The report comes on Monday, 2:00pm in Minneapolis. President Donald Trump will hold a rally, 7:00pm Thursday, at Target Center. A sense of unease hangs in the air. This is the epicenter of Progressive America, home to Ilhan Omar, Amy Klobuchar, Walter Mondale, and the once-great Al Franken. Trump promises to turn the state blood red in 2020.
Anti-Trump groups are preparing an all-out confrontation. Vandalism, blocked highways, even violence are feared. Mayor Jacob Frey declared Trump an unwelcome hate-monger, and that the entire city of Minneapolis stands against him.
This might not help.
My friend, Reba will be there. She attends any protest with a small drum. She is appalled that I am not anti-Trump. The fact I’m neither for nor against makes it worse.
“Worse?”
“This is a crisis, and the able-minded must unite. Trump supporters can almost be forgiven.”
“Are you implying they are feeble-minded?”
“Absolutely.”
The hope is there won’t be danger to either side. In Minnesota we breed passion, but not much trouble. Affluence has something to do with it. The most vocal and vociferous Trump-haters live in a swath of million-dollar homes among the leafy streets of SW Minneapolis, as does Reba. These are people hardly touched by Trump’s policies. Or any policies, for that matter.
In any event, the police are ready. They promise a no-nonsense approach. “Everyone hopes for the best, but prepares for the worst,” said John Elder, of the Minneapolis Police Department. “That’s not uncommon and that’s good foresight.”
The Twins are in the baseball playoffs, and return to town this week two games down to the Yankees. There could be trouble if they lose. Or win. Raucous celebrations are always a threat.
“It’s too bad,” Reba told me over coffee at a South Minneapolis boutique diner. “People waste their time over sporting events and rock concerts, when the real crisis is just outside their door.”
“It seem working people are doing pretty well,” I told her.
“Don’t be fooled. They did well under Hitler, too.” These kinds of comparisons would have been alarming just a few years ago. Now they are commonplace, and acceptable. Reba is uninterested in specifics. Talk of food stamps, unemployment, trade deals, troop withdrawals, stock market indices, are dead-ends. Trump can take credit for nothing. No quarter is to be given, and he must be opposed at every turn.
Protesting will help. “Trump supporters are racist idiots,” she tells me. “I can’t wait to get in their faces. Tell them what I think.”
Long-term, Reba is despondent. 2020 looms, and there is hardly an optimistic Democrat to be found. Impeachment won’t work. Candidates vying for the Democratic nomination talk a good game, but face an unlevel playing field. The winner will have to debate Trump, and the fear is he will do to them what the Yankees are doing to the Twins.
The whole idea of another term is more than Reba can take. Amid the flowers and scones, she begins to tear up. “Such a horrible man.”
Now I’m mad. How dare Trump do this to my loving, gentle friend? “There’s always hope,” I say, hopefully.
This cheers her up. “You’re right. What we need is a recession. Big time.”
I’ve heard this before, and often. A recession won’t touch Reba, or any of the other patrons I see lounging away the workweek in Red Wing boots and Woolrich sweaters, tapping laptops. But it will get rid of Trump.
Only the poor will suffer, as Garry Trudeau once said in a long-ago Doonesbury cartoon. And they’re used to it.
Richard Donnelly lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Classic flyover land. Which makes us feel just a little… superior. He publishes a weekly column of essays on the writing life at richarddonnelly.substack.com