americans—across race, geography, and party—are not cruel. They want dignity, safety, and a future that doesn’t feel perpetually inflamed. But good people can be caught in bad dynamics, especially when leaders model agitation instead of restraint.

Calling this out is not partisanship.
Refusing to normalize dehumanization is not fragility.
Stepping off the pendulum is not disengagement.

It is responsibility.

The Middle Way is not neutrality. It is discipline—discipline of speech, discipline of power, discipline of the nervous system. It is leadership that understands symbols matter, that timing matters, and that restraint is not weakness but wisdom.

Black History Month reminds us that progress is fragile and that leadership carries weight whether it acknowledges it or not.

A nation cannot remain in fight-or-flight indefinitely without paying a psychological and moral price.

The breach is not a place of collapse.
It is a place of choice.

We can continue rewarding agitation and dismissal.
Or we can demand leadership that knows the difference between power and self-governance, humor and harm, noise and strength.

This letter is not written to inflame.
It is written to stabilize.

Something is not well.
And pretending otherwise is no longer an option.

The Middle Way

The Middle Way is not neutrality or indifference.
It is the discipline of clarity without extremism.

It rejects false binaries and the hunger for enemies, asking instead what leads to wisdom, restraint, and shared human flourishing. Rooted in ancient wisdom traditions, it holds a hard truth: power without restraint corrodes, and compassion without discernment collapses.

The Middle Way insists on both.

It is not an ideology or a political program.
It is a practice of self-governance that scales outward.

In a world pulled apart by fear and extremes, the Middle Way stands in the breach—not to shout, punish, or control—but to steady. It begins with inner responsibility and extends outward, restoring trust and re-centering power around wisdom rather than ego.

There is another way.