The Full Moon Rises
The Wabi-Sabi of Resistance
Starting where I left off with the last post.
On the morning of January 23, 2026, I woke to temperatures of -20 degrees Fahrenheit and still I was determined to go out. Minnesotans are very hearty people, but under normal circumstances we stay inside when temperatures are below zero. These are not normal times. This was to be a general strike of Ghandi-style nonviolent resistance, not a day for “business as usual.”
On this Day of Prayer and Fasting for Truth and Freedom, as the faith leaders were calling it, I would participate in an action at the airport to demand Minnesota corporations stand against ICE and their occupation of our city. The faith leaders called for prayer to acknowledge the moral crisis we are in, and fasting (from work, school and shopping) to say “enough!” We cannot in good conscience continue with business as usual. This attack is the outcome of a decades-long effort of corporations and the extremely wealthy to undermine our democracy. This spectacle of cruelty is meant to distract us and the Christian message in it is, this treatment of people goes against the lessons of Jesus. Their leadership has connected me back to a younger self who learned about Jesus in Sunday School, before she became jaded by the messages of Christian Nationalists, watching those in power choose greed over what I thought Christianity was about.
So today, I answered the call to stand together to do justice, love kindness, and abolish ice.
Yes, I said “abolish.” In the past I would have shied away from hyperbole and pushing the extremes, but their behavior has far exceeded their legitimacy. I have jumped straight to “Abolish ICE” because I am speaking from changed times. I am being radicalized by what is right in front of my eyes, from what the community is bearing. This year has been a year of destruction of our due process infrastructure and a building up of this SS force, lead by a man in a Nazi-coded coat. The affront is real. Enough has been dismantled that we have no choice but to work together to create a better world. And my city is uniquely able to fight, survive, and take the next steps, because we got a taste of this in the aftermath of the murder of George Floyd (and he was a culmination of many before him), and we learn and grow from our mistakes and experiences. There is no need for perfection, there is just showing up and then returning for more.
My neighbors Paul and Carol were going to join me. We would park at the 30th Street Light Rail Station just south of the Minneapolis Saint Paul Airport(MSP) and meet my friend Judy there and take the Metro Blue Line in to demonstrate at MSP’s “Freedom of Expression” area across the street from departures. I hadn’t been to the parking lot before, and neither had Judy, and our text conversation that morning was filled with trepidation. Passing our concerns back and forth while drinking my morning jasmine tea. We didn’t know if cars would start, and then once we got there, if it would be hard to meet up. I would have others with me, but she was to be alone. These were the myriad hiccups we would be negotiating. But in our minds this action at the airport had the potential to be more disruptive than the mass march downtown and we were both convinced that civil disobedience, in addition to widespread protest, is a necessary catalyst to change.
There has been a lot of writing about the Chenowith study that says if 3.5% of a population shows up to protest, the movement will succeed. Recently I read how those numbers came before the social networks ability to build crowds. Showing up in numbers are the first step, and, then we create actions that history has shown us will work and become a nuisance, with nonviolence, is one of the ways. So when the clergy decided on this action at MSP, we knew we were going to show up.
We shared location with each other and put down our phones to get bundled for standing around outside in the frigid air. I had set out my clothes the night before and got started early, because I knew it would take some time to cover every inch of skin and layer up top (long sleeve turtleneck, wool sweater, fleece zip up with hood, hat, buff, scarf, and my winter jacket over it all) to bottom (leggings, 2 Pais of socks, one of them knee high, leg warmers, snow pants, and my winter hikers). Josh gave me a pair of goggles just in case but thankfully they were not needed. Note to self, start the toe warmers early.
Our government has never truly lived up to the ideals stated in our Declaration of Independence, but one of the things that is a basic truth about democracy is it is always in progress, always trying to include more people. Self-governance means participating. Our Constitution states that every body is created equal and endowed with unalienable rights, including life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness and governments are instituted to protect these rights, deriving power from the consent of the governed. We were going to airport to say I do not consent.
In my all in sort of way, leading up to this action, I went to some of our local businesses and asked them to become 4th Amendment workplaces. The faith leaders were approaching Target and other homegrown Minnesota businesses, asking them to speak out against ICE action in our communities, and position themselves as a 4th Amendment Workplaces. Target has been in a position to receive many tax breaks as a major corporation of our state and now we are demanding that they stand with them by protecting and educating their employees about their rights and to join us in this day.
And just to be clear, I went to our businesses with my neighbor Carol and let her do the talking because she had more practice than me. We learned a lot from talking to the people at Settergrens, the toy store, and Great Harvest in our little commercial district. We heard and sympathized about the challenge for businesses to miss a day of revenue and about the backlash they are getting from people who support ICE efforts. In particular, one business said community members have come in to say that the ICE Out signs on storefronts are akin to segregation, as if excluding ICE was the same as Jim Crow. The manager was exasperated at the level of misunderstanding one has to sink to in order to make that argument.
The 4th Amendment was written for a moment like this when federal agents are masked and badge-less, not identifying themselves and indiscriminately grabbing citizens and immigrants alike off the streets. The 4th amendment states, all law enforcement agents are required to demonstrate a valid search or arrest warrant that is signed by a judge and shows the specific name and address of the person under investigation, before they are allowed to enter a private area of any residence or establishment.
We asked that businesses not remain neutral and take a stand in the name of due process, dignity, and rule of law. Businesses are suffering already from huge revenue drops, widespread staffing shortages, and temporary closures. But still over 700 local small businesses chose to close down that day to stand in solidarity against what was happening in our community. It was a hardship, but in the face of so much that has already been lost, it was time to do something drastic.
I learned a lot about the 4th amendment in that process, but now, it’s my 1st Amendment Rights that I was going to express, and that felt like the prayer part. But first I needed to get to my car. There is an element of timing that is important when suiting up to go into below freezing temperatures. If you get yourself bundled too soon, you risk sweating in your clothes and risking hypothermia when you go out in damp layers. There is a whole science of wicking and covering exposed skin and not letting your glasses get fogged over. So getting dressed is a process like every other thing involved in life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
When I get to the car, it won’t turn over. Our battery has been a little challenged by the cold of late. Luckily Josh’s car starts and gratefully, we’re off (very slowly) to the park and ride. The streets are empty of people, because of the frigid temperatures, and no work, no school, and no shopping. I was worried they would be extra slippery due to the fact that street de-icers have the opposite effect when temperatures go beyond the beyond. Carol and Paul helped me navigate. We took the freeways to get there. It was a 15 minute trip. My toes were freezing just from being in the frozen car. Judy was there and after a little circling, we got to the same place at the same time. Next was some fretting on my part about missing keys and what to carry and what to leave behind, which caused us to miss one train and had to wait for the next. 12 more minutes out in the cold and Carol had to watch a first train with all the faith leaders pass us by without getting on.
While we waited at the stop, other protesters joined us. We admired each other’s signs. And on the train we merged with others already on board, also travelers with their suitcases. Judy chatted to two of them about going someplace warm and how when they planned such travel they couldn’t have imagined what we’d be doing now. Another couple passed us just as Judy says “have a great time getting warm.” The man mumbled under his breath “Have fun getting incarcerated.” When I looked over at him not meeting my eye, his wife did, flashing me a genuine smile, she said, “Stay safe.”
We climbed from the rail stop to the tram and then took it into the main terminal where Airport and Bloomington police directed traffic. “Protesters, to the right and upstairs,” gesturing to the escalators, “Travelers, straight ahead,” gesturing into the airport.
We paused here for a bathroom break and got our first glimpse of the clergy approaching, their full winter regalia adorned with a myriad colorful stoles. They flooded the wide hall, walking purposefully with their signs while the bands of fabric flutter over their insulated bodies.
We took the escalator up and there we were, in the “Freedom of Expression Zone,” just across the street from departures—formerly where you would go to meet your Taxi or Lyft on your way home from your trip. Now it was crowded with people assembling, carrying signs expressing their first amendment rights, and demanding that Delta, Signature Airline, and Metropolitan Airports Commission(MAC) speak out against the federal governments flagrant disregard for the rule of law.
Bundled so that we could barely recognize each other, we paused at the threshold leading outside again, and tucked ourselves in just a little more, making sure hands and ears and cheeks are all covered and then pushed through the glass doors and into the cold.
Then we were amongst the crowd waving signs and yelling their dissatisfaction. “ICE out” and “F**k ICE.” The strong-ness of the wording sometimes hits a negative chord. I get the worry about violence and needing to keep the peace. The thing is that the anger is real. Anger is a natural response to witnessing injustice. And this dance that we come to do, demonstrating with signs and yells, expressing our sentiment about the direction this country is taking, is a necessary part of the process. Demonstrating without violence, but with an outlet for anger, is a catalyst for change. We demonstrate to say ICE and their cruelty are not welcome here.
We merged into the throng of people all moving in one direction along the zone. We joined in the chant. Call and response. Here begins a dreamlike sequence where we are a part of the sea of humanity, cold fills our nostrils, we keep our eyes on the hats of our group, but inevitably others fill the space between. Then you hang back behind one or two you make eye contact with and you are together again. The union marshals in yellow vests facilitate the movement of the crowd with whistles and arm motions. There is a camaraderie being in that crowd. It’s energizing and validating to join together and express our dissent.
As we move, I know there is a plan but I don’t know what it was. I first heard of this action at a meeting that had quickly been moved to a zoom call at the last minute. They told us, we won’t be sharing everything over the online venue. The crowd changes direction with the delay that happens in a large group. We head the other way. And then the marshals send us up on the sidewalk, moving us along the side of the building until there is nowhere else to go. Pack together they say from the other side of the railing from us. The clergy in their stoles begin to gather at one end. They huddle together, while we chant, raise our voice, and yell. Before we know it, the clergy move out to form a line in the street in front of us.
A clergy member in an aviator cap with fur lined ear flaps held a hand-made sign out, “Whatsoever you do to the least of my people, that you do unto me.” This phrase is from Jesus' teaching on the "Sheep and the Goats" in Matthew 25:31–46, where acts of service are the criteria for final judgment, highlighting acts of mercy like feeding the hungry and welcoming the stranger. Here in Minnesota, faith based congregations, mostly Christian, have hosted the resettlement of refugees since the end of World War II. These began in earnest in the 70s during the refugee crisis that came with the collapse of American-supported governments after the Vietnam War. Congregations Minnesota welcomed our Hmong, Lao, and Cambodian people who had fought against communist forces on behalf of the U.S. And so began the tradition of hosting the stranger, which continued with our other large ethnic populations, we haven’t always done it right, but our tapestry was paved on good intentions. Minnesota’s current stance on taking action is a direct response to that road.
The clergy lead us in song as we stand across from them behind the railing. The songs are recognizable and there is a flavor of the civil rights movement. I have the feeling of having been here before in a past life. It is not until they are singing, “If this campaign fails, we shall all go down to jail,” that I realize what is about to happen. They are about to be arrested for the cause. As if to confirm my suspicions, two yellow school busses roll up, and the police begin to gather on the other side of the line of clergy. And they get down on their knees and a feeling rises in my chest and wells into my throat. I feel a wave of gratitude for their leadership that got me here to this moment in time. The whole line is down on their knees across from us and I know my feet are freezing, so this must be brutal on them. Some people have brought gardening pads to kneel on, but not all of them. I don’t believe they are in danger, but the bitter cold that seeps up from the ground is painful and this is a true sacrifice. They lower their heads and begin to pray together.
We can hear that there is a message from a loudspeaker but I can’t make it out. The police behind them are quiet, they stand behind waiting. They are dressed in uniforms with their badges on display, a distinction from ICE, but really the uniform-ness of their appearance is a distinction. Some have face coverings to protect from the cold but as they approach the head of the line to arrest the first of the clergy, the police officer removes their mask, kneels down, and quietly speaks to them. Then they are helped up by the officer, their stiffness apparent in their grimaces and outstretched hands. They walk together towards the school bus.
This goes on for a while, one after the other, the police officer crouches down, helps the next in line up, and they walk arm in arm to the bus. Peacefully they are arrested, and with respect they are treated. All the while different clergy are taking turns leading us in song. As more people are arrested, the songs tapers off as the leaders are diminishing. Someone kneels to check in with each of them and there are choruses of, “I love you,” from the crowd watching. I hope the inside of the bus is warm. One bus drives off and another takes its place. The waiting continues. I am not on my knees but my feet are cold and I am beginning to worry about my toes, I can’t imagine how they must feel. And even before they are done, I go inside to warm up even as there are still more clergy leaders waiting on their knees for their turn.
We leave the way we came in, stopped by House of Prayer Church for donuts and then home and warm by about 1 pm.
The clergy may have gone to the jail in the airport. Who knew that the airport had a jail? Or perhaps they were served at the Bloomington jail, the suburb where the airport is located. What happened next is unknown to me, because in 24 hours I would have just heard about ICE Agents shooting Alex Pretti outside of Glamdoll Donuts on Nicollet Avenue.
To be continued in my next post…