APRIL 19, 2025 – Early this afternoon I traipsed down to the capitol for Protest No. 2. Beth had preceded me by about an hour to meet a friend. I arrived as more people were leaving the site than were walking toward it, but a sizable crowd remained on hand—large enough to attract a helicopter from one of the local TV news stations. I found my way to the highest permissible point on the front steps of the capitol. Low-key Minnesota Public Safety Department officers kept people from ascending any farther. The protester next to me asked an officer politely, “How much higher can I go?” Whereupon, the officer smiled, and in a firm but not unfriendly manner pointed to a step two above the protester and said, “There. You can go there.” The protester didn’t bother gaining an extra foot of elevation. He (and I) had a perfectly suitable view of the crowd below.
As had been the case at the first demonstration, the signage was very much “in your face,” or more precisely, in the face of the Diarchy—one of the two rulers having received 77 million votes and the other one having received none. The sign-holders, I thought, looked somewhat scruffier and younger than the majority of people who’d appeared at Protest No. 1. Today’s protesters were definitely not happy with the current . . . or prospective . . . state of affairs. Given the approach of Earth Day (April 22), a good third of the signs reflected concerns about the environment and protested the regime’s contemptuous dismissal of anthropogenic climate change as a hoax perpetrated by George Soros (for example).
Many Ukrainian flags were waving in the wind as well. They reminded me of all the reading I’ve done lately about the history of “the borderland,” and how fraught with blood and terror that part of the world has been for centuries. I still side with Ukraine in its plucky resistance against the aggressor, but I also know that the story before February 24, 2022 was long, complicated, and murderous. The three-year slog since—with no end in sight, now that impetuous Mr. “I will end the war in 24 hours” has reportedly moved on—has so far been long and murderous, but not much is complicated about Russian missiles crashing down on civilian targets and decimating Ukrainian cities.
Anyway, I moved about the peaceful crowd and took casual inventory of the issues: everything from social security to . . . DOGE to . . . the environment . . . to the plight of Abrego Garcia . . . to the broader threat of fascist roundups to . . . other assaults on due process to the attack on women’s rights to . . . Putin’s attack on Ukraine to . . . to Israel’s continuing bombing of Gaza. I saw nothing about the tariffs or Trump’s threatened termination of Fed Chairman Powell.
After an hour or so I decided to leave, having gotten the gist of things and having added my presence and my voice to the collective protest, after an hour or so. I’d earlier phoned Beth, who was on the opposite side of the capitol crowd, but she said that she was ready to depart as well.
On my way off the capitol grounds, I stopped by a trio of officers standing quite apart from the proceedings. They looked young and bored, but one of the three had a stonier countenance than the other two. I was curious what thoughts might be coursing through their heads. I approached them slowly and in the most non-threatening way I could devise—smiling and hooking my thumbs on the front pockets of my jeans. “So,” I said, “where do ya think all this is headed?” With the question, I raised one hand to my cap to move the visor up a bit, revealing more of my friendly face.
One of the officers said, “Eventually they’ll all go home.”
“Well,” I said, “that’s not exactly I meant. Where do you think the country is headed?” I was genuinely curious. I didn’t want to make any assumptions about their personal political affiliations, either.
The best that the trio could do was probably the most accurate: Officer No. 2 (not the stone-faced one) said, “No clue.”
I told him that that was probably the best any of us could do at this point and remarked that it’s hard to understand your own times while you’re living them. I wished the officers well, thanked them for their service, and moved on.
At the intersection of Rice and University I stepped up beside three other pedestrians waiting for the traffic light. MTC personnel told us to walk along the light-rail platform, then cross at the next block. One of the pedestrians had rolled up his protest sign and tucked it under his arm. He looked about my age and wore a fresh set of jeans, a nice jacket, stylish round eye-glasses, and a smart leather driving cap. He was tall, thin and bore a serious countenance.
When he turned toward me, I thought I’d try the question I’d tested out on the three officers. My fellow protester surmised that things would get so bad for the country that the Democrats would take back the House and the Senate in 2026. He was a serious guy, well informed and very worried about the direction of the country. His prediction was that there will be hell to pay by Trump and Musk when DOGE cuts reveal to rural Americans that the benefits they receive from federal programs far outweigh the tax burdens (on those same beneficiaries).
When I expressed the opinion that the problems faced by this country are structural, requiring fundamental reforms “that probably aren’t going to happen,” the guy said pointedly, “Then why did you bother showing up here?” His rhetorical question, I realized, reflected poorly on me; it implied that I was a pessimist.
I quickly back-pedaled—or rather, forward-pedaled—to a more positive statement. “Well, we have to start somewhere, don’t we?”
We talked for quite a while before the train to Minneapolis arrived. I thank him for the conversation, whereupon he extended his hand and told me his name—Dave. I gave him mine, and continued on my way to my car, another two blocks away.
Soon I was back home, continuing work on my new “gnome home.” If the world is run by those who show up, I’d helped run it for an hour or so. But as I contemplated my participation in the demonstration, I knew that the people working for Trump and DOGE are “showing up” far longer than is good for the country. How many more protests will there be? How bad will things get? Where is all this headed?
“No clue,” as Officer No. 2 said.
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
