This past week has been grueling for everyone, regardless of political alignment. It's difficult to process, much less act, when fascism and hate emerges in broad daylight flanked with tiki torches.

I don't want to get into the nitty-gritty of what happened and why it's so tragic - many have done so in a manner far more eloquent than I ever could. I also don't want to preach platitudes about why racism and fascism are bad - that should be relatively obvious to anyone with a modicum of decency, and radical polarization on either side of the political spectrum is the last thing we need right now in the wake of the President's, er, off-the-wall remarks.

Rather, I wish to talk about solidarity.

A single person may not be able to dismantle systems which give rise to the abhorrent ideals demonstrated by the alternative right - indeed, it’s an impossible task. But when two, three, four, five thousand individuals devote their time and energy to a singular cause - that’s how revolution begins. Solidarity begets new ideas, new opportunities, new possibilities and new strategies. Continuing to act in a vaccuum or an echo chamber is no longer an option - in order to incite change, we must cross boundaries and combat injustice in novel ways, together.

And there are signs that it's already happening.

I was taken aback by the solidarity demonstrated by politicians on all sides in the immediate aftermath of Charlottesville. The tableau of GOP bigwigs agreeing with the most liberal of legislators felt like an alternate reality; bipartisan disagreement and blind allegiance to party labels is so distressingly common nowadays that any sort of cooperation comes as a shock. Moreover, it doesn’t seem like it will be a one-time thing: Swaths of Republicans are going against Trump and pledging to preserve the integrity of the party Lincoln built.

Will these pledges lead to any tangible changes? Hard to say. But for the first time in seemingly forever, simple objective opinions are no longer radical partisan statements. And that sort of solidarity is the first step - a baby step, but a step all the same - to healing our infirm democracy.

I was moved by the solidarity manifested in public responses. Holocaust survivors are rallying with their great-grandchildren by their side; veterans who have witnessed fascism firsthand are writing to Congress and on Facebook in equal measure. Protesters are toppling Confederate monuments as a team; anonymous internet denizens are generating and spreading memes faster than the human eye can process. People of all ages, creeds, genders, sexual orientations, races, and political alignments (yes, even Republicans - the alt right is so unhinged that it would behoove us all to classify them as an entirely different party) are finding ways to act, and people are noticing.

Will these actions lead to any true changes? Hard to say. But acts of solidarity inspire others to join the fight and aid in preserving all America stands for. Even when one person shoots a “thumbs-down” to peaceful protesters, the number who cheer and show support will always be tenfold.

I was awed by the solidarity of crowdsourced efforts. Anonymity enables brazenness - that's how the alt-right gained so much traction on 4chan and Reddit - but it also allows 310,000 Twitter users to collectively identify ralliers and force them to face the natural consequences of their actions. Over on GoFundMe, over $200,000 was raised for the family of Heather Heyer within 5 days, and the sharing of her story on social media ensures that her legacy will continue to live on. Offscreen, cities have begun issuing statements on behalf of their citizens: hate is not welcome, fascism is not welcomed, every person who has ever been subjected to oppression by our ancestors is welcome.

Will these efforts lead to any IRL changes? Hard to say. But the internet is a powerful tool which weaponizes solidarity and amplifies the desires of the people. So long as we educate ourselves and stay away from the echo chamber, the future looks bright.

I was humbled by the solidarity of those who live in Confederate heartland. False equivalencies - "all Republicans are part of the alt-right" - are a disservice to those offering condolences and assistance to Charlottesville victims. Indeed, the mood in the South seems to be contemplation and regret as people realize the inherent racism and oppression baked into "Southern pride" - or, at the very least, that's true of the mayors and governors who have quietly admitted that certain monuments (and the cultural ideals they glorify/represent) need to be taken down.

Will these shifting perspectives lead to any long-term changes? Hard to say. But in a world where the president hasn't done much of anything, it's up to people on the local and state level to make things happen. In solidarity, they have begun to open their minds to deconstruction and rebirth to prevent further violence and unrest. Whether it's due to safety concerns or actually wishing to stop oppression (the realist in me thinks it's the former), it's still a step forward.

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By no means do these displays of solidarity "fix" anything, per say. It will take much more work and direct action to end the inevitable floodgate of violence, vandalism, and hate crimes at the hands of neo-Nazi hooligans. Affirmation of solidarity isn't enough - those who have pledged their support need to demonstrate their vow.

But the responses from people this week brings me hope. Knowing that others, especially those who don't always occupy advocacy circles, are just as concerned and ready to act lights a fire within me and countless others. I know now that the number of people who love outnumber the people who hate; that love outlasts hate; that no matter how loud the hate becomes, love will be there to stop it.

We are at a turning point in our history. Centuries worth of pieces are lined up for one final game with incredible stakes. It is time to play our first move - together, in unison, in solidarity.