“ . . . the uprising of [our] nature is but the effort to give to [our] whole being the opportunity to expand into all [our] essential nobility.” – Sarah Grimké— [i]
It wasn’t the first time I had stood in protest on that street corner. I’m sure it won’t be the last. But the gathered crowd was by far the largest I’d been a part of there, covering not just the plaza on the western corner of Lake Avenue and Superior Street, but all the other corners, as well as up and down the sidewalks for half a block. We were a motley crew, from young people perhaps at their first protest to the many well-seasoned grey-haired. Though I met a few indigenous friends there, I was struck by the overwhelming perceived whiteness of the crowd. I imagine Black and Brown people would be more reluctant to join a street protest where they might be targeted. Indeed, on my way home I heard a report that the number of “driving while Black and Brown” traffic stops has increased in recent days.
Standing in the wet snow, chanting, “This is what democracy looks like!” and “What do we want? Democracy! When do we want it? Now!,” the atmosphere was more of a party than of a wake.[ii] Yet, when the chants began, I found myself near tears, wanting to sob rather than shout. As some report seeing their lives flash before their eyes when facing imminent death, I saw my protest life flashing before my eyes – all the anti-war marches – from Vietnam to Iraq to the recent Israeli attacks on Gaza, the marches for the ERA, the Take Back the Night marches, the MMIW marches, the Standing Rock and Line 3 protests, the Women’s Marches, the march for science, the vigils after school shootings and nightclub shootings and the murder of George Floyd, the rallies to protect trans rights, . . . the list goes on and on. And I felt like weeping, for all these efforts to bring peace and justice and equality to this land were being trampled on and were under threat of being destroyed. What had it all been for?
It was good to be with friends – some made along the way — a spontaneous mutual aid network as we collectively tried to figure out the new parking system and thankfully found a young person who helped us with the technology skills which we then passed along; and others I’d known for years – friends from my work at the university, from church, from indigenous trauma training, from the early years of feminist organizing in this city, from standing together on this street corner countless times. It added to the general feeling of solidarity and good will. We were in this together.
It also gave us a chance to catch up on each other’s lives, as well as to learn of the ways the Trump administration’s actions were impacting their work. I learned that, in light of Trump’s threat to stop federal funding of universities that allowed protests on campus, the university had issued a reminder that protests on campus of greater than 100 people (and 50 on the smaller branch campuses) is against university policy. From a friend working for one of the indigenous bands I learned that much of their funding is under threat. On the flip side, from another I learned that at least one of the local hospitals is prepared to protect the rights and privacy of patients should ICE agents arrive. I also heard about other resistance organizations popping up in Duluth and the surrounding area and of how 160 people had shown up at an Indivisible meeting in a neighboring small town that generally votes more conservative than other cities and towns.
As I write this, I’m very aware of how I’m deliberately being vague about the identities of those with whom I spoke, unsure of how they might be targeted or suffer consequences from their workplaces. As one friend asked, “Is it okay if we take photos?” I had wondered the same thing. We were both concerned for the safety of protestors from federal agents and arrest – for citizens exercising their First Amendment right of assembly.
Just a few nights before, at a Twin Cities Indivisible zoom meeting, Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison had predicted that with Kash Patel heading up the FBI, people would begin being arrested – whether journalists criticizing the administration’s actions or officials not abiding by Executive Orders or ordinary citizens. The group of us gathered on the street corner deliberated on what grounds we could be arrested. “For loitering on the street?,” asked one sarcastically. “For disturbing the ‘peace’?” I mused.
I’m left pondering the state of the country — of our drift, or perhaps leap, towards authoritarianism – where rights I have always considered unassailable — of speech, the press, and assembly — are no longer guaranteed. In all my criticisms of the government, I’ve at least been grateful for these – grateful not to be living under conditions of oppression and suppression like those in Russia, Iran, North Korea, Afghanistan. But here we are, on the verge. I fear for our country. I fear for the life of my child and his children, for their freedoms, for the future of their education – or will it be indoctrination, for their health, for the sustainability of the planet.
I cannot dwell in this darkness for long stretches at a time, so I go looking for instances of hope, paradigms of possibility. I found them in Rebecca Solnit’s A Paradise Built in Hell – her examination of communities that arise out of disaster. For what is happening in this country is indeed a disaster of global proportions into the foreseeable future. What Solnit found in her study of communities affected by disasters is that “the prevalent human nature in disaster is resilient, resourceful, generous, empathic, and brave.”[iii] This is what I felt standing on that street corner – surrounded by good and generous and courageous people, all rising to demand the best of what we could be. I must trust in this resilient resistance and resolve to carry us and break through these dark days.
Sources
Civic Responsibilities at the University of Minnesota | University of Minnesota System
Grimké, Sarah. “Sisters of Charity.” In Letters on the Equality of the Sexes and Other Essays. Ed. Elizabeth Ann Bartlett. 156-164. New Haven: Yale U Press, 1988.
Solnit, Rebecca. A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communities that Arise in Disaster. New York: Penguin Books. 2009, 2020.
[i] A paraphrase of Sarah Grimké’s “Sisters of Charity.” “Our” has been substituted for “her.” Grimké, 163.
[ii] The protest was organized by 50501 – Fifty Protests, Fifty States, One Movement – a recently formed response protesting the anti-democratic and illegal actions of the Trump administration.
[iii] Solnit, 6.