Dancing in the Dark With Ohio Lawmakers

The Quiet Bill That Could Change Ohio Forever

Let’s be honest—breaking up with democracy was brutal.

When Trump 2.0 hit, it felt like getting slammed by the same train twice—
only this time, we saw it coming and still couldn’t get out of the way.

For a while, we were in a collective slump.
Not defeated, just frozen.
Deer-in-headlights energy.
Blank stares. Doomscrolling. Full-sentence expletives while independent media hit us with reality.

We were told, over and over:

“No one is coming to save us.”

And eventually, we came to the conclusion that if we truly wanted to get back together with democracy—
we were going to have to get up off the floor, tie our hats on, and prepare for the battle of our lives.

So I started speaking up.
I lost a few friends.
One said I was “unsettling.”

And honestly?
She wasn’t wrong.

Especially for the brunch bold,
PTA passive-aggressive,
political when it’s cute—not when it’s costly.

Truth-telling isn’t polite when a girl just wants to have fun.

It stole the narrative from the performative patriotism of her hand-glued MAGA dress,
and cut through the Stepford fog-induced suburban denial cocktail
of Xanax mixed with chardonnay.

Because let’s be real:
Poor kids only count when they’re part of a tax write-off or a photo op, right?

That’s when I realized:
I wasn’t the one who’d changed.
I had just stopped making other people’s comfort my priority.

And that clarity—that refusal to keep pretending—
led me to speaking out at the state level.

Because just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse—it did.

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Dystopian Fever Dream 101

Enter stage right: SB 172 in Ohio.

A bill so vague and dangerous it could’ve been pulled straight from a dystopian screenplay—
except this one’s real, and it just passed the Ohio Senate.

On paper, it sounds deceptively simple:
It allows law enforcement in Ohio to detain anyone based on “reasonable suspicion” of being undocumented.

That’s it.

No warrant.
No definition of what “suspicion” means.
No safeguards to prevent profiling.
No due process.

Just suspicion.

The kind that lives in someone’s gut and whispers:

“They don’t look right.”

It overrides local protections.
It targets Black, brown, and immigrant communities.
It opens the door to vigilante policing and racialized harassment—
all with the backing of the state.

And let’s be clear—this isn’t happening in a vacuum.
At the same time SB 172 is moving through the legislature, local GOP groups in Ohio are sponsoring paramilitary trainings.

Civilians are being encouraged to gear up, arm themselves, and prepare for action—under the banner of “readiness,” “freedom,” and “security.”

Combine that with a bill like SB 172—
one that gives law enforcement the legal right and citizens the cultural permission and political immunity to target anyone who “looks suspicious”—
and you’ve got a disaster waiting to happen.

This isn’t theoretical.
It’s already here.
It’s just happening quietly.

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For example:
Today—yes, today—the Portage County GOP is conducting a paramilitary-style “readiness” training.

Below is a screenshot of the flyer that was posted on the Portage County GOP’s official website on May 25.

After the media began shining light on it, the flyer was removed.
But the training?
Still on.

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Because nothing screams “constitutional values” like the GOP teaching civilians how to arm up—while pushing a bill that legalizes racial profiling based on “suspicion.”

You don’t get to hide behind legislative language while you train your base to act like a militia.
This isn’t about safety.
It’s about control.
And we see it for exactly what it is

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When I Read the Bill, I Felt It in My Bones

I didn’t need a law degree to understand what SB 172 was really about.
I just had to imagine someone like me—or someone I love—being stopped for looking “suspicious.”

And once you’ve lived in a country where suspicion gets people killed,
where “you fit the description” is code for “you don’t belong here,”
you learn exactly how dangerous a word like that can be.

This wasn’t just bad policy.
It was a loaded weapon disguised as legislation.
It was an invitation to harassment.
A permission slip for profiling.
A setup for suffering.

And the fact that they were trying to pass it quietly—without public awareness, without real media coverage, without even assigning it to a House committee yet—told me everything I needed to know:

They didn’t want people to notice.
They didn’t want us to have time to respond.
They didn’t want us to fight.

Which is exactly why I had to.

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I’ve Never Been Here Before Either

Here’s the part nobody tells you:
Most of us weren’t trained for this.
We weren’t taught how to track a bill, organize a protest, or call a Speaker of the House.

We were taught to be polite.
To stay out of politics.
To trust the process.

But what happens when the process turns on us?

I’m not an expert.
I’m not a politician.
I’m a mom. A writer. A daughter of this country.

And I’m here to tell you:
I’ve never done this before either.

And that’s exactly why I’m writing this.

Because if I can find my way through the fog of grief, betrayal, rage, and exhaustion—
and still show up to name what’s happening in my own state?
So can you.

This post is more than a warning.
It’s a roadmap.

Because the pattern is real.
Because this bill won’t be the last.
Because what’s happening in Ohio is already spreading—
and we need each other if we’re going to stop it from playing out in every corner of this country.

You don’t have to be ready.
You don’t have to be fearless.
You just have to decide that silence is no longer an option.

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Gidget Goes to the Switchboard

Let’s be clear:
I haven’t been in the Statehouse (yet).

But I have been making calls.
Feverishly. Obsessively.
Trying to get real answers about SB 172 and where it’s going next.

Eventually, I landed in the right place:
The Speaker of the House’s office.

Someone from the office did call back and leave a message.
They told me:

“The Rules and Reference Committee should meet on Tuesday, and at that point, the bill should be assigned to a committee.”

Should.
Maybe.
Possibly.

So I called back.
Twice.

I asked if they already knew where it was going.
I asked when public testimony would be scheduled—because there are many advocacy groups watching this bill, and people deserve a chance to respond.

They didn’t give me a straight answer.
No timeline. No confirmation. No clarity.

But they never called me back.
Of course.

So I did what any red-blooded American Latina woman
who was born on the Fourth of July during a tornado would do—
I sounded the alarm.

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Sound the Alarm—Name the Game

I didn’t have a PR team.
I didn’t have insider contacts.
But I had a phone, a voice, and zero tolerance for any more political bullshit disguised as democratic process—or MAGA Monopoly with a gavel.

Simultaneously, I connected with other advocacy groups.
People who’ve been tracking bills like this for years.
People who knew exactly how these things slip through.

We started comparing notes.
And when we did, it became clear:
This wasn’t just dangerous. It was strategic.

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And somewhere in the middle of all that?

I asked ChatGPT to make me a thumbnail—nothing fancy.
Just a red square with white text warning about SB 172.

We were told this is how the tool should be used, right?
Augmenting work for the sake of efficiency, especially when the clock is ticking.

But it refused.

Apparently, telling the truth about a real piece of legislation—
passed by real lawmakers, with real consequences for real Black and brown people—
violated the “content guardrails.”

So just to be clear:

The bill that could let police detain people on “suspicion” of being undocumented? Totally fine.
But a square graphic warning the public about it?
Too dangerous to generate.

Imagine trying to sound the alarm on fascism
and getting stonewalled by a helpful little robot who’s like:

“Sorry, that’s too real for me.”

If you’re wondering exactly what kind of dystopia we’re in—
just know that even the AI flinched.

So I made the graphic myself.
Because, of course I did.

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Stop SB 172 flyer created on Canva on 1-20-25

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📍 I told people SB 172 had already passed the Senate.
📍 I told them it hadn’t even been assigned to a House committee yet.
📍 I told them the person with the answers—the one holding the next move—was Speaker of the House Matt Huffman.
📍 And I gave them his office number: (614) 466‑6344.

Then I shared the information with every single person I knew.
And I asked them to text ten more.

I didn’t ask anyone to storm the Statehouse.
I just asked them to call.

And when they did, I gave them three questions to ask:

1. What committee will SB 172 be assigned to?

2. When will the public be notified?

3. Will there be time to submit testimony?

And of course, I shared it with all the online friends I’ve been surviving this hellscape with for the past 153 days of this presidency.

Because this isn’t just about calls.
It’s about breaking the silence before the system locks us out of it.

If they’re going to pass legislation this reckless, the least they owe the public is daylight.
And if they won’t offer it?
We’ll bring the floodlights.

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Shining the Light

I’m not telling you this because I have all the answers.
I’m telling you this because I’m figuring it out in real time—
and if I can do it, so can you.

This is what civic engagement actually looks like in 2025.
Not a civics class. Not a news headline. Not a polished action plan.
Just a regular person calling the Speaker’s office.
Just someone screaming into the void and refusing to stay quiet.

It’s reading a bill that sounds insane—because it is.
It’s calling the government and getting half-answers.
It’s making your own graphic when the tech refuses.
It’s texting ten friends and then ten more.

It’s not glamorous.
It’s not easy.
It’s exhausting.
But it’s also how we win.

Because every time we speak up,
every time we ask questions,
every time we stop pretending this is normal—
we disrupt their playbook.

This is how we stop it from playing out in every other state.
This is how we build the muscle memory of resistance.
This is how we remind them:

We are not afraid.
We are not asleep.
And we are not alone.

And I’m not too proud to ask:
If you’re a reader from Eleanor’s Squad, and you have influence, knowledge, or even just a phone—
we could use your help here in Ohio.

They want American Bandstand—
polished, scripted, palatable.

But we’re bringing the Salsa.

If this resonates with you—share it.
Forward it.
Text it to ten people.
Because they’re counting on our silence.
And we’re done being quiet.

Let’s turn on the floodlights. Together.

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For continued advocacy and real-time updates, I encourage you to follow the work of the Ohio Immigrant Alliance, who are on the front lines of this fight.

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