On January 13, 2018, Hawai’i was gripped by a terrifying false missile alert, warning of an imminent ballistic strike and urging residents to seek shelter. The alert, broadcasted through TV, radio, and cell networks, spread panic across the islands, though the state’s civil defense sirens remained silent. For 37 minutes, fear consumed Hawai’i until officials clarified it was a mistake, caused by a miscommunication during a drill by the Hawai’i Emergency Management Agency. Following a public apology from Governor David Ige, investigations by the FCC and Hawai’i’s House of Representatives ultimately led to the resignation of the state’s emergency management director.

This moment of sheer terror remains etched in my memory as a defining image of the Trump presidency.

My wife and I were on O’ahu, staying overnight after a conference in Honolulu. We’d set out early that morning to catch the Pipeline surfing contest on the North Shore. As we drove along a remote road between Hale’iwa and Honolulu, no gas stations, shops, or nearby homes to seek shelter or confirm the news, we received the missile alert on our phones. Unsure of its validity, we pulled over and anxiously scanned the radio stations, hoping for either emergency instructions or a report debunking the threat. But all we heard was silence, heightening our fear of an impending attack.

With limited options, we tried to make sense of the situation. We guessed that Honolulu, the most densely populated part of Hawai’i, would be the likely target. I found myself recalling Trump’s volatile exchanges with North Korea, specifically his taunting of Kim Jong Un as “Rocket Man” in reference to North Korea’s nuclear ambitions. With Trump’s unpredictable provocations, it felt entirely plausible that his rhetoric had led another world leader to retaliate, bringing us to the edge of disaster. I felt a surge of anger and helplessness, fearing that Trump’s reckless behavior might endanger not only my family but my entire community.

Convinced we were in our final moments, we called our 14-year-old daughter, who was on the Big Island with friends. Unable to reach her, we left a voicemail, trying to keep calm while conveying the gravity of our message: “Goodbye. We may not see each other again. We love you.”

The next day, I found some comfort in conversations with colleagues who had shared in the fear. But to my surprise, I discovered that some had slept through the alert and were untouched by the experience. This created a deep divide, between those of us who had felt the terror and those for whom it was merely another morning.

I feel this divide widening again on a national level. Many of us who endured the daily anxieties of Trump’s presidency remember the constant risk of alienating allies, provoking dictators (as with Kim Jong Un), and even befriending authoritarian leaders like Vladimir Putin. Trump’s administration dismantled policies and protections across the board, fueling a profound sense of instability. The “zero-tolerance” immigration policy that separated thousands of children from their parents at the border sparked widespread outrage, while his mishandling of the COVID-19 pandemic, from downplaying its severity to promoting unproven treatments, likely led to thousands of preventable deaths. His approach to climate policy was similarly alarming: pulling the U.S. out of the Paris Climate Agreement, reversing over 100 environmental protections, and rolling back pollution controls amid a global climate crisis.

On social justice, Trump’s response to the Black Lives Matter protests following George Floyd’s murder was one of hostility rather than empathy; he even ordered the use of tear gas on peaceful protesters for a photo-op near the White House. His presidency was marred by impeachment charges of abuse of power and obstruction of Congress, stemming from his efforts to pressure Ukraine to investigate Joe Biden while withholding military aid as leverage. His tacit support for white supremacist groups was most glaring in his comment on the Charlottesville rally, where he described “very fine people on both sides.”

Trump’s policies alienated allies and promoted discrimination, such as the “Muslim ban” targeting citizens from several Muslim-majority countries. His attacks on democratic institutions, labeling the media as “the enemy of the people” and undermining trust in the judiciary and intelligence agencies, eroded confidence in these foundational pillars. His “America First” stance strained long-standing alliances, such as NATO, leaving allies uncertain of U.S. commitment. Additionally, his rollback of LGBTQ protections, banning transgender individuals from military service and undermining protections for transgender students—further deepened social divisions.

Trump’s controversial use of presidential pardons, including for allies like Roger Stone and Michael Flynn, suggested an abuse of executive power that encouraged corruption. Despite clear evidence of Russian interference in the 2016 election, Trump downplayed or denied it, stirring concerns about his relationship with Putin. His administration held migrant children in chain-link enclosures, drawing condemnation from human rights organizations. His promotion of conspiracy theories and misinformation, with thousands of misleading claims documented, eroded public trust in institutions.

Trump’s rapid appointments of conservative judges, including three Supreme Court Justices, solidified a legacy that could affect reproductive rights, healthcare, and civil liberties for decades. His trade war with China hurt U.S. farmers and manufacturers, requiring billions in bailout payments. Health and safety regulations were gutted, affecting workplace protections and standards for food and drug safety. His inadequate response to Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico drew outrage for its delay and insensitivity toward the predominantly Hispanic population. His divisive rhetoric fueled polarization, emboldening extreme views and diminishing the civility of public discourse.

Each of these actions left us grappling with daily reminders of how vulnerable democratic norms can be, and how quickly stability can erode under leadership that favors division over unity and provocation over diplomacy.

In 2024, Trump’s approval ratings were higher than in 2020, reflecting a collective amnesia, a phenomenon psychologists call “rosy retrospection,” where we remember the past more favorably than it was. While this cognitive bias can simplify and even romanticize our memories, it can also lead us to repeat mistakes. Simplifying or idealizing memories may reduce the brain’s burden, but at the risk of leaving us vulnerable to similar historical mistakes. “Declinism,” the tendency to view the past more favorably than the present, can compound this effect, making us susceptible to nostalgia that clouds judgment.

The 2018 missile scare didn’t feel unprecedented. Decades earlier, Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor, though widely perceived as unprovoked, stemmed from long-standing economic tensions with the U.S. Visiting Pearl Harbor reveals that Japan’s assault was not an isolated act but a reaction to U.S. economic policies—a reminder of how American foreign policy sometimes creates its own vulnerabilities. During WWII, President Roosevelt sanctioned internment camps under the Alien and Sedition Acts, including one on Oʻahu, where civilians and POWs were held under severe conditions. Known as “Hell Valley,” this internment site symbolizes one of the darker chapters in American history.

With the current rise of authoritarian rhetoric, it’s hard not to feel that we’re edging toward similar historical pitfalls. Trump has even referenced using the same Alien and Sedition Acts that justified Roosevelt’s internment camps, stirring fears that a similar framework could once again be exploited in ways that undermine civil liberties.

Today, Trump’s rhetoric on tariffs and sanctions, especially toward China, raises concerns. With escalating conflicts like the Russia-Ukraine war and Israeli-Palestinian tensions, we face a real risk of history repeating itself.

For those who didn’t experience Hawai’i’s missile scare, this may feel like an abstract thought experiment. But for me and my family, it was an existential threat, underscoring the dangers we face when impulsive rhetoric replaces diplomacy. That morning left me with an indelible awareness of the risks that arise from reckless leadership.

Each memory serves as a reminder of democracy’s fragility and the dangers of prioritizing provocation over diplomacy, division over unity. Trump’s rise in approval ratings reflects a troubling tendency toward selective memory, a kind of collective amnesia that dulls the edges of past crises, making them seem less severe. But as citizens, we cannot afford to forget.

We must remain vigilant, questioning nostalgia when it erases critical lessons. Now, more than ever, we need to remember both the hopeful and the dark moments of our history. We need to act with purpose: speak up, vote wisely, engage in meaningful conversations, and support leaders who embody integrity and accountability.

Our nation’s resilience depends on a well-informed electorate, one capable of discerning historical lessons and holding leaders accountable. Let’s work together to prevent past mistakes from repeating, and to keep peace, democracy, and empathy at the heart of American leadership.