So, the big old parka was found—30 years old and counting, now—and the insulated boots. And of course the long johns and the wool socks and the stocking cap and… well, you get the idea. And it was time to go. In St. Cloud a boisterous crowd was forming in front of the public library. Non-violent? Of course. Loud? Yes. Smiling faces? You bet. Kind of frozen in place, though. And great signs—an outstanding display of fine literature and timeless art. And an overall feeling comprised of… Defiance. Pride. Patriotism. Community. Seriousness of purpose blended with good humor. One does not survive Minnesota winters, after all, without good humor. And, of course, hot dish.

There were folks handing out free whistles and hand warmers. I hesitated to take any for fear of being outed as a ‘paid protestor.’ I took them anyway. And I roamed up and down the street, greeting and being greeted. It was cold but it felt… warm. In a goofy, Minnesota way. Maybe about a thousand souls, a few more, a few less. An impressive array of humans, on such a cold day. Many a car and truck went by, honking and tooting and waving, and a cheer would go up from the crowd with nearly every one that passed.

Among the many inspired and eloquent signs, Donald Trump was mentioned frequently. And Botox Kristi. And the malignant Stephen Miller. And of course the anonymous storm troopers of ICE. Shockingly, there was an occasional ‘bad’ word within some of the signs. Sometimes even two. Typos, probably. But they weren’t heard out loud much. Chants of ‘ICE Out!’ and ‘ICE Out Now!’ were indeed heard. Along with the car horns and the whistles. And somebody beating a drum. Toes and noses and ears and fingers got cold. But no one complained. And nobody left. In fact, the longer folks were there, the more buoyant the mood seemed to become.

Why? Why were they out there—these normal, ordinary, hardworking, hardy Minnesotans? Well, that’s the first reason right there. Because they ARE Minnesotans. Moms, dads, teachers, grandmas and grandpas, nurses, young folks and retirees. Tough, caring, community-minded people. Who know that we always help each other through the winter. No matter what shade of skin you might sport, or which church you might attend. On this day, most of the complexions were white, because… well, because in Minnesota right now, good folks of darker tones are terrified to go out in public. Period.

But there were other reasons, too, for the gathering—besides the pure Minnesota-ishness of it. In such gatherings, we find support, the support needed to feel not-alone, in our grief and in our anger. We find solidarity, with a shared courage that is vitally important. With this infusion of community strength we ourselves as individuals feel stronger—able to stand up just a little taller. To hold our signs of resistance up a little higher. And we have a belief—a sense and a hope—that in this shared strength of resistance, multiplied from St. Cloud to Anoka to Bemidji to Duluth to the stronghold of Minneapolis/St. Paul, to Chicago and Denver and Philadelphia and New York and Los Angeles, and all the St Cloud-sized-and-smaller towns in between, that such shows of shared strength make Trump a little weaker. His lies a little more obvious and ridiculous. His masked goons a little less fearsome. His entire regime a little more wobbly. And then, and then gradually, eventually… we have less to fear.

Will one well-written sign do it? No. One protest gathering? No. One march, one rally? No. But every one of them—every defiant sign, every rally, every person standing next to you in solidarity and bravery, over time… yeah. Over time, consistently, that’s exactly what will do it. Along with every single form of peaceful resistance. Such shared resistance helps people who are feeling scared and helpless and, perhaps, hopeless. It ends their isolation. It keeps sending an unmistakable message to a seemingly scary but scared regime. It gives backbone transplants to those in power who need them. For they have all failed us, to one extent or another, in one way or another, all along the way.

So now it has simply come down to us. To ‘we, the people.’ Which is sort of how this whole thing started in the first place, 249 years ago. So…

Defiance.

(This is my latest Substack post. I hope you will subscribe to me there at Notes From The Campfire@douglaswoodauthor. CLICK HERE to follow and subscribe. Thank you!)