In the weeks leading up to the nationwide “No Kings” protests, organizers were cognizant of the contrast they would be cutting. On one hand, crowds taking to the streets; on the other, a military parade in Washington, D.C. They couldn’t have been expected to account for a third story: the 2:00 a.m. attacks on State Representative Melissa Hortman, her husband, Mark, State Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette.
In this time of shock, loss and grief, the Northeaster extends its sincere condolences to the Hortmans and Hoffmans as well their friends, neighbors and their extended community.
These events on an unexpectedly busy news day neatly demonstrate three major sources of political power in the United States: the communal, the federal and the individual.
Despite their swift cancellation in the state (the Minnesota State Patrol and Governor Tim Walz’s Department of Public Safety urged people to avoid participating “out of an abundance of caution”), the protests went ahead, whether marching towards the State Capitol or hoisting signs at the intersection of Central and Lowry. The protests were, by all accounts, nonviolent, putting them in a long line of get-togethers that have colored this country since its inception.
To put it bluntly, this work — of organization, of communal expression, of anger and hope and frustration — is the work of democracy.
This silhouette cuts a sharp contrast with the recent attacks on Minnesota lawmakers. It is hardly a novel idea to denounce political (or apolitical) assassinations, but sometimes it is worth saying the obvious thing simply: this is hardly a way to conduct democracy.
In a recent news conference, Joseph Thompson, Minnesota’s acting U.S. attorney, put it plainly: “Political assassinations are rare … they strike at the very core of our democracy.” If anything, he may have understated the issue’s importance. Such violence sidesteps the rule of law and the messes of democratic norms in favor of an older and more archaic eye-for-an-eye vision of the world, removing any possibility of civic discourse in the process.
The greatest problem with political violence, of course, is clear: it is morally abhorrent. But the issues run deeper than that. The practice presents a grim, cynical and startlingly limited theory of power — of how individuals can impact the world around them.
It’s for that reason that the “No Kings” protests present a hopeful vision for the country. Regardless of your positions on the federal government’s role in everyday life or how immigration policy ought to be enforced in the States, communal work is among the safest, most effective and most successful ways to enact lasting change in the United States.
That’s where the federal power alluded to earlier comes in. Democracy thrives in the push and pull between elected officials and the people they represent; its messiest moments are also, frequently, the spots where it’s working as intended.
All this doesn’t necessarily mean worked-up residents need to hit the streets to advocate for their issues of choice. Good-natured civic involvement can take all sorts of forms. To name just a few of many: attending public city council meetings, hitting up town halls, dropping by representatives’ office hours, digging into the news of the moment with neighbors, dialing up your elected officials or mounting a campaign to take their seat.
This country’s civic infrastructure offers countless ways to voice grievances and, eventually, with enough sweat, to enact real change. Unrest, tumult and discord are features, not bugs, of democracy. Even if change can be frustrating and slow, disagreements present opportunities for dialogue and progress. Civic involvement is frequently messy, but new worlds can be born from it if given enough time.