Kathleen McQuillan

Have you ever awakened with a touch of the blues, even on a morning with clear blue skies and air cleaner than you’ve seen all week? Has the smoke from forest fires burning out of control induced a dread for a summer clouded not by rain, but by a scientific prediction that this smokey haze could be our new normal? Sunny days usually boost my get-up-and-go. Whether to tackle a project I’d spent the winter dreaming about. Or to pull the canoe out from behind the shed and clean it up for a nice paddle down the Little Fork. Or to remove those all those weeds from a neglected bed of lilies and iris.
After months of light deprivation, rays from the rising sun usually act as a natural stimulant. So why was I feeling so down this morning? I know we all have highs and lows. But just knowing that wasn’t bringing me any comfort.
I miss my friend Harold who, with ninety-some years of life experience, would offer the best guiding wisdom. When I felt blue, he’d place his arm over my shoulders, point at the sky and remind me that “behind those clouds, the sun is always shining.” I don’t have him anymore, nor my mom who weathered many dark days. She would cure me with a brusk “shake it off,” reminding me that I’d be better by not expecting somebody to show up and save me. Despite these words of advice, I’m discovering that a lot of us are struggling with bad news overload. We are definitely going through some tough times. This past week has provided more than a good example.
On June 14, I woke with a solid agenda for my day, having planned it for weeks. It was “No Kings Day.” I would be joining with folks all across the country to express my opposition to the president’s actions toward immigrants. A high-level operation to deport millions was underway. Fulfilling a campaign promise, King Trump had ordered National Guard troops and U.S. Marines to help ICE agents round up not only illegal but many legal immigrants from their homes, workplaces, schools, churches, even from the courthouses where they were scheduled to present their asylum case to a judge.
The immigration situation wasn’t my only grievance. The Congress is also embroiled in crafting a budget bill pitting the wealthiest members of American society against its most vulnerable people and the working class. Although tax and spend debates are not new to elected officials, it’s happening with an impending deadline. If not completed by the end of June, it will trigger a government shutdown. As the stakes get higher, so does everyone’s stress level. It would be good to stand with hundreds of others expressing opposition to cuts to Medicaid and other essential programs, to a tax cut for billionaires, and a $60 million military parade that does nothing but increase the national debt which is eating our economy alive. But wait. The No Kings Day Rally wouldn’t happen without a hitch, one far beyond our imaginations that threatened to bring it all crashing down.
It was 9 a.m. While busy making coffee and feeding the dog, I turned on the radio for the morning headlines. What I heard blew my mind. Two Minnesota legislators had been shot in their homes by an unknown shooter in what the governor called “a targeted political assassination.” One was killed along with her husband. The other was gravely wounded as was his wife. A manhunt was underway. No other details were available. I couldn’t believe my ears. “This is Minnesota.” I thought. “This couldn’t be true.” But it was!
Then the press conference began. Walz and leaders from law enforcement agencies conducting the investigation offered the few details they had. Then the governor mentioned the “No Kings” protests scheduled across the state. He respectfully requested that organizers cancel the events.
That landed another blow. How could that happen? People were gathering in hundreds of locations for rallies with music, speakers and marches designed to peacefully exercise our First Amendment rights of free speech and assembly.This would be our chance to assert “people power” upon the current administration that was constantly crossing established boundaries to test its authority. Marching together would be an antidote for feeling helpless and hopeless as we watched this president intent on challenging the rule of law.
I began to grasp the unimaginable reality that had befallen our state. Texts, emails, and phone calls started coming in asking had I heard the news? What about the rallies? Were they really going to be canceled? People were overwhelmed and confused. Without more details, I had no answers. I agreed to contact major movement leaders and local organizers.
For the next two hours, opinions and decisions shifted from on to off, then back to on, and then another official statement was released. The governor and law enforcement were now “strongly urging” people to stay home. The suspect had not been apprehended and the manhunt search had widened. A manifesto listing other targets had been found. But details were still sparse. Eventually, the instinct to come together in solidarity overrode the official recommendations. I quickly gathered my signs and headed to the rally closest to my home.
I was amazed when I pulled up and saw the size of the crowd. I had to park nearly a half mile from the rally site. People were streaming in with their signs from every direction despite the official call to cancel. The rallies and marches went on. News reports during the car ride home reported no disturbances at any site statewide, testimony of our intent to remain peaceful with the expression of our concerns. Violence would be anathema to our cause.
Once home, I felt so good. A sense of peace and security surrounded me once inside those four walls. What I had participated in that day felt so right. I wanted to hold on to that feeling for as long as possible. Throughout the day, my emotions had run the gamut. But I’d shed my early morning blues. Although I was tired, I was not yet ready to shut down the events of the day. I needed to reflect a little longer on the tragedy that had overshadowed the events that followed. I felt a strong need to write to help process what happened.
I am imagining the time you’ve also spent living through and making sense of difficult times. The wise ones tell us that we do better if we do that together. I’m pretty sure they’re right. They remind us that we are brothers and sisters, part of a community, sharing the same air. Please, let’s keep remembering and trying to seek understanding. And let’s let good will reign.