January 2026 – An Active Listener

I Didn’t Go to the Protest Last Week. Now I Wish I Had.

Around 50,000 people protested in downtown Minneapolis on January 23, and I decided not to go. To date, I’ve never been to a protest; either I never agree with all their views or I take offense to their actions. In 2020, I couldn’t accept the chaos and burnings on Lake Street two miles north. Likewise, when right-wing groups protested Covid shutdowns, some of them reminded me too much of the tiki torch men that marched on Charlottesville in 2017. One thing or another has always held me back, and so it was that Friday. Even as I found myself now living in a police state under ICE, I didn’t stand against it, and I feel a shame for it today.

If I had gone to the protest, I would have stood for the constitutional principles that ICE is violating in my home. I cherish the Constitution; a set of ideas providing us a lifetime of restraints from government. Then ICE flooded Minneapolis, and all of the sudden, those freedoms vanished. With stops on civilians for having accents. With door-to-door knocks forcing residents to prove citizenship and call out their neighbors. With denials of access to attorneys and horrid conditions in detention. For agents following samaritans delivering groceries to people too afraid to go outside. For the invasions of schools, harassments against local police, and the constant presence of masked men with big guns. All of this and more is happening, and it’s too much to ignore as agents tear down everything I value of my country.

And as much as I am weary of some using the race card to explain events, it’s hard to ignore race as ICE’s sole cause for action. I speak now of living in a police state, but really, the state is only applicable to some. Minnesota is a state that now requires those with darker skin tones to carry ID, lest they face arrest and detainment. My wife is fearful of an encounter with ICE, but I haven’t flinch since she brought it up. Why? Because we’re not the targets, unless ICE plans to catch those who might look Canadian or European. We’ll be fine, and my neighborhood will probably be fine. But many others are not.

Ironically, these events made me obsessed with following right-wing media. I was hoping—praying and begging—for pundits like Ben Shapiro and Megan Kelly to sway my fears. I wanted to believe that life was normal. That the chaos from ICE was just smoke and mirrors from the Left. That Minnesota is still under the practices of the Constitution. That U.S. citizens and legal immigrants don’t have to fear federal stops or captures. But the conservatives failed me. Along with their cruel mockery of others, they either ignored these problems or excused them – e.g., the media always lies, the protestors are snowflakes, and the Democrats started it all anyway. I wanted to cling to their reasoning, but I came to terms with the state of life in Minnesota.

And in all of this, I haven’t even brought up the shootings of Renee Good and Alex Pretti. I’ll refrain from commentary on the incidents. Everyone has seen the videos, and everyone has offered their opinions. I have neither insight of police work nor the skills to persuade if I did. Taking it all in, I’m just astonished at how everyone takes different conclusions from the exact same videos. Whether you see their deaths as murder, as tragic but avoidable, or as justified, the climate of fear from the muscle of ICE is a disgrace. A moral stain on our nation, not only for the loss of life, but the immediate judgments of the victims thereafter. The lies of the federal government. The erosion of public trust. And the lives people now live in the Twin Cities.

Still, despite everything, I decided not to go to the protest. In the end, I still held opinions that kept me from associating myself with the assembly. I’m still sympathetic for an ICE agent forced to decide in a flash how to handle a car in front of him with spinning wheels. I still see a need for agencies like ICE to kick out the worst of the worst. And I usually agree with conservative calls for personal accountability; in this case, interference with law enforcement. If I’m not in line with the protest’s views, why would I join them? It’s the same concern I’ve always had with such events, and it persuaded me to stay home.

And besides the politics, there were practical matters. The protest was on a work day. I have a family. I was concerned about transportation and the challenges of weaving through the crowds. And downtown Minneapolis is a place I’d avoid in the best of times let alone when it holds thousands of people with an axe to grind. The logistics felt extensive, and it was hard to justify the inconveniences just for one more soul to freeze in minus-10 weather. No one cares if I go, I told myself. Things will play out with or without me. Just stay home.

I made a measure of peace with the decision, only for the next morning to hear of ICE killing someone else. The world has played the same game with Alex Pretti as with Renee Good; arguing about his life and the details about his death. I hit a breaking point of horror, and words I’ve known since childhood came to mind. In Star Trek: The Next Generation, Captain Picard spoke against another state that was starting to persecute perceived enemies:

“With the first link, the chain is forged. With the first speech censured, the first thought forbidden, the first freedom denied, chains us all irrevocably. … The first time any man’s freedom is trodden on, we’re all damaged.”

We are all damaged from the dominance of ICE. We all have a reckoning to face in the forsaking of freedoms for others. And while I don’t believe that silence is violence, doing nothing has stopped being an option for me.

So I wish I could now talk to myself before January 23. Problems getting there? You’ll figure it out. Worried about family? It’s just for a few hours. Don’t agree with everything they’re saying? Whatever. You know there are bad things out there that are worthy of protest—yours and theirs. Don’t think you’ll make a difference? Probably, but it will make a difference in your heart. You’ll be a part of something righteous. Something that links you to the demands of American generations before you. Something that aims for the ideals that speak the best about us. So go. Just go. It’ll be fine.

But since I can’t change my decision, I hope now to do better. Soon I will spend time at the vigil for Alex Pretti. (This is something else I’ve never done.) I will meditate in the freezing Minnesota air while praying for peace and justice. And I will think about how to speak against the federal intrusions of my home. To be sure, my activism will have limits. I won’t go against lawful orders, nor will I scream curses at ICE or anyone else. But I’ll go forward with words in my heart that were weaved into the first flags of our republic. Simple words that seem as fitting now as they did 250 years ago—Don’t Tread On Me.

Long ago, I listened to men on the radio argue over an odd question: Is Die Hard is a Christmas movie? It struck me as absurd. Of course it isn’t. It’s guns and explosions; it’s not Hallmark tales. Is this really a question? But here was the media taking an affirmative and negative, locked in fierce debate. They didn’t need to talk about politics or world leaders to raise our blood pressure. Die Hard would do just fine for their daily controversy. So I rolled my eyes on a twenty-minute commute as I couldn’t believe anyone in the world thought the action film was a holiday one.

I forgot about the argument until years later when a new friend not only claimed Die Hard a Christmas movie, but aggressively teased me over it. We would argue about it for years, sending memes, articles, and quotes to counter the other’s foolishness. He’d send a screen shot of Amazon Prime showing that Die Hard was under Christmas movies. Meanwhile, I’d send clips like Bruce Willis setting the record straight while noting things like the fact that Die Hard‘s release was in July. No one in Hollywood thought it was a Christmas film, and the argument raged on from there.

Inspired by our debates, my friend, who would be a clever troll if he spent more time online, started an annual Die Hard Christmas party. While the gatherings were fun with good humor, the purpose was clear: To mock my opinion. In the first years of hosting, he would point out everything in the film that allegedly proved him right:

– “Look, there’s a Santa hat on the dead body.”

– “See? McClane’s using wrapping tape to hide his gun.”

– “They’re playing Let It Snow for crying out loud!”

On some level, I had already surrendered the argument by enjoying his parties. My holiday traditions came to include Hans Gruber falling off Nakatomi Tower, and Die Hard was now in the same realm as Miracle on 34th Street.

Still, I held my ground through the years with the argument that the theme of Die Hard doesn’t involve Christmas. The fact that a story takes place on the day can’t in itself warrant the label of a holiday film. The plot might happen during that time, but a movie needs to be about Christmas to count. For examples, let’s look at the themes of less controversial Christmas films:

A Christmas Story – A child celebrates the Christmas season with his middle-class family while hoping for a Red Ryder bee bee gun.

Ernest Saves Christmas – Ernest helps Santa Claus preserve his magic powers by transitioning the role to a successor.

Jingle All the Way – An inconsiderate father races across town to find the most popular Christmas gift for his son.

By contrast, let’s look at Die Hard:

Die Hard – Foreign criminals hold a building hostage to steal bonds while an off- duty cop interferes with their plans.

Or, if you’d rather not take my word it, let’s review Amazon’s description instead: “A New York policeman outwits a group of foreign terrorists holding his wife and others hostage in a Los Angeles high-rise.”* Amazon threw Die Hard under the category of Christmas, but it failed to actually connect Christmas to the story. Because you can’t, I would argue. You may want to attach “on Christmas” at the end of the sentence, but Earth’s orbital location to the plot was irrelevant to me. If you have to shove a prepositional phrase at the end of the description to make the movie Christmas, then it didn’t qualify. Game, set, match—or so was my thinking.

Along with this, I stood my ground because it struck me that people like my friend weren’t acting in good faith. It always seemed like the people who proclaim Die Hard a Christmas film just want to stick it to anyone who might like Hallmark films—those awful holiday rom coms that grandparents make kids sit through.** Die Hard is antithetical—rebellious—to those viewers. There are explosions. Murder. Cocaine at office parties, and a rogue cop killing henchmen. So if Die Hard can be in the same genre as something like A Christmas Prince, then it’s a fun way to taunt those preferring the ladder. Declaring Die Hard as Christmas felt more like a trolling expedition than a genuine argument.

For these reasons, I pressed on in opposition, but I always knew there was a downside to my view. Other movies could be called into question with my thoughts about themes. Is Home Alone still a Christmas movie? Kevin McCallister fended for himself against burglars and the chores of domestic life, and Christmas was irrelevant to his journey. And what about It’s a Wonderful Life? After all, Christmas only happens in the last third of the film, and the holiday was inconsequential to George Bailey’s problems. If everyone held my opinion, then endless analysis might come of such classics. I was being a stick-in-the-mud about Die Hard, and this problem was always in the back of my mind.

So as the argument got old between me and my friend, I decided to turn around on the question. Fine. Die Hard is a Christmas movie. So be it. Separating a movie’s theme from its setting might technically be the right thing to do, but was I really going to tell people that certain movies weren’t Christmas? Was I going to stop playing Home Alone in the background while decorating the Christmas tree, as became a tradition? I was tired of being stringent and potentially raining on anyone’s parade. To each their own, I would conclude. So I became fine with calling Die Hard a Christmas movie, looking forward each year to watching bloody shootouts and degenerate behaviors with the holiday season.

Sadly, not long after making this turnaround, the holiday tradition of watching Die Hard would come to an end. My friend just moved out of state, making the final party last week as he sold his house. Sure, someone else could host, but it won’t be the same. Just as people start new families and float away from the traditions of youth, the joy and cheer from watching Die Hard with my friend will fade into memory. Still, I’ll want to do my best to continue on with Die Hard. Truly, as the meme says, “It’s not Christmas until I see Hans Gruber fall from Nakatomi Tower.”

*I’m actually not thrilled with this summary. As Hans Gruber quipped, “Who said we were terrorists?” And he was right. They weren’t looking for political change; they only wanted money. Still, the point here is that Amazon didn’t think to include Christmas as part of the theme of Die Hard. Point to me!

**Take a look through Netflix and it appears the streaming giant eclipsed Hallmark in bad holiday films. Some of the movie titles are hard to read let alone spending hours watching them.