Practicing our right to assemble has morphed from an occasional occurrence triggered by an extraordinary event into a regular activity.

My first rally of 2025 was on a frigid, below zero, February day protesting the administration’s rough handling of local immigrants. It was Rochester’s reaction to an early morning ICE raid which removed two restaurant workers without any communication with their families or access to legal assistance. We eventually learned they were removed to a maximum security, for-profit prison in Louisianna despite being in the midst of asylum-seeking legal procedures.

Today’s demonstration was one of over 1,200 of Hands Øff rallies held around the country. Hundreds gathered in Rochester, tens-of-thousands at the Capitol in St. Paul with nearby events from Austin to Wabasha, as well as in every state capitol. This was about showing up, being seen, being heard, and not backing down. Some participants carried signs listing a range of worries, others held hand drawn poster boards focused on specific uncertainties ranging from Social Security to cancer research, from free speech to reproductive rights, from education to national parks; and, of course, hands off libraries. The list goes on and on as it seems nothing about American life is sacred or safe.

I find being aware of the administration’s latest shenanigans, whether I do a quick check or a deep dive, puts a bruise on my spirit and I must remind myself to look to beauty. Poet Lynn Ungar wrote this verse yesterday as we readied ourselves for today’s Hands Øff rally and the work yet to come.

April 5th

I don’t know how this all turns out, 
and neither do you,
but I have to confess it doesn’t look good.
I wish we were headed
for a picnic, for a waltz in the park.  I wish 
we were not ruled by broken men
who want to damage everything
that they cannot possess.  I wish
I could tell you what we do now.
The street is littered with the petals
of cherries that bloomed before
the big wind came.  Tonight
there will be frost, and tender buds
will burn.  But still, the woods 
are unfolding into green, 
and just outside my door some frog
is bellowing for all he’s worth.
Who knows what happens next?
All I can tell you is that the fields 
are ablaze with dandelions
who have never known 
the meaning of defeat.

     Lynn Ungar 4-4-25