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Trump thought Minnesotans would be pushovers and great “performance fodder” as televised victims of his version of macho violence. He was wrong.
President Donald Trump stepped into a major political landmine by picking Minnesota as the Democratic state he opted to savage with his Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents this time around. No one, anywhere, has ever regarded Minnesota as any kind of threat to any nation. Writer and former “Prairie Home Companion” radio personality Garrison Keillor often talked about the rock-steady courtesy and careful reticence of the hard-working and (once) stoic Minnesotans. “We Minnesotans believe in low key,” he quipped about himself and the other residents of his home state. Hardly the rampaging “paid political agitators” Donald Trump conjures up.
Minnesota consistently tallies among the lowest per capita crime stats in the nation. Yet there Trump’s jack-booted thugs are in repeated scenes on TV across the nation, hurling Minnesotans to the ground, kneeling on their backs, wrapping their beefy arms around their necks and squeezing, shooting them. This, despite the fact that Democratic California, along with the Republican states of Texas and Florida, have the highest number—millions—of undocumented immigrants in the nation. Yet Trump is focusing on the Midwestern state.
Nearby residents across the Minnesota’s border identify with their out-of-state neighbors. I grew up in Wisconsin, and considered Minnesota part of us, as I did Michigan, Iowa, and much of Illinois. If Trump thinks he carefully sidestepped red Iowa and Michigan, and purple Wisconsin (which went for Trump in 2024) in his targeted violence, he’s hugely mistaken. What happens in Minnesota is felt by all Midwesterners. Like me, other Wisconsinites have relatives over the border, they shop in Minnesota, and some have farms and businesses there. Minnesotans talk like us. We have the same accents, and some of us call drinking fountains “bubblers.” That kind of identification is something Trump, born and raised in Queens, will never get.
Even more problematic for Trump is that the great swath of middle Americans view Midwesterners as one of them. The country often dismisses the complaints and actions of the New York metropolitan area and the West (i.e. “left”) Coast. But they don’t take that attitude when it comes to Minnesotans, widely considered the salt of the earth by their fellow Americans.
It’s not so easy (or a genius political move) to remain popular as a vengeful president scapegoats a steady state from heartland America with combat-outfitted thugs.
Nevertheless, Minnesotans are being brutalized on the streets of Minneapolis: their “papers” demanded by ICE agents (which citizens are not required to carry), their car windows smashed and their bodies dragged over shattered glass, slugged when they dare lift their cell phones to record the violence. Yet the Minnesotans, a huge percentage of whom are hunters and own guns, remain nonviolent protesters against the brutality, steadfast and indomitable in their opposition, relying on whistles to alert one another to ICE violence, relentlessly recording the federal agents’ assault on the law despite threats from angry, threatening officers. Minnesotans have staged protest sit-ins in churches, at Hilton Hotels, where agents sleep, and at Target stores where masked men have kidnapped teenage US citizens working there. Protesters last month staged an all-night raucous anti-ICE “concert” to keep the agents awake as they tried to sleep in their Hilton Hotel beds.
It’s a lose-lose situation for Trump. Early poll results already hint that the president’s support in the wake of the violence in the Midwest—and nationally—is tanking. It’s not so easy (or a genius political move) to remain popular as a vengeful president scapegoats a steady state from heartland America with combat-outfitted thugs.
Even before news spread that ICE agent Jonathan Ross fatally shot Minneapolis mom and US citizen Renee Nicole Good in the face on January 7, a number of polls found increasing anger over Trump’s Minneapolis thugfest.
A national YouGov poll taken the same day of the shooting before word of the killing had been widely shared found that 52% of those surveyed already either somewhat or strongly disapproved of how ICE was doing its job (39% somewhat approved or strongly approved). Just 27% thought the agency's tactics were "about right," compared to 51% who labeled them"too forceful.”
Six out of ten of those surveyed said they believed a “war” or “conflict” is erupting in the streets of America.
A Reuters/Ipsos survey January 15 found Americans’ approval of Trump’s immigration approach was at its lowest point in his second administration. An AP-NORC poll found that just 38% of Americans approved of Trump’s immigration enforcement, down from a 49% high this spring. In addition, a majority of voters (51%) in a recent CNN/SSRS poll said ICE’s actions are making US cities less safe.
Trump’s net job approval rating slid to -14, YouGov pollsters reported Jan. 20 after the president’s immigration crackdown, the lowest of his second administration. The American Research Group reported Wednesday that Trump’s approval rating had cratered to -28.
“What’s happening in Minnesota right now defies belief,” Democratic Gov. Tim Walz said in a televised address last week. “News reports simply don’t do justice to the level of chaos and disruption and trauma the federal government is raining down upon our communities,” he added, characterizing the ICE attacks as a “campaign of organized brutality against the people of Minnesota by our own federal government.”
Trump thought Minnesotans would be pushovers and great “performance fodder” as televised victims of his version of macho violence. They may be quietly hard-working, and sometimes excruciatingly reserved, but they have spines of steel and they know what’s right.
We are all Minnesota.
We need more Jared and Laurie Berezins who are standing up for democracy as civil rights and due process rights are being undermined by the Trump administration.
For Jared and Laurie Berezin who live outside Boston, the final straw was the video in mid-April showing an Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent in New Bedford, Massachusetts shattering a Guatemalan couple’s car window with an axe before dragging them out onto the sidewalk.
One week later, on April 23, the couple—an MIT lecturer and a jewelry maker—held their first protest outside ICE’s New England field office in Burlington, Massachusetts.
Standing alone on a grassy knoll holding a sign, reading, “Just Say No to Harassing Immigrants,” they watched ICE agents coming and going from the two-story ICE facility where thousands of immigrants have been detained, many for multiple days, since January. Both were struck by the casualness of it all, especially the unmasked agents walking around laughing and joking.
They also saw dozens of immigrants arriving, looking stone-faced and nervous, for their deportation hearings. Coming out, a few of them waved to the couple to thank them for their support.
History—from the American Revolution to the civil rights movement—has shown that chipping away at vital institutions can erode political power and force positive change.
Those twin moments—ICE agents performing their jobs with apparent nonchalance against a backdrop of immigrants looking petrified and powerless—struck a chord.
“The minute we started standing on that grass, it hit us that we needed to keep coming back,” Jared Berezin recalled.
One week later, four friends joined their protest. Six weeks after that, there were 60. On December 3, the 33rd consecutive Wednesday protest, there were more than 600.
Beyond speeches and songs, the “Bearing Witness” standouts are producing action: In October, after widespread media attention, the Burlington Town Meeting voted overwhelmingly in favor of a resolution demanding that the ICE facility end “inhumane” conditions and all overnight detentions, which violate local zoning limits set in 2007 when the facility first opened. After repeated requests from federal legislators, ICE has consented to site inspections in the coming weeks.
This is what peaceful, sustained civil resistance looks like.
We need more Jared and Laurie Berezins who are standing up for democracy as civil rights and due process rights are being undermined by the Trump administration.
But resistance needs strategy, training, and unwavering commitment to exercise that power.
In small but encouraging ways, it is happening. One Million Rising, a national civil resistance movement launched in July by the nonprofit group Indivisible, now has more than 350,000 trained volunteers organizing protests, sit-ins, and other types of nonviolent interference aimed at businesses, federal agencies, and other entities supporting the president’s policies.
This has less to do with broad-based demonstrations, such as October’s No Kings Day, and more with sharply focused, continuous collective action to disrupt key pillars of support, such as businesses and government enforcement agencies, that the administration is relying on.
History—from the American Revolution to the civil rights movement—has shown that chipping away at vital institutions can erode political power and force positive change. The president cannot be effective without airplanes to handle his deportation flights, banks that finance his detention centers, and a media that spreads his misinformation and squelches truth.
We’re seeing positive progress across the board.
When Disney and its ABC affiliate suspended Jimmy Kimmel’s show in September over his remarks about Charlie Kirk’s fatal shooting, viewers quickly responded. Disney’s streaming apps lost more than 1 million paid subscribers in a matter of days. The show was quickly restored—a major victory for free speech.
Avelo Airlines, a budget commercial airline that flies out of Hartford, New Haven and dozens of other US cities, is also facing intense opposition over its contract to handle deportation flights for ICE. After numerous protests at Bradley Airport, Avelo announced in October that it was ending all Bradley flights. Similar protests are underway in New Haven and other airports.
Protesters are also targeting local governments such as Holyoke, Massachusetts, a mostly Latino city sensitive to escalating ICE raids. Like Burlington, the first protest was started last spring by a young woman, Claire McGale, who stood alone at a popular street intersection holding a sign reading, “Solidarity Without Action is Meaningless.”

The weekly protests swelled. McGale then organized a diverse coalition, The Real Holyoke Majority, that took its protests to City Hall where city councillors were considering a resolution declaring that Holyoke is not a sanctuary city and supports all federal laws, including ICE raids. In October, after Latinos, youth, and trans residents spoke in opposition, the resolution was defeated in a 7-6 vote. A few weeks later, the councillor leading the resolution effort was voted out of office
The movement needs more people like Claire McGale and Jared and Laurie Berezin.
They are writing American history right now. What will your story be?
The Epstein files aren't about one dead predator or even about the powerful men who enabled him. They're about a revelation that terrifies the ruling class: We're finally seeing the structure of division and dehumanization clearly.
Over the past few years, Jeffrey Epstein has dominated our collective attention in ways that are both revealing and troubling. On the surface, the sustained focus on a wealthy sexual predator who trafficked children over decades seems like progress. Perhaps a sign that we're finally holding powerful people accountable. But look closer. This has unfolded during a backlash against survivors of sexual violence, a rollback of protections for women, and the systematic removal of women from positions of power. Research funding for gender equity has vanished. So what does our obsession with Epstein really mean?
Part of it is obvious: The details are sensational, and social media algorithms reward outrage. The names in those files read like a global directory of power: political leaders, billionaires, academics, celebrities. Everyone who's anyone seems to orbit this depravity. That explains the clicks.
But I want to suggest something else is happening. Something more profound. As a psychologist who teaches students to analyze complex social problems, I see us collectively engaging in what I call for in my classroom: a dual analysis, what Lois Weis and Michelle Fine termed as critical bifocality. We're learning to hold two truths, two ways of understanding the world, at once. And that terrifies the powerful.
Americans have been trained to see failure as personal. Lost your home in foreclosure? You must have been irresponsible. Can't afford groceries? You should have worked harder. This is the logic of capitalism, and it's everywhere.
Psychologists call this the fundamental attribution error: We overestimate individual responsibility for others' suffering while excusing our own struggles as caused by circumstances. It's a cognitive bias that protects our self-esteem but destroys our capacity for solidarity.
This isn't just about one man's moral failure. It's about a system where wealth creates impunity. Where the rules simply don't apply.
Right now, this error is especially dangerous. Grocery prices are up nearly 30% since 2019. Jobs feel precarious as AI reshapes entire industries. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids are terrorizing communities, disappearing neighbors and co-workers. For millions in Appalachia and the Rust Belt—regions promised economic revival—things have only gotten harder. This is the case all over the country, no matter whether red or blue designations have been imposed on us by the pundits.
When we're scared, we want simple answers. We want someone to blame. The fundamental attribution error gives us that: blame the immigrant, blame the lazy, blame anyone but the system itself.
But here's what I see happening with Epstein: We're refusing that simple narrative. We're doing something more sophisticated, more dangerous to power.
We're using what I teach as the individual lens: Yes, Jeffrey Epstein made choices. Yes, every person who enabled him (the many who looked away, who benefited, who participated) bears individual moral responsibility. We must hold them accountable. Children were harmed. Yes, Megyn Kelly, they were children. That demands justice.
But we're also using the structural lens: What system allowed this to happen? What conditions enabled it? And here's where it gets uncomfortable for the powerful in the world, like Donald Trump, one of Epstein’s closest friends.
In 2008, Jeffrey Epstein was convicted of soliciting prostitution from a minor. He served barely a year in the private wing of a county jail with work-release privileges, where he was able to leave 12 hours a day, and even the door to his cell was unlocked. Most Americans would have gone to federal prison. But Epstein had connections.
Fast forward a decade. Between November 2018 and July 2019, 10 years after his conviction, Larry Summers was texting with Epstein, seeking advice on how to seduce a female colleague he called his "mentee." Summers was former president of Harvard, former treasury secretary, one of the most powerful economists in America. And he was asking a convicted sex offender to be his "wing man" in pursuing a woman professionally vulnerable.
The correspondence ended July 5, 2019, one day before Epstein's arrest on federal sex trafficking charges.
This isn't just about one man's moral failure. It's about a system where wealth creates impunity. Where the rules simply don't apply.
The wealthy aren't just getting richer. They're extracting from the rest of us at an accelerating rate.
Today, the top 1% hold 30.5% of America's wealth. The bottom 50% (that's half of us) hold only 2.5%.
Imagine 100 of us in a room with a meal to share. It is a delicious platter of burgers and warm, salty fries that fills the room with a savory smell. All of us are hungry.
One person walks up and takes nearly a third of everything. They pile their plate high and walk away.
Nine more people step up and take most of what's left, about another third of the food between them.
The Epstein files are thousands of emails, each one a point of light illuminating how the system actually works. And it's terrifying to those who benefit from it.
That leaves 90 of us to divide the remaining third. But here's the thing: It's not divided equally. Forty people in the middle get modest portions. They have access to just enough to take the edge off their hunger. And the last 50 of us? We're left fighting over a few cold fries and some burger crumbs on the edge of the platter. That tiny pile is 2.5% of the meal that fed one person so lavishly.
The one person who took a third? They're not worried about the 90 of us who got less. They're counting on the 40 who got modest portions to blame the 50 who got crumbs. They're counting on all of us to fight each other instead of asking why one person gets to take so much in the first place.
It wasn’t always this way. Since 1989, the richest 1% have increased their share of national wealth by 34%. The bottom 50% have lost 26% of theirs.
This isn't about hard work or merit. The system is designed for extraction. You work every day. You show up. And still your debts deepen. Your loans grow. Your ability to build security evaporates.
Meanwhile, the wealthy fly on private jets to private islands where they commit acts of cruelty most of us can't imagine but all of us (except Megyn Kelly) agree are unlawful and immoral.
The Epstein files are thousands of emails, each one a point of light illuminating how the system actually works. And it's terrifying to those who benefit from it.
Watch Trump's reaction. On November 14, when Bloomberg reporter Catherine Lucey asked about the files aboard Air Force One, Trump jabbed his finger at her: "Quiet! Quiet, piggy." Days later, he threatened ABC's broadcast license when reporter Mary Bruce asked similar questions.
This is the powerful suddenly being exposed, the curtain is lifting, and we see that these monsters are just tiny pathetic, greedy people. This is fear.
Trump campaigned in Appalachia promising economic relief. Eleven months later, he's proposed cutting the Appalachian Regional Commission by 93%, from $200 million to $14 million. In a region with 75 counties classified as economically "distressed," he's pulling the last federal lifeline.
The people who voted for Trump because they were promised someone who would fight the elites are watching those same elites protect each other. They're watching the system close ranks.
The Epstein files aren't about one dead predator or even about the powerful men who enabled him. They're about a revelation that terrifies the ruling class: We're finally seeing the structure of division and dehumanization clearly.
This is why they are afraid: the 50 of us fighting over crumbs have far more in common with the 40 who got modest portions than any of us have with the one who took a third of the meal. The worker whose factory closed in Ohio and the immigrant whose neighbor was disappeared by Immigration and Customs Enforcement? We’re all being crushed by the same system. The rural Appalachian who can't afford medication and the urban renter who is being priced out? Same system. The young person drowning in student debt and the parent who can't afford childcare? Same system.
We can hold individual wrongdoers accountable AND dismantle the systems that enabled them.
The powerful maintain control by convincing us we're each other's enemies. Red versus blue. Urban versus rural. Immigrant versus native-born. But Jeffrey Epstein's private island wasn't divided by those lines. It was divided by one line only: those with enough wealth and power to do whatever they wanted to whoever they wanted, and those without.
The Epstein files show us something the powerful never wanted us to see: They protect each other. Across party lines, across industries, across borders, wealth creates a solidarity among the ruling class that transcends everything else. Larry Summers stayed loyal to Epstein a decade after his conviction. Trump's fear when reporters ask questions isn't about embarrassment, it's about exposure of that solidarity.
The question isn't just, "What will we do with what we know?" It's "Who will we do it with?"
The answer has to be each other. All of us who show up and work and still fall further behind. All of us whose neighbors are disappearing, whose communities are being stripped of resources, whose futures are being extracted by those private jets to private islands.
We can hold individual wrongdoers accountable AND dismantle the systems that enabled them. We can refuse the fundamental attribution error that asks us to blame our neighbors while ignoring who's taking the largest share.
This is the moment for clarity. This is the moment we refuse to unsee what's been revealed. This is the moment we recognize each other.
The 99% of us who aren't eating the majority of the meal? We have everything in common. Let's build with each other instead of for those who extract from us.