It seems incredible that a story written almost 40 years ago is still eerily relevant today. We might think that Margaret Atwood is psychic thanks to The Handmaid’s Tale, but the reality is that she wrote about an ever-present theme: the eternal quest for human power over other human beings. Atwood managed to capture human nature in a frighteningly raw and visceral narrative, perfect for reflecting on where we are and where we are going.

It’s a bit scary to think of a world that has advanced so much technologically, but not in humanity. A world where we can make our own photographic versions of Studio Ghibli with artificial intelligence, but we remain stuck in the same, old eternal arguments about who deserves power and what should be done with it.

When I started watching Hulu’s The Handmaid’s Tale in 2017 (and read the book), I was living in Venezuela and the story resonated deeply with me. As a journalist and Venezuelan citizen, I saw how the government was undermining all our rights. Even though we didn’t have maids and aunts, we didn’t fully keep our voice. And just like in The Handmaid’s Tale, no one believed that such a reality was possible at the beginning. Later, we were fighting in the streets, running from tear gas bombs lobbed by those who vowed to protect us: the police and the military. Too many of the fortunate chose a bit of something for themselves instead of the good of the people, just as the commanders did in Gilead, compromising themselves for a good house and a piece of power.

Now, I am watching the last season away from my country, noticing how millions of people feel threatened in another part of the world: the United States. The country known for being shaped by different colors, cultures, and creeds does not seem like a safe refuge for many at the moment. There is fear in the streets, even for those whose families count several generations born on that land.

While the threat has been felt hardest toward migrants and people of color, white women are scared of losing control over their bodies, over what their children read, or over their right to vote. Gilead is more present than ever in their heads, wondering if they too can lose it all like June did.

The good, but very gray news, is that no country is Gilead. It’s fiction, even if some are racing to bring it to real life – be it through Christian authoritarianism, heteronormativity, or racism.

In truth, the United States has echoed Gilead for a long time. People of color, especially African Americans, have seen their rights violated time and time again. No matter their kindness, their social status, or how educated they are, the melanin in their skin makes them a target. For Black women, the tension is multiplied.

We can keep on saying that Gilead is a fictional world, but reality can be as (or more) cruel than fiction. Egomania has many faces and they all want power. Serena admitted it in the last season. She, a woman whose voice was taken away, used whatever little power she had to bring down those she could, including June. She was in a dark and bitter hole when she saw her plans dashed. However, when she is called to be a part of society again (a “’better” version of it), she doesn’t hesitate – she says the world is broken and she has been called to heal it. It is the same idea that the founders of Gilead and many rulers have had, each believing they are the messiahs destined to restore a rotten world.

And in this context, hatred spreads, first to the would-be saviors’ circles and then beyond their borders. While in the first season of The Handmaid’s Tale, hundreds of people cross into Canada, towards the end of the story, June is attacked in the middle of the street by a Canadian. “This country is changing… we have to leave,” she says, knowing it’s not a good time to be an American in Canada.

And that phrase seems to reflect a current reality for many migrants from all over the world. In the United States, we’re all labeled as criminals, regardless of our innocence. But that’s what they do in these scenarios: create common enemies who are easy targets. June was an enemy of Gilead’s beliefs. Emily Malek was labeled for being homosexual. Moira, Janine, Rita, Alma, Brianna, they all have stories that didn’t fit the new face the government was offering, where good is only measured by how many times you mention God. In dark times, people need to believe in something, but we also have to be careful where we place our faith.

For a while, June’s hope was pinned on Mayday. She just wanted to rescue her daughter Hannah, who was taken from her near the border, which might seem like a nod to reality. But June knew the greatest strength was always in her. Beyond the dark hole and mental burnout, June always drew courage. She knows it’s difficult to bring down a totalitarian regime, but she continues with individual and group actions that add up.

In reality, it is difficult for me to put my faith in politicians, I prefer to place it in the people who resist. The millions of migrants (and descendants of migrants) in the United States who go out every day to work and are present at NASA, in restaurants, in research laboratories, in supermarkets, on movie sets, in cabs, and in offices. My faith is in the common person, in those who read banned books, who do not allow themselves to be dragged into poisonous reactions, and who associate with others to defend individual and collective rights. It is up to us who value all of the human race to save it.