The Power of the Pause

Why Strategy Outlasts Outrage

As mass deportations escalate under the Trump administration, fear once again takes center stage. Immigration is no longer treated as a complex policy issue but framed as an existential threat—defined by national security, invasion, and lawlessness. Fear is a well-worn political tool, one that compels action without reflection, policies without foresight.

The U.S. immigration system does need reform. But reform requires deliberation, nuance, and an understanding of long-term consequences—not brute force disguised as decisiveness. Instead, we are about to witness the use of the Alien Enemies Act of 1798, a wartime law enabling mass detentions and deportations, including to Guantanamo Bay. This law has rarely been invoked outside of active war, with its last major use justifying the internment of Japanese, German, and Italian immigrants during World War II.

Today, it is being weaponized again. Legal pathways to immigration are being dismantled. A ten-year-old U.S. citizen recovering from brain cancer has been deported with her family. A state-backed media campaign is working overtime to normalize cruelty.

In moments like this, outrage alone is not enough. Outrage without direction dissipates; strategy transforms it into lasting change. But how do we ensure clarity when fear and urgency push us toward immediate action? Societies are shaped not just by facts but by emotional waves—fear, anger, and hope—each with the power to unify or destroy.

But what happens when we act too quickly, swept up in momentum? What if, instead of reacting, we pause?

When Fear Becomes Policy

Fear is a potent motivator. It simplifies uncertainty, turning complex challenges into black-and-white dilemmas. We have seen this before.

After 9/11, fear united Americans in grief and determination—but it also led to the Patriot Act, the invasion of Iraq, and the erosion of civil liberties—decisions made in urgency that cast long shadows over the future.

Now, the Alien Enemies Act is being used not for war, but for immigration enforcement, sidestepping due process to detain and deport individuals without hearings—including legal immigrants.

The administration claims it is targeting criminals, yet more than 8,700 of those deported in the last 50 days had no criminal history. Even legal residents are at risk. Consider the case of Mahmoud Khalil, a green card holder detained without charge—his fate uncertain.

Fear does not lead to sound governance. It leads to unchecked power, justified by crisis.

The Cost of Acting Too Quickly

Urgency offers the illusion of control—it makes us feel like something is being done, that problems are being solved. But history warns us that reactionary policies rarely solve anything—instead, they create new crises.

Consider:

• The internment of Japanese Americans during WWII—a rushed policy that left a permanent stain on U.S. history.

• The rushed financial regulations after 2008—which failed to prevent economic disparities from deepening.

• The haphazard pandemic responses of 2020, which eroded trust in public institutions.

Trump’s deportation policies fit this pattern. They do not solve the challenges of immigration—they destabilize families, weaken labor forces, and fuel anti-American sentiment abroad.

Every historical example warns us of the damage reactionary politics can inflict. Yet the cycle repeats.

Why the Pause Matters

Pausing at the height of fear is not inaction. It is strategy.

The Montgomery Bus Boycott did not erupt in immediate retaliation. It was a carefully planned movement that transformed anger into sustained action. This deliberate approach turned what could have been a fleeting protest into a year-long campaign that reshaped civil rights history.

We see similar strategies today in movements for voting rights, immigrant justice, and economic equality—where endurance and organized resistance continue to challenge oppressive policies. The pause is not a retreat; it is where movements turn from impulse to endurance.

South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) stands as a testament to this. After apartheid, the nation was awash in grief, anger, and a demand for justice. The TRC provided a space for testimony, acknowledgment, and measured response. It did not erase the pain of the past, but it interrupted the cycle of vengeance, allowing a different future to emerge.

Contrast this with the United States after the Civil War, when the failure to fully implement Reconstruction led to Jim Crow laws, voter suppression, and racial terror. The refusal to pause, reckon, and rebuild properly meant that the opportunity to reshape the nation was lost.

Rushing forward without reflection is not progress—it is a guarantee that old injustices will find new forms.

The Challenge of Now

The Trump administration has set a deliberate, overwhelming pace, using executive power to reshape immigration law overnight. Social media amplifies the urgency, turning policy announcements into instant crises, demanding immediate reactions.

This is intentional. When people are overwhelmed, they are less likely to resist effectively.

The pause is not just a tool for policymakers—it is a necessity for those who oppose them.

Pausing does not mean waiting. It means planning.
It means refusing to play the role assigned by those in power.
It means organizing beyond the algorithm, building networks that cannot be silenced with a ban or a blackout.

When Jacinda Ardern responded to the Christchurch mosque shootings, she did not rush to exploit fear. She channeled it, balancing swift action with collective mourning, ensuring that the response was not just reactionary but enduring.

This is what resistance must learn to do.

Transforming Emotion into Action

Emotional waves will continue to shape history. The question is not whether they will rise, but how we will respond.

Trump’s deportation policies are the latest test of how a society grapples with fear, power, and its own moral compass. Reaction will always be the easiest path. Resistance requires something harder: endurance, clarity, and strategy.

In my own life, I have felt the pull of urgency—the belief that action must be immediate, that pausing is surrender.

But history tells a different story. The most effective movements are not the loudest in the moment; they are the ones that refuse to burn out.

Pausing at emotional peaks allows us to harness energy, to move forward with purpose rather than panic.

Just as South Africa found healing in its pause, and Ardern turned grief into meaningful action, we too must resist the pull of urgency.

The pause is not a retreat. It is the foundation of something that lasts.

Will we choose reaction, or will we choose endurance?