We are a nation with open wounds, shouting, and losing sight of respect and kindness. Without a shared sense of unity, we fail to truly understand one another, even when we speak the same language. Rather than raising our voices, we must prioritize strengthening our arguments.

Our fingers hover over the triggers of comment sections, poised like a kid about to hit their sibling with a pillow. Meanwhile, our hearts are barricaded behind profile pictures taken in that glorious golden hour when we still had hope for the world and our hair cooperated.

Thanksgiving approaches, that sacred time when we gather with family to profess gratitude for all we have, before promptly turning around the very next day and trampling each other in a mad dash for more—the ultimate American tradition. It’s like saying, “I’m so thankful for this turkey, but can I trade it in for a TV that’s 10% bigger?”

As we gather, you can almost feel the fractures in the air. They float around us like that one awkward family member who shows up uninvited.

These rifts are palpable—in our politics, in our conversations, even in the quiet distance that has begun to grow between neighbors who once borrowed each other’s lawnmowers without a second thought. We exist in a culture that seems to thrive on conflict, where anger races ahead of understanding like a kid on a sugar high, and where division is hailed as a badge of honor.

Amid the swirling tension, one extraordinary force remains resilient: music. Oh, glorious music! From the honky-tonks of Nashville to the soulful streets of Memphis and everywhere in between, we touch the world with our Gospel, Country, Blues, Jazz, Rock, and Soul. It spills out from stages, seeps through front porches, and even reverberates in quiet rooms where people are trying to avoid talking about politics.

Sometimes, music rises in protest—not just against policies or leaders, but against the very notion that we are powerless to heal. Protest music has a way of reminding us that we still have the guts to call out the wrongs and demand what’s right. It gives voice to the voiceless, courage to the weary, and the clarity of a GPS that hasn’t lost its signal yet.

And alongside that music, faith lifts us. Not a passive, “I’ll just pray about it” kind of faith, but one that rolls up its sleeves and gets to work. A faith that insists we can be better than our fears and larger than our anger. It whispers to us, even in our most divided hours, that every person carries worth, that every broken bridge can be rebuilt, and that every fracture has the potential to be mended if we can find the right glue.

We are undeniably living in a moment of tension, but also a moment bursting with possibility. History has shown us that it’s often in these very moments that change occurs. Ordinary people have always stood up, raised their voices, and decided that the future will not be scripted by bitterness but by hope and courage.

So, let’s listen closely—to the music, to our neighbors, and to the better angels within ourselves. If we are going to fight, let’s fight for what truly matters. Our words and actions should inspire others to join our cause. Let’s choose to show up, speak the truth, seek justice, and love with unwavering determination. Perhaps you can sing the words.

The fractures of this moment do not define us. What truly defines us is what we do next.

JC Bowman is the executive director of Professional Educators of Tennessee. He is the Contributing Editor to the TriStar Daily.