Many of us wonder why no one is “doing something” about the nightmare engulfing us all in the United States right now. I think I know why. Let me explain. It’ll take a minute. Grab some tea. Get cozy.

I was once on an airplane, a Delta shuttle from Boston to New York City, that lost its entire hydraulic system as it was about to land at LaGuardia Airport. We’d already been told to fasten our seatbelts, turn off our electronic devices, and put our tray tables up. The plane was on its way down. I was seated over the right wing. When the pilot tried to lower the flaps and wheels, there was a hollow clicking and sickly whirring sound beneath my seat.

The pilot told us the truth. He was calm as he said it. But the news was terrible. We had no wheels, no flaps, no brakes, and, once we were on the ground, no steering. We circled four hours over Manhattan, and out to sea, and back, to burn fuel, so that in the event we caught fire when we finally crash landed somewhere, the fireball would be minimized. He told us all air traffic to LaGuardia was being rerouted to JFK and Newark so that they could prepare a runway at LaGuardia for our crash landing. No, I am not kidding.

Now, before I experienced this, I imagined people would be screaming, crying, praying, begging God at the tops of their lungs in such a situation. But that’s not what happened. Instead, the cabin was eerily silent. I was in the window seat. The middle seat was empty. In the aisle seat was an older businessman, reading the Wall Street Journal. I asked him if I could hold his hand. He rolled his eyes, scoffed, and said, “This stuff happens all the time. It’s fine,” and kept reading. “Please?” I said, and he relented. I held his hand. Despite his rolled eyes and unworried words, his hand was cold and slick with sweat. He, too, was afraid.

Eventually, the captain was able to get one of two emergency hydraulic systems up and running, but, he told us, we were still without steering on the ground. He would have to land perfectly straight, or we’d tip right into the water. Everyone stayed quiet. The plane landed. The pilot landed it perfectly straight. The sides of the runway were lined with rescue vehicles and TV news crews. We did not die. Then and only then did people begin to cry, and clap, and hug each other, and thank their Gods.

What I learned from this is that there is a period of time between realizing you are crashing and actually crashing when, as long as the plane still appears to be okay, people cling to hope more than terror. Even though we all knew the plane had no hydraulics and we were burning and dumping fuel, and they’d closed the airport down and mostly evacuated it so we could crash there, we all still held on to hope.

I think that’s where the people of the United States of America are right now. In that place where trustworthy pilots of history, sociology and political science have all told us just how bad this is. We’re circling, and burning off all the fuel. The news gets worse by the minute. Soon, we will crash or crash land or land.

The human heart hangs on to hope until there’s no other choice. People will not fight back in the ways that will work, until they realize there is no other choice, until the only other choice is their own imprisonment or death, or that of someone they love. For many of us, that moment is already here. But for most of us, it’s not.

Yet.

This has to be a survival mechanism. Freeze. Fawn. Flee. We try all of those first. And only when they’ve failed, do we fight.