The Shadow is returning.

The Shadow is returning. It does not always announce itself with armies of orcs or a single, fiery Eye. Today, it returns as a whisper: a promise of order in chaos, of purity in diversity, of a strong hand to guide a frightened people. This is the new Mordor, not a fortress of stone, but one of ideology, and its Ring of Power is the seductive lure of authoritarianism—the surrender of our messy freedoms for the cold comfort of absolute control.

The grand citadels we trusted to protect us are faltering. **The Wizards**—our institutions of knowledge and media—are confused. Some, like Saruman, have decided that to fight the Shadow, one must use its own tools, and in doing so, have begun to sound its drumbeats. They are trapped in their towers of debate, while the land below burns with fear.

**The Great Warriors**—our political leaders and parties—are gathered at their own Helm's Deep. They fight a desperate, defensive battle, often more concerned with holding their own walls of privilege and protocol than with the true war for the soul of the land. Their battles are necessary, but they are a diversion. They cannot strike at the heart of the Shadow, for its power grows not only from the top, but from the apathy and silence it cultivates in every village and every heart.

So where does the hope lie? It lies where it always has.

**Frodo** is the ordinary citizen who sees the slow-creeping evil for what it is, not with the eyes of a general, but with the heart of someone who remembers what peace and decency felt like. Their quest is not to lead a charge, but to carry the crushing, corrupting weight of truth through a landscape of lies. They are the one who says, "I will take the Ring," though they do not know the way, and the journey will cost them their innocence, their comfort, and perhaps their peace of mind.

**Sam** is the neighbor, the coworker, the friend who does not consider themselves political or brave. They are the person who simply knows right from wrong. Their heroism is not in grand speeches, but in the small, essential acts of courage: standing beside their friend when they are weary, speaking a word of truth in a room full of complacency, and refusing to turn back even when the road seems impossible. They are the one who says, "I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you." They represent the unyielding power of common loyalty and love.

The **Small Acts** that break the fascist spell are not dramatic. They are the vote cast in a local election. The uncomfortable conversation with a family member repeating a poisonous slogan. The business owner who refuses to discriminate. The teacher who defends a vulnerable student. The protester who shows up in the rain. The sharing of a fact-checked article. The simple, stubborn refusal to go along, to be silent, to look away.

Fascism's greatest myth is its own invincibility. It is a spell broken the moment the "small" and "insignificant," whom it despises, refuse to yield. Each act of kindness in an unjust world is an act of rebellion.

For the Ring of Power—the desire to dominate others, to have a world "put in order" at any cost—has no power over those who do not crave it. Its greatest enemy is not a counter-force, but a quiet, resilient, ordinary heart. The battle against the new Shadow will not be won in a single, glorious battle, but in the countless, quiet, exhausting steps of everyday people who choose to carry the burden of freedom, day after day, until the very foundations of the Tower of Fear crack and crumble.