Politics

Love of country is something I’ve struggled to embrace my entire life, and the feeling is mutual for many. Gallup last year found 20% of Americans have little to no patriotism—an all-time high for the survey. Some will ask why we should feel pride for a place we’re born to by chance, and others will question America’s shortcomings past and present. For myself, faith was a deterrent from patriotic devotion, with cynicism growing through my younger years. But in time, I developed an appreciation, and if Gallup called me today, I would join those who say they’re very proud to be Americans.

Faith was my first obstacle as a church experience made me question the virtue of patriotism. In college, I went to a concert for Switchfoot, a popular Christian rock band. I entered the outdoor arena and saw a three-foot wooden cross at center stage. But in the middle of a song, fireworks exploded as an American flag dropped in the background. It covered the stage from end to end, and the crowd went nuts. The colors obscured the cross, and I had an unsettled feeling. Which should I give homage to? The lyrics told me to praise God, but the spectacle implied something else. It felt like I was told to serve two masters in life. They won’t always align, and it was an off-putting message that always stayed with me.

Readings would later confirm in me the reluctance to love America. An ancient Christian letter, To Diognetus, further inspired me to deny my devotion to the state. Sharing of the lives of Christians in the second century, the author wrote of their separation from the world around them.

…though they are residents at home in their own countries, their behavior there is more like that of transients [resident aliens]; they take their full part as citizens, but they also submit to anything and everything as if they were aliens. For them, any foreign country is a motherland, and any motherland is a foreign country.

If Christians are to be aliens, how can we swear an unfailing love for the place we live? If “our citizenship is in Heaven,” as Saint Paul wrote, how can I follow fallible leaders and patriots? This was my line of thinking, and even today, I hold pride in the idea of being an alien. I will follow the laws of my country, and I want to love my neighbors. But this is not my home, and it shouldn’t receive my fealty.

Current events later added to my disillusionment. There was the Iraq War—an occupation seeming as a sequel to Vietnam, raising further doubts in us of our institutions. Then there was the Great Recession—a mark of capitalist greed as unchecked investments almost collapsed the global economy. And in the fallout, I was laid off from my job, leading to months of general aimlessness. I had no goals, no direction, and no confidence in a better life. Combine this with various disappointments and turnoffs from political figures through the years, and my journey against patriotism felt complete.

The Gallup survey reflects these sentiments in the public. Fifty-eight percent said they were very or extremely patriotic, with only 36% of Democrats versus 92% of Republicans. While some will use this to attack Democrats, the number is understandable to me. It was a 26-point drop with the election of President Trump, showing that our answers will differ with circumstances. And even Republicans aren’t immune to this as their numbers dipped during the Biden administration. Also, progressivism by nature pushes for change, so it’s natural for them to not hold an unqualified patriotism. Many will say there’s too much work to do to feel that way, and that patriotism blinds us from recognizing the problems and shortfalls of our nation.

Older generations also showed more patriotism, and this falls in line with my story. There hasn’t been a bolt of revelation turning me around. But time has spun a long thread of reflections. I’ve thought of America’s founding. Of its self-determination and drive for independence. Of the arduous road to equality this history inspired. Of America creating the first anti-slavery organization. Of the nation later vanquishing slavery, and spreading its ideals to Europe and beyond. Of saving the world two times this past century, and looking out for it today. We have lit the world with abundance and influence that keep darker forces at bay. Take America out of the equation, and we would likely weep for where the world ended up.

But such praises for America should come with a full acknowledgement of its shortcomings. America has a long, tiring list of abuses and inconsiderations of people. The adoption and expansion of slavery. The maintenance of Jim Crow. The terrors of the KKK. Eugenics. The displacement of Native Americans in the 19^th century, and Japanese interment camps in the 20^th. And all the times that leaders have ignored the Bill of Rights, from John Adams to Woodrow Wilson to Joseph McCarthy. The history of harms goes on and on, from unsettling laws to foreign policy failures. All generations have failed to honor the dignity of the American people and others, and they will continue to do so. There is no escaping human behavior.

But the failures don’t overshadow the reasons for hope in America. Coleman Hughes identified this in a piece that argues for progressives to see the success in America for the people they seek to help. Women, minorities, and poor people have more abundance and protections here than most in the world, and America is still by far the most desired destination of immigrants. We shouldn’t compare ourselves to a utopian paradise, but rather to the messy reality of humanity. Yes, we have a long way to go, but we likely always will. And the values developed through 250 years of pain and growth provide an anchor for us that many nations won’t have. Despite all the bad, we have righteous aims that are worthy of our support.

Another memory comes to mind as I’ve made such conclusions. Visiting Germany in high school, I toured the Dachau concentration camp. I spent two hours at a slow pace passing prisoner barracks and fields with the ghosts of murder and torture. I couldn’t bring myself to the gas chambers and ovens, and I met with my class later in the museum. Hundreds of pictures showed people under medical experiments with looks of profound sadness. But toward the end, a photo caught my eye. Prisoners were at the front gates with American soldiers behind them. An American flag hung on a pole, and everyone looked happy. It was the only photo where anyone smiled, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I felt a joy and awe from a moment that sprang from ashes of despair more than 50 years earlier. It was the best of what America has been.

The experiences of adulthood made me forget this hope for a long time, but reflection has brought me back to it. America saved them, the world, and its influence continues to hold us in a better place today. I haven’t forgotten my devotion to faith, still seeing myself as an alien who keeps a distance from undying, worldly loyalties. But I can cling to this with one hand while in the other holding a somber recognition of the heroic, inspiring ideals this nation has held and defended. Far from perfect, but the best that’s going on for humanity. Let us now celebrate 250 years in the messy, imperfect hope that is the United States of America.

Scrolling through conservative media, you’re bound to see her face. People have posted the meme for years as a caricature of the Left. Enraged. Unreasonable. A snowflake too sensitive to other opinions. We don’t know her name, but her continual presence made me start to wonder: Who is she? And what set her off? Who was she talking to, and what was the discussion? It turns out, she was more civil than the meme suggests, and the camera only caught an appearance of anger. And the argument, while controversial, wasn’t without sources. But a political tribe weaponized her image to breed contempt for progressives, having no regard for the person or her words.

In a discussion with a media team from Info Wars, the protestor claimed that a high percentage of women experience rape. The rally in 2016 was a protest against then primary candidate Donald Trump, and the rate she shared was one in three. The stat wasn’t even central to the point she was making, but claiming it was enough to carve her image into internet infamy. The footage of the chat largely vanished when Youtube banned Info Wars content the following year, but the internet continued to post the meme. The world offered her no chance to defend the opinion; only a silence that left us with a stereotype of people left-of-center.

She might have embellished the rate from studies, but sources show similar numbers. It’s possible, for example, that she was aware of interviews on college campuses finding one in five women experiencing sexual assault. Like all political polling, the science for accuracy was controversial. What constitutes assault? How will people answer to phrasing A versus B? Is a question loaded, prompting a specific answer? Experts will argue over the approaches, but it’s possible the number is even higher than one in five, given the pain of such experiences. So saying that it’s one in three wasn’t insane. It may well be wrong, but the jury is still out.

I can’t offer more insights on these studies, but they make me think of the biases people bring to the arguments. Fans of Info Wars might have held a heavy incentive to disbelieve a high percentage. For supporters of Donald Trump—a man already under allegations for mistreating women—such a rate might feel like validation of the accusations. On the protestors’ side though, higher numbers of victims would add weight to public support. If the number was instead more like one in twenty, there would be less incentive for leaders to act. Indeed, the Obama administration may not have investigated campus assaults if not for the one in five stat. Each side has their reasons to not listen, both then and now.

But the full context of the situation that created the meme deserves attention for the protestor’s sake. She believed that 33% of women experience rape. She joined a protest against a presidential candidate suspected of misogyny, only for a team from Info Wars to show up. They were looking for an argument, and their fans were prone to deny the acts she was fighting against. Isn’t it reasonable to understand how someone might become upset? And the camera only captured, at most, a flash of anger in the midst of her measured comments. But it was enough to seal her fate for online viewers scoffing at high rates of sexual assault.

The internet jumped on the chance to forge the meme. The Alex Jones Channel uploaded the video “Trump Supporters Shut Down Protestors”, and within a day, anonymous users on Reddit coined the name “Ficki Fiona”. “Ficki” is German slang for the f-bomb, and the cruel, catchy name labeled her with the stat she had shared. From there, platforms condemned her as TRIGGERED with mocking headlines like “Angry feminist.” And through the years, the legend grew. The image has been cycled and recycled in thumbnails for a decade now. And all of this for a stat that may or may not be accurate.

Ironically, if her image had appeared less online, I wouldn’t have thought about her. I would have passively accepted the message that the Left is crazy, dangerous, or not worth my time. Someone like Fiona brought nothing of value, or so it seemed. Just another psychopath screaming at a Trump event. I would have been one of millions holding a passive contempt for a stranger. Never seeking the source of her feelings. Never asking questions on what brought her to that charged moment. Never appreciating the context that could drive any of us into an argument. I would have just doom scrolled to the next Youtube clip without a thought or care for the person dubbed Fiona.

Conservatives will argue for the need to use such memes to persuade the public of progressive threats. Some would say the image of anger still represents people in our institutions who practice illiberalism. That cancel culture is omnipresent in universities and media, raising intolerance and silencing speech. Using this imagery is a necessary tool then to rally support against suppression. But even if all true, we shouldn’t exploit someone’s picture for political messaging. For all the disagreements we’d have, to be callous with someone’s image for the cause of culture wars is inconsiderate. It raises contempt in the world while making a lifetime of pain and embarrassment for someone else. It’s wrong, and there are other ways of persuasion for your cause.

So wherever Fiona ended up, I hope she is doing okay. I think about the struggles from being a famous, nameless internet meme. Did it interfere with her life? Does it still? Did it hurt her job prospects, or tear apart relationships? Maybe she doesn’t have a care of it at all, or maybe it was a disaster. But in any case, the world owes a recognition of her opinion. An effort to take it seriously, even in disagreement. That is the aim of this blog, with Info Wars and the internet never giving her that chance. It made for a dismissal that none of us should accept. Her face is still everywhere, but her words are almost nowhere.

The spirit of the Gadsden flag still resonates today with a recoiling snake hissing at an outside threat. Its caption—Don’t Tread On Me—embodies the reptile’s attitude. An intention to be left alone. To live free of disruption. To defend its peace. In a twist of modern politics, I’ve realized that protestors could have used the symbol to speak against actions of ICE this past year. And ironically, the banner would have shown the Left and Right to have something in common. Liberty would have appeared to inspire both gun right advocates and anti-ICE protestors alike. They have different concerns, but the same attitude. Somehow, the revolutionary spirit of the 18^th century found its way to the 21^st, regardless of our political tribe.

I referenced the flag’s words in my piece about Operation Metro Surge in January. I have wrestled with what I wrote in the sub-zero degrees of that time. While I don’t take back my objections to the things ICE did, I know that ICE has always had reasonable objectives that deserve respect. And relative to world history, their intrusions were light. If we doubt this, we should remember Iran killing thousands of protestors, and suffocating dictatorships like that of North Korea. So really, ICE was the Diet Coke of oppression. But still, this doesn’t mean that soda is good for us. The presence of ICE was heavy in Minneapolis, and the words “Don’t Tread on Me” struck a chord in me then. It was a reminder of a principle that Americans have clung to for centuries—objecting to an outside force in our lives.

The protestors carrying the Gadsden flag 250 years ago felt a heavier oppression as well. The snake represented a unity of colonists objecting to the infringements of a higher government. They opposed British soldiers marching daily through Boston while residents were forced to shelter the same troops. Imagine if Minneapolis were obliged to shelter ICE agents; it wouldn’t have gone over well.* But for Boston, bayonets stood erect at markets and harbors to execute laws the people didn’t consent to. In effect, England created a police state for citizens an ocean away. Fear and anger filled the streets even more then, and history remembers the violence thereafter.

Comparisons of Boston 1776 to Minneapolis 2026 are shakier still. Minnesota has representation in Washington, so we can’t claim the turmoil of “No taxation without representation.” Also, the Trump administration appeared to concede to political pressure after the death of Alex Pretti. ICE left shortly after – a democratic response Bostonians didn’t enjoy in 1776. But still, we shouldn’t give a pass to ICE and its leaders. The federal government treaded on its populations this past year. From a Blackhawk helicopter hovering a Chicago apartment building, to Californians captured in a retail parking lot, to Minneapolis minorities obliged to carry ID to avoid detention. So it would have been a pleasure to see the Gadsden flag lead the protests against these acts—a message unwavering through two and a half centuries.

But modern politics have made the snake representative of only one political party. When we see the flag today, we don’t think of Boston 1776. Instead, we think of conservative causes like gun rights and protests against Covid lockdowns. This isn’t to criticize the views; indeed, it’s logical to use this flag to show their ideals. The conviction of personal liberty drives people to those views—to defend their homes, and to live as they choose. That is the spirit of the flag, but it’s unfortunate to me that the snake is now so partisan. It is no longer an American symbol; its image only associates with one group. We don’t think of a shared history now, but only the politics that enrage us.

I imagine now what it would be like to hang the flag on my porch. Since I revere its message, it would be fitting to display it. But living in a progressive city, it wouldn’t go well. The snake would be out of place with the “In This House We Believe” signs scattered through the neighborhood. Residents would only recognize the snake from NRA meetings and Stop the Steal rallies, and they would understandably make certain judgments. They wouldn’t see me as supporting neighbors against ICE. Instead, they would see me as an outgoing conservative waving the middle finger to a liberal community. Sadly, the Gadsden flag can’t represent my opinions today. It is now a symbol for the Right, and not for America.

My reverence for the flag also comes from gratitude for a life I never want to take for granted. My family has never known oppression, and a lot happened to make it so. Generations struggled for it, from founding fathers to my grandfather fighting the Battle of the Bulge. As John Adams wrote of his toils, “Oh posterity. You will never know how much it cost us to preserve your freedom. I hope you make a good use of it. If you do not, I shall repent in Heaven that I ever took half the pains to preserve it.” Whatever exists in the world today for liberty was forged through such actions. The autonomy we should cherish shows proudly in the defensive posture of that snake.

This reminds me that for all the issues American cities faced this past year, ICE was still a diet soda. They crossed the line in multiple ways, but they’re not in the realm of conversations about dictatorships. Just think of atrocities from the 20^th century—gulags in Russia, mass murders in China, and communism in Cuba. Even in America, liberties haven’t always applied to everyone. So like any police force with worthy goals, we can appreciate the enforcement of immigration laws while objecting when going too far. These thoughts aren’t exclusive, and even though the protestors wouldn’t have waved this flag, the snake represents their passions. In Minneapolis, it could have become a symbol for more than one party, connecting the issues of today to the challenges of the past.

But while the flag never made it our streets, its spirit took a different form. Walking through Minneapolis today, it’s stunning how many homes still show protest signs. From graffiti on bed sheets to handsome printouts, all classes show their objections to ICE. Like the stance of the snake, the signs express a defiance. And a new logo emerged from the chaos: A Minnesota loon fused with the Rebel Alliance symbol from Star Wars. Minnesotans display it now with tattoos and colorful signs. It shares the vibe of Boston in 1776, and it’s the same spirit that drives conservatives to defend the right to protect their homes. So whether it’s ICE patrolling neighborhoods or laws restricting guns, the same message comes from all Americans: Leave us alone.

I would hope then for Americans to celebrate 250 years with a recognition of camaraderie. There is still an urge for freedom in our bones, even as we hate each other over politics. Whether it speaks to us through a snake on a flag or a protest sign, liberty is still something shared between us. Its spirit made its way through the pages of history, and it whispers to us now in different ways. And it will scream within us as future threats come. They always will, and when each of us is treaded on in our own ways, we’ll need a recoiling snake to speak against the coming tides.

*Let us now appreciate the Third Amendment to the Constitution. There has never been a Supreme Court decision on it, and the U.S. has always had resources to shelter its troops. But the guarantee that soldiers cannot be quartered in our homes is a blessing for all Americans. [Back]

Listening holds a quiet power to benefit others. Long ago, in high school debate, I discovered an interest to understand different views. And through the years, the hunger evolved. It went beyond intellectual curiosity; it became a quest to hear people out. Like everyone, some opinions are hard to hear, and others harder still. But I try to acknowledge another’s reasoning, and it turns out, science and theology support this practice. Recognition through listening offers a person the best chance to be open to other perspectives in life.

Carl Rogers pushed psychology in this direction with a revolutionary approach to therapy. With a relentless focus on listening, he founded the practice of patients leading experts to solutions through questions and dialogue. In time, academia shifted treatments from categorizing patients to tracking the thoughts of an individual. Rogers also did this in therapy groups—open discussions without judgments or critiques. “There is absolutely nothing holding us together except a common interest in the dignity and capacity of persons and the continuing possibility of deep and real communication with each other.”

Rogers argued there was a power of influence through listening. It legitimizes the other person; their worth, their being, and their dignity uplifted. When receiving this recognition, a patient could pull away from their defensiveness and isolation to see the world in healthier ways. “It is astonishing how elements which seem insoluble become soluble when someone listens. How confusions which seem irremediable turn into relatively clear flowing of streams when one is heard.” People could now have epiphanies, whether they held serious mental illness or everyday confusions. Wisdom and courage would gain a voice in their minds, and their worlds could start fresh.

But can the power of listening go beyond therapy? Can its influence prevail in our interactions? Rogers thought so. He spoke of his work having incredible, unexpected applications in our lives.

I had thought I was writing for psychotherapists, but to my astonishment discovered I was writing for people—nurses, housewives, people in the business world, priests, ministers, teachers, youth … what is true in a relationship between therapist and client may well be true for a marriage, a family, a school, an administration, a relationship between cultures or countries.

According to Rogers, the power of listening applied to any communication. When someone receives an acknowledgement of their point of view, they become more open to others. Influence becomes possible. Change becomes achievable. And other opinions won’t seem so crazy after all.

For me, the irony of this power is that Rogers’ work as a secular psychologist comes to the same conclusion as having faith. What does it mean to love our neighbor in conversation? Rogers didn’t use these words, but the heart of his practice pressed the question. And it turns out, Jesus also entered dialogue through listening—hearing before speaking, and bringing himself into someone’s pain. No doubt, he drew lines in the sand when confronting evil acts. But he also met people where they were emotionally, striking the same chord as Rogers’ therapy. In the end, empathy is a destination each world view comes to independently.

Another irony for me is that while Rogers had a negative experience of religion, it drove him to the same practice of listening. He was raised in an environment discouraging interactions with others—sinners who were bad people to stay away from. It motivated him to leave isolation and immerse himself in conversations. Meanwhile, faith has led me to pursue listening on behalf of that faith. I want to recognize another’s value by seeing how they got to where they are. So Rogers and I reach the same place—a full pursuit of understanding what others are thinking. We’ll fall short in the journey, but we pursue it nonetheless.

Now all of this might sound nice, but it’s hard to put into practice. All of us can think of opinions we hold in contempt. They’re too stupid. Too illogical. Too emotional. Too dangerous. Why give them the time of day? Why give them an audience? The topics coming to mind can be endless. As I’ve written this, I’ve thought of various online content where it’s hard to imagine fulfilling a pledge to listen. Some things—many things—feel too wrong to engage with. Too silly to acknowledge without swift rejection. It’s no wonder we “very rarely” listen, as Rogers said.

But listening doesn’t mean acceptance. Empathy is not the opposite of truth, and it doesn’t mean abandoning convictions. Rogers trusted that his patients could make better decisions, but the key was to bring them to a frame of mind to recognize them. By listening, he legitimized the person, and not their ideas. Likewise, Jesus demonstrated a great balance in communication. Empathy before direction. Instruction after listening. All were necessary as he entered someone’s presence. And Rogers confirmed that listening is an unappreciated tool.

Nor should we think of listening as weakness. It’s easy to see speaking as the brave side of communication, and indeed, it very much can be. Depending on the context, an articulate voice is a necessary skill to aspire for. But listening is bravery of another kind. To set aside one’s biases and judgments is a sacrifice. Like descending to another realm with a harness, you are considering another before yourself, traveling to meet them where they are. It’s not cowardice, nor inaction. It’s bravery as well, making listening and speaking active partners in dialogue.

Listening and speaking are both important for meeting the needs of others. One without the other can lead us backward. Listening could bring appeasement—a surrender of conviction. But speaking without listening becomes ineffective and alienating. Its aggression makes us just another angry voice in the chorus of comments online. The words might come from wisdom, but even if so, we’ll entrench people further into their own views. In the end, listening offers the best chance to bring a person to greater enlightenment.

So with the rare beauty of listening, I pledge to do what many will not: To pursue an understanding of different views. To steel-man arguments before sharing my own. To show respect for other views as I hope readers would have mine. Carl Rogers pursued this in therapy, and faith compels me to take the same path. Sooner or later, we’ll disagree. But I will strive for you to leave the page believing I did my best to understand what you think. That I offered your views a fair hearing. That I fulfilled the rarest of acts in public dialogue—that I listened.

Recently I explained why I didn’t go to a protest despite the abuses of ICE in Minneapolis. I gave my reasons, but there was a lie of omission; another reason I didn’t join the protestors—for the feelings I have toward them. I’ve been put off by protestors in recent years, or at least the coverage of them. They seem loud, violent, and judgmental with no interest seeing issues in shades of gray. But the incursions of ICE have forced me to reckon with my presumptions. Despite the actions of some, I resolve now to see the charity and good will from protestors who have carried the torch of a worthy cause in Minnesota.

My bias against protestors may come in part from our differences in personality. It’s against my instincts to cause a scene while the protests are designed for public disapproval—to turn heads and cause disruptions. While I think my personality has won me a wealth of peace through life from unnecessary conflicts, I may not challenge the status quo as others do. So there may be mere differences in agreeableness that show who goes to protests while others stay at home. Myers-Briggs and Enneagram types would have more insight, and it’s something to think about as I now challenge the images I have of protestors.

At the same time, my feelings also come from the cruel characterizations of protestors by right-wing media. I try to follow current events with balance, and there’s no doubt that all sides sneer at others with name-calling and moral condemnations. But the work on the Right to demonize protestors has felt relentless. They’re stupid. Extreme. They’re snowflakes. They’re violent. They killed Charlie Kirk. They, they, they—pundits judging the hearts and minds of millions for the actions of a few who made the news. It’s no wonder we come to hate each other. We chuckle at the jokes of content creators while our contempt for others swell.

In fairness though, there are protestors who seem to fit the bill for the stereotypes that media feed us. For weeks now, the disruption of a church service by Don Lemon and Black Lives Matter has been part of the national narrative of ICE in Minnesota. The protestors appeared to prove every presumption I’ve held. The unproductive chants raising chaos. The unnecessary disruption of people’s Sundays. The self-righteousness and condemnations of every church attender. Right-wing media gleefully took the event to paint all protestors as aggressive jerks. “They’re invading our churches now”—making the event become a great distraction for the public. Why should we care about ICE if we have people like this? Again, we make our perceptions, and the political battles wage.

For a less famous example of protestors rubbing me the wrong way, I recall an incident in Minneapolis a few years ago. Police killed a man who was shooting into the apartment of a family. Despite the mother and children ducking for cover, Black Lives Matter showed up to protest on behalf of … the shooter. The mother tried to explain the situation to them—that they would all be dead without the police. But someone yelled, “At least you’re still here,” and the protestors stayed put. It was an absurdity; the appearance of people having no ability to have empathy for the mother. Because police=bad, and that’s the end of it. Even with heroic actions, BLM and others will condemn them, and I’ve recoiled from their judgments.

So I’ve held such assumptions for years, but I have come to see the beauty of my neighbors’ actions as ICE has patrolled the streets. There were the 50,000 who protested peacefully on January 23rd. There’s the thousands of dollars my small church donated to charities for families too afraid to work. The drivers who delivered the goods. The residents who gave the funds. The volunteers who have watched our schools, and the neighbors who make sure people know they’re not alone. These are the Helpers, as Mister Rogers once called them. The ones to look for in distress. The ones we can hold in high regard. The ones who appear as the better angels of America.

Seeing their acts of charity, should we still condemn anyone holding a protest sign? Were the 50,000 in downtown Minneapolis all mere misfits worthy of our contempt? As I’ve witnessed charity work that the media won’t cover, my biases start to melt away. Whatever his faults, when Governor Tim Walz speaks now of pride in Minnesotans being neighbors to each other, I believe him. Likewise, when the city of Minneapolis was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize, I can understand why. They’re seeing what I’m seeing, and while there are always bad apples that people will publicize in bad faith, I am proud of what my community is doing.

But as I change my mind about protestors, I feel remiss if I didn’t also challenge assumptions of ICE. When local police chiefs voiced their objections to their infringements on civil rights, media neglected to show the part where they described the abuses as the acts of few. “It’s not widespread. This is a small group within the surge in the metro area performing or acting this way.” They noted from many conversations with ICE personnel that they condemn the bad apples within their ranks. “This is not how they act. This is not what they do.” While this shouldn’t stop our protests, this has helped me adjust my views of ICE in the same way as protestors—to have hope in many while facing the problems of a relative few.

Therefore, in a great irony, protestors and ICE may have something in common: the assumptions of their character. For myself, I’ll resolve to keep two thoughts at once about each group. With ICE, I will object to their unconstitutional acts while knowing that many do not support them. Likewise, with protestors, I recognize the abrasiveness of some while supporting the good works that don’t go viral. Maybe this is how we should aim to see any group. Stereotypes come from somewhere, but they should also end somewhere. The complexities of people should force us to confront the assumptions we bring to the table. 

Allegedly, ICE will leave Minnesota soon, and while I’m happy, I reflect now on my role in the scheme of things. If Minneapolis were to win the Nobel Peace Prize, I am unsure I’d feel worthy to claim a part of it. So now, instead of scoffing at protestors, I’m inclined to thank them. For helping me remember to stop judgments entire groups. For voicing opposition. For perhaps making ICE go away sooner than they otherwise would. A commentator said that for all the problems in swaying the Trump Administration, the Twin Cities made the president flinch. To me, that also seems something to be proud of. So good work protestors, and we’ll see if the help is needed again.