TLDR: In this brief address, spiritual activist Valarie Kaur frames care—the deliberate choice to value human life—as a revolutionary power against state systems built on indifference. She responds to the death of Renee Good (and others) by arguing that the repeated refusal to care ("I don't care") accumulates into a logic of disposability that justifies disappearance, incarceration, and killing. Against this, Kaur calls for collective care as a form of fierce resistance: reaching for one another, speaking the names of those lost, finding courage, and being good. In this framing, care is not sentiment—it is political power.
What does the logic of "I don't care" really build?
Kaur opens with a concrete scene: Renee Good, a specific person, whose death is at the center of this talk. A neighbor—a doctor—asks to help, to check if Renee is still alive, still saveable. A federal agent refuses: "I don't care." This single utterance, Kaur argues, is not isolated. It is part of a system. "All the I don't cares add up to this," she says, naming the outcome: a logic that tells certain people, "You are disposable. Your life doesn't matter."
The logic accumulates through specific violences: "We can disappear you, incarcerate you, deport you, torture you, or kill you in the street and say it is your fault." Kaur is naming something precise here—the way indifference becomes permission. When someone does not care whether you live or die, they can harm you and blame you for it. "They say it was her fault," Kaur says of Renee Good. The blame itself is a way of making indifference seem justified: if it was her fault, then not caring becomes reasonable.
Kaur places Renee Good's death in historical context: "Renee Good's murder is an extension of the violence that black and brown and indigenous people have long known on this soil." This is not new cruelty. It is the continuation of centuries of violence against people whose humanity has been systematically refused. The repetition of indifference—the refusal to care—has a genealogy.
How does care become a form of power?
Kaur's intervention is to reframe care not as weakness or sentiment, but as revolutionary power. "But we care," she declares. And in that declaration, something shifts. The refusal to accept the system's indifference becomes an act of resistance.
"And in our care lies enormous power," Kaur says. This is the crux of her argument. Power is not the property of the federal agents with budgets exceeding military spending. Power resides in the choice to care—in the refusal to accept that anyone is disposable. In the refusal to believe the agents' narrative that it was Renee's fault, that her death was justified.
Kaur catalogs what care does in practice: "We will reach for one another in the dark. We will say the names of the ones we love. We will find courage we did not know we had. We will be good." These are concrete actions. Reaching. Speaking names. Finding courage. Being good. Care is not passive—it is active resistance. It is the work of showing up, of staying connected, of refusing to let anyone be forgotten or abandoned.
What is the scale of the violence Kaur is naming?
Kaur does not treat Renee Good's death as an isolated incident. She grounds it in a present crisis: "In this moment, thousands of armed and masked agents with a budget that exceeds that of the militaries of most nations on Earth are deployed in cities across our country. From here in Los Angeles to Minneapolis, ripping families apart, caging our neighbors, storming schools and hospitals, terrorizing and disappearing our people."
This is systematic. It is happening in multiple cities. It is resourced beyond measure. And it is built on a single logic: that some people do not matter, that they can be disappeared, caged, or killed without accountability. "Under the logic of I don't care, we will show the nation that we care," Kaur says. The contrast is stark. One logic treats people as disposable; the other declares their worth by refusing to abandon them.
What does it mean to be good in this moment?
Kaur's final call is striking: "We will be good in the name of Renee and Keith and all we have lost." Being good is not a moral nicety. It is an act of memorial and defiance. It is saying: these people mattered. Their deaths will not be erased. Our response is to care harder, to love more fiercely, to build the world they deserved to see.
"We will be braver with our love we have ever been," she adds. This reframes love—care—not as something gentle, but as something that requires bravery. To care in a system built on indifference is to take a risk. It is to refuse the status quo. It is to assert that another way is possible.
And Kaur's final commitment: "And as long as there are people who breathe, who need us to protect them, to fight for them, to care about them, we will be." Care is not a moment. It is a practice that extends as long as there are people to care for. It is sustainable commitment, not temporary emotion.
Where to go from here
Kaur has organized resources for people who want to act on this call to care. She directs readers to her newsletter at revolutionarylove.org/sign-up, where she provides concrete ways to help—in this case, specifically resources related to Minnesota and the crisis she is addressing. The work of care is not abstract. It has resources, networks, and next steps. The invitation is to join that work.
