As the plane to San Francisco pushed back from Gate 32 of Austin Bergstrom Airport, I thought I could already smell the trees, grass and dirt of Stanford. I wanted an exclusively fun college orientation experience – hopping fountains, skipping breakfast and generally forgetting about anything stressful until classes started. 

But I’m American in 2025. My iPhone pinged with a text message from my former debate coach. It wasn’t congratulations; it was catastrophe. 

After the murder of Charlie Kirk, my coach posted her opinion about what had happened on social media: she didn’t agree with political violence, but also didn’t feel bad about his death because of the political extremism he encouraged through the use of hateful speech towards marginalized groups. Texas State Representative Hillary Hickland screenshotted her statement, twisted it, then doxxed her on social media. Soon after, right-wing accounts leaked her home address to millions of people. Within hours, she lost her job at the nonprofit she worked for. Her countless hours working in service of others were discarded as her safety was threatened and career destroyed in what can only be described as an act of digital mob violence.

As New Student Orientation (NSO) proceeded with all its food and fanfare, one question coursed through my mind: What the hell am I doing here? During Convocation, University president Jonathan Levin ’94 eloquently inspired us to speak out boldly about what we believe, while grounding ourselves with acts of service to the world. His words felt painfully ironic. The ability to serve others now comes at the cost of freedom to speak out without threat to life or livelihood. 

This risk is too often ignored. “Free speech” is narrowly viewed by many as a legal protection provided under the First Amendment. From that perspective, the “free speech” of some can be used to assault the freedoms of all. Even though it can be legally acceptable for elected officials and activists to dox, harass and intimidate someone, it should never be socially acceptable. This leads down a dangerous path for our country, where echo chambers, intimidation and digital mobs render the First Amendment a mere formality. Legal protections for speaking up are irrelevant if doing so incurs irreparable social and economic harm. Freedom of speech is being openly undermined because it is no longer respected as a cultural covenant. 

My teacher is far from the only person to come under attack. During NSO, President Donald Trump announced a lawsuit against The New York Times, and Jimmy Kimmel’s show was suspended by ABC after self-admitted pressure from the Trump administration. Suppression of free speech is also becoming more extreme outside of our country – over 200 journalists have been killed in Gaza amidst Israel’s ongoing genocidal campaign: the highest death rate of any modern conflict. 

We are rising freshmen in a falling democracy. 

This must affect the way we approach college. There’s a beautiful culture of service at Stanford. So many classmates I’ve spoken to at NSO have done work addressing problems whose existence I wasn’t even aware of: from sharing their love of math with underprivileged middle-school students to organizing education initiatives across borders, and everything in between. But our moment in history calls for more than contribution and commitment; it requires struggle and sacrifice. 

Personally, I intend to begin by confronting fear. Instead of shrinking away from hate, I’m helping my teacher find work tutoring young debaters: building a generation of independent, critical thinkers. I’ve paused my debate tutoring business, giving back a tiny portion of what she gave to me at a time when we all need to pull rank to protect each other. Friends from across the country have already reached out, offering to help her. 

I won’t pretend to know what protecting democracy looks exactly like for you. For all of us, it at least involves speaking openly and plainly about how extremists are eroding America’s foundational culture of free speech and thinking critically about how our skills and platforms can be used to help people most vulnerable to attacks on American democracy. Your sacrifice can be miniscule or massive. Vote. Go to protests. Find local campaigns and causes you believe in and give them your time, skills and energy. No activist, pundit or politician will single-handedly “save” American democracy with a glamorous speech or glitzy Instagram Reel. The tiny, sometimes mundane tasks which will contribute to this goal are a collective responsibility. 

As my flight neared SFO Airport, pine trees swayed softly in the distance while the Golden State’s sunlight leaked through the cabin windows. My leg shook anxiously: I sensed turbulent times ahead. Still, I took a grateful breath: at least I’m aware of what’s happening to my country. That’s a start. 

Sometimes I feel like shutting off the news and disconnecting from every injustice that’s going on. But too many people lack that privilege – including people in all of our lives. Instead, I’m choosing to be moved by the gravitational pull of something contagious and irrational, yet incredibly powerful:

Hope.