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vermont
The Vermont Winter Gets ICEier
It’s been coming for months: the first big Vermont confrontation among ICE, the local police, and the community in a state that prides itself on caring for neighbors and individual liberty as well as collective responsibility.
Mar 15, 2026
The little boy with curly red hair clutched his huge stuffed bunny and stayed close to his mother, whose face was tight with anxiety. No wonder. Close by was a crowd of more than 100 protesters, clustered around a small white house with Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents in the back and local police in the front. A line of Vermont state troopers in their green uniforms was across the street on the median. There was a lot of yelling.
I took off my mask and asked the boy if he understood what was going on. He shook his head and put his thumb in his mouth. “The police want to get into the house to take someone away, and the rest of us don’t want them to because it’s not fair,” I said.
“Is he a bad guy?”
“We don’t think so.” The boy was about 3, the same age as the child who was trapped inside the house until his family decided whether it was safer to let him go to friends.
I keep thinking about the little boy frightened of the crowd and the noise. About those three people in the house from 8:30 am until 5:30 pm, then in a vehicle, now in detention. About their farewell to a 3-year-old child.
The red-haired boy’s mother said they couldn’t get through the protest, so I walked them around it, in the blocked-off street.
It’s been coming for months: the first big Vermont confrontation among ICE, the local police, and the community in a state that prides itself on caring for neighbors and individual liberty as well as collective responsibility. By the time the day was done, ICE broke into the house with the help of Vermont State Police, then arrested and removed three people, including two asylum-seeking sisters (ages 20 and 31) from Ecuador, according to Migrant Justice.
Thursday morning, the US attorney admitted that none of them was the person named in the warrant which ICE finally obtained after showing up without one. No mention was made of any criminal charges against the people who were removed from their home. Less than a dozen protesters were also detained, some violently: those who attempted to prevent ICE from entering the home or keep official vehicles from leaving. At the end of the evening, tear gas dispersed the remaining protesters and the final vehicle sped away.
The day began when ICE tried to trap a vehicle in which the driver attempted to escape, damaging several other cars in the process. Eventually the driver fled on foot, leaving the car behind. Only then were local police notified that ICE would attempt an arrest at a nearby address associated with the car. Police and protesters were both on the scene early. ICE officers said they had a warrant but were unable to produce one. Police first said that people had a right to protest but couldn’t on private property—but then the property manager arrived, asked to be shown a warrant, and said he was not asking the police to remove people.
Song broke out, led by Rabbi Grace Oedel. Someone brought a guitar. Soon hands linked around the house. A nearby business put up a tent, and snacks and supplies poured in. A local store sent pizza. Half a dozen ICE agents (some masked, mostly not) were hanging out in the backyard, waiting for the warrant. Most protesters were peaceful, but a few were angry and confrontational, taunting and insulting officers. Several people tried to cool the loud voices out to no avail, until a soft-spoken woman talked directly to an officer, and two angry young men backed off. The local police were in a very difficult position and overall showed restraint in the early part of the day. But after they called in the Vermont State Police, the tone of the situation changed. The warrant was on its way, and the die was cast.
The parking lot of a nearby mall suddenly swarmed with State Police vehicles, not only to transport them, but also what used to be called paddy wagons. Reporters later said that about 60 law enforcement personnel were involved at the height of the situation, including some in “tactical gear.” Soon, local and state police cars filled the street in front of the house, as well as unmarked ICE vehicles.
About 5:30 pm local time, after state troopers cleared a path from the ICE vehicle to the front door of the house, I watched what I’ve seen so many times on the news. An implacable man with a stony face stood in the doorway, after it was broken down. A line of helmets led up to that door. Lots of screaming, including my own, lots of whistles. Then a brown face in the doorway, a short man’s, full of fear. I was so upset that I didn’t even see the two women who were taken afterward. The crowd surged in front of the vehicles to keep them from leaving, shouting, “No están solos” (They are not alone). When the cars tried to back out, people blocked them again. Only the use of force cleared the path, and in the process a number of people were roughed up, sprayed with pepper spray, or pushed to the ground or against the cars. Some were arrested.
Thursday morning, in Vermont fashion, our Republican Gov. Phil Scott has attempted to issue a balanced statement and primarily blames the feds: “The actions of federal law enforcement, from outside the state yesterday, further demonstrates a lack of training, coordination, leadership, and outdated tactics which put both peaceful protesters and Vermont law enforcement in a difficult situation.”
The local South Burlington Police Chief William Breault also criticized the ICE approach, saying, “To attempt an arrest of a subject in a moving vehicle on Dorset Street in the area of a high school and middle school at 7:45 in the morning when the school is getting in was not probably the most appropriate.” In fact, MSN’s report of a press conference by the three local police departments says, “Police say they tried to convince federal agents to avoid the high-tension arrest.”
I keep thinking about the little boy frightened of the crowd and the noise. About those three people in the house from 8:30 am until 5:30 pm, then in a vehicle, now in detention. About their farewell to a 3-year-old child. About what the two asylum-seekers may have suffered before they came here looking for safety. For what we used to call the American Dream.
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GOP Vermont State Senator Sam Douglass Resigns Over Hate-Filled Group Chat
Many social media users had the same reaction to Douglass' resignation: "Good riddance!"
Oct 19, 2025
Vermont state Sen. Sam Douglass is set to step down Monday after being exposed as a participant in a Young Republican group chat in which members—including at least one Trump administration official—exchanged hate-filled messages.
Douglass, a Republican, said in a statement Friday: “I must resign. I know that this decision will upset many, and delight others, but in this political climate I must keep my family safe.”
“If my governor asks me to do something, I will act, because I believe in what he’s trying to do,” the 27-year-old freshman lawmaker added, referring to Republican Vermont Gov. Phil Scott's call for him to step down.
“I love my state, my people, and I am deeply sorry for the offense this caused and that our state was dragged into this," Douglass added.
Douglass is the only known elected official involved in a leaked Telegram chat first reported by Politico on Tuesday in which members of Young Republican chapters in four states exchanged racist, anti-LGBTQ+, and misogynistic messages, including quips about an "epic" rape and killing people in Nazi gas chambers.
Group chat participants included Michael Bartels, a senior adviser in the office of general counsel at the US Small Business Administration.
The chat included one message in which Douglass equated being Indian with poor hygiene, and another exchange in which his wife, Vermont Young Republican national committee member Brianna Douglass, admonishes the organization for “expecting the Jew to be honest.”
Prominent Republicans have rallied in defense of what Vice President JD Vance called the private jokes of "young boys"—who are apparently all in their 20s and 30s.
The fallout from the group chat leak has cost a majority of participants in the Telegram chat their jobs or employment offers.
Most prominently, ex-New York State Young Republicans chair Peter Giunta—who posted "I love Hitler"—was fired from his job as chief of staff to New York Assemblyman Michael Reilly (R-62).
Many social media users had the same reaction to Douglass' resignation: "Good riddance!"
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The US Must Unite in Nonviolent Insurgency to Stop Trump
A government changes its behavior when a country becomes ungovernable.
Sep 30, 2025
On July 17, I joined a group of Vermonters for a Good Trouble Lives On action in a village near where we were staying that month. Over the past 161 straight days, a small but determined contingent of mostly white, mostly grey-haired, mostly too-polite-to-make-much-trouble residents had been gathering at noon to protest US President Donald Trump’s policies on a little triangle of land where two streets meet in the village center. Their number had swelled to several dozen on that very hot day, a significant turnout for a community of fewer than 1,000 people. The majority of those driving past us flashed their lights, waved, or nodded in support, including the driver of a giant Pepsi delivery truck. (Since signs asked drivers-by not to honk because the noise upset the neighbors, honkers, I was told, were the opposition.) A young organizer tried to start a chant of protest, but the majority made it clear that they preferred to stand quietly, and she gave up.
It was civil, respectful, and earnest—very Vermont and, as it should have been, lots of fun. In the midst of it, I found myself thinking about a conversation several days earlier with a woman I’ll call Laura, whom I’ve come to know over the summers we’ve spent in Vermont. She’d stopped by to say hello and chat. And though we usually steer clear of national politics, recognizing, I think, that our views on the subject don’t align particularly well, this time we ventured carefully into talk about Trump’s America the second time around.
She told me that she didn’t see much difference. The stock market was still strong, and her groceries didn’t cost her much more when she went to shop.
She probably stands to benefit (as do I) from some of the revisions in tax legislation misnamed Donald Trump’s “One Big Beautiful Bill.” She claimed not to pay much attention to political news, and she’s hardly alone there. People’s lives are overburdened enough, or they simply find the news too upsetting. News about that bill was hard to miss, however.
It makes little sense to play by the rules when we have a president who doesn’t even think there are rules.
I told her about the Turkish graduate student at Tufts University (where I had taught journalism) who was nabbed on a street in my neighborhood in March by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents, apparently guilty of nothing more than co-writing an op-ed on Palestine for the college newspaper, which no one reads, including the students there. Laura recognized my distress. ICE was preying on Vermonters then, too. Still, its predatory policies seemed far away from the serenity of our shared afternoon.
Laura is an older woman, highly educated, actively devout, intelligent, resourceful, good-humored, and a long-time resident of a community that struggles to balance its relative wealth with the neediness of surrounding communities. Although she lands on the side of the comfortable, most of her wealth seems to be in land on which taxes keep rising to the limit of what she can afford. She’s deeply invested in local politics when it comes to housing and taxes in her area and particularly the tensions between longstanding Vermonters and newer arrivals. The newcomers—“We call them the stroller mafia,” she told me—pushed through new taxes aimed at curbing short-term rentals to tourists that limit the already-scarce housing available to residents. It was a laudable goal, but bad news for many longtime residents, including some of Laura’s friends who rely on the income from renting out extra rooms in the big houses they bought long ago.
Vermont, for people who have never been there, is cows, multicolored leaves, and Bernie Sanders. Its politics do lean notably progressive, but 10% of Vermonters still live in poverty. The state also suffered devastating floods in 2 of the last 3 summers, and it struggles to pay for adequate education and healthcare for its inhabitants. In other words, it’s like all too many other states, just smaller and with more maple syrup.
I like and respect Laura. Still, while I was patting myself on the back for finding common ground with someone I had classified as “on the other side”—that generous and high-minded territory we’re supposed to seek out in these uncommon and ungenerous times—I had to acknowledge that civility only gets you so far. I struggle to believe that a shared gripe or a joke about the absurdities of American politics brings us closer to agreeing on tax policy or a viable safety net for poor Americans or the humane treatment of immigrants, because common ground is not common cause and that’s what matters now.
It’s not important, maybe not even desirable, that Laura and I agree on everything. Still, in these grim Trumpian times, until reasonable, caring people like her start to reckon with the draconian policies raining down on our heads, as well as on the heads of people without papers and on neighboring Vermonters who stand to lose their healthcare and more in the years to come, I fear that the policies coming out of Washington will only get endlessly meaner and more destructive.
So, there I was, in common cause with those stalwart protesters, cheering the friendly drivers and flashing everyone the peace sign, and all I could think was: This shit is not working.
Beyond Civility
Neither has much else we’ve tried. Letter writing? Laura would toss out mail from someone she doesn’t know. Phone banking? She’d hang up. (So would I, which is why I no longer make those calls.) Door knocking? Vermont’s small congressional delegation is already left of center, and voters tend to like their own representatives, even when they dislike Congress as a whole, giving incumbents a significant advantage. So, while flipping Congress to the Democrats would revive the possibility of checks and balances, I’m leery of putting too many of my hopes into next year’s midterm elections.
I’m cautious, too, about trusting the rule of law when, despite many favorable lower court rulings, the arc of the Supreme Court seems to bend ever more Trumpward. And sure, so many of us can keep harping on the Epstein files, since that scandal is creepy and (let’s admit it) deliciously dirty, but I doubt any new disclosures—no matter what they reveal—will bring about Donald Trump’s downfall any more readily than his other messes have.
How about congregating in some public arena with thousands (tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions?) of people who already agree with me? May such communal resistance continue to grow in size, commitment, and wit. Building a movement takes time, and such demonstrations bolster solidarity and help create more resistance. So far, however, even the largest protests appear to have dented Trump’s consciousness only in leading him to want to charge George Soros with racketeering for supposedly financing them.
I can sign every petition and read every email from organizations I admire and others I’ve never heard of, each proclaiming calamities scarier than the last one—and then, of course, asking for a donation. And I am scared. Just hearing the words “Stephen Miller” or “Laura Loomer” sends my blood pressure soaring, but I suspect that neither hypertension nor money are the keys to the sea change our political culture needs. The problem isn’t just the challenge of getting Trump to pay attention. It’s that the kinds of political activism I’m used to (and that have been effective in the past) no longer get enough Americans worked up enough, or inconvenience them enough, to take on Trump and his agenda.
Strategic Thinking
To succeed, a political campaign generally needs specific, clear, and easy-to-grasp goals and a nimble strategy where benchmarks can be set and progress charted. (Probably a good soundtrack too, but that’s another matter.) What we have now, on the other hand, is a sprawling outcry against a slew of unbelievably rotten policies and a wildly out-of-control president. God knows, there are enough rotten policies, not to speak of corruption and mendacity, to keep everyone busy, and a mass movement does need to be widely inclusive. But the misgovernance extends beyond Donald Trump, and simply excoriating him and dreading autocracy isn’t faintly enough.
It shouldn’t be hard to come up with some goals that would be widely shared. For starters, a healthy economy, affordable (evidence-based) healthcare, decent schools, and breathable air are all basic necessities being visibly undermined by this administration. Nonetheless, in this all too strange Trumpian world of ours, it’s proving all too hard to find a winning strategy—especially given that so much of what’s coming out of Washington falls into the category of (to borrow a favorite Trump phrase) never-seen-anything-like-it-before (at least when it comes to both intensity and sheer looniness). It makes little sense to play by the rules when we have a president who doesn’t even think there are rules, except for whatever ones he makes on the spur of the moment to support his own whims, prejudices, and self-interest.
So, what if the strategy is not to change Trump’s mind (good luck on that!), but to change the public’s mind?
Pillars Prop Up, Pillars Can Crumble
Which brings me to the consent theory of power, a favorite of theorists and agitators from way back, updated by Gene Sharp, an advocate of nonviolent resistance. For those who want to change the mess we’re in, that seems to me the way to go, as injury to people—in fact, personal or mob violence of any sort—is counterproductive, not to mention wrong. The recent murder of right-wing activist Charlie Kirk was a distinct reminder (not that we should have needed one) of where extreme intolerance of opposing ideologies from all directions all too often leads.
Add to that the finding of political scientists Erica Chenoweth and Maria Stephan that, historically speaking, nonviolent resistance has been more successful than violent campaigns. In that context, Sharp’s pragmatic strategies for noncompliance can be considered an active, peaceful response to the sense of powerlessness that authoritarians like “our” president aim to foster. According to Sharp, “The rulers of governments and political systems are not omnipotent, nor do they possess self-generating power.” Their power to keep a country functioning, he stresses, relies on the cooperation and obedience of those they govern. And that’s their vulnerability, too, because the governed can undermine the power of their rulers by withdrawing that very compliance and assistance.
In the consent theory, political power is seen as an inverted triangle balanced on its point and kept from tipping over by various supporting pillars, including the police, the military, media organizations, businesses, schools, and civic and religious groups. Dissidents are encouraged to think of ways to get members of those institutions and groups to disengage or defect until those pillars become unstable and cause the triangle of power to at least tilt, if not topple. An obvious barrier to enlisting those pillars to challenge the status quo is, of course, that many of them are the status quo. Just think, for instance, of the tech billionaires in full grovel mode to Donald Trump. But since it doesn’t take every pillar or even universal defiance in any one pillar to weaken a government like his, focusing on the most persuadable of his followers, along with the fence-sitters, is a place to start.
If the grassroots action is sustained and substantial, if it really is inconvenient enough, he might indeed have to deal.
Obvious forms of noncooperation include boycotts or strikes, but that’s just a beginning. (Sharp suggested 198 methods.) For instance, federal government workers withheld their consent earlier this year by ignoring Elon Musk’s time-wasting demand for weekly emails listing their accomplishments. And what began as a kind of unorganized grassroots opposition worked its way up (as such things often do) to a few department heads who, of course, then took credit for the defiance.
Refusal can be powerful, allies are sometimes found in surprising places, and small actions have a tendency to multiply.
Here’s an example from elsewhere: In 2020, after the Polish government stripped its judges of procedural power and independence, they donned their legal regalia and took to the streets of Warsaw, along with hundreds of jurists from 22 European countries and about 30,000 citizens in a mass protest that came to be called the 1,000 Robes March. It took a few more years and additional pressures to unseat the ruling party, but the symbolism was stunning and effective. While it might be hard to imagine berobed American judges marching through our streets in protest, not so long ago it was hard to imagine a president thumbing his nose at their rulings.
Such resistance requires savvy planning and sharp thinking, though not necessarily centralized leadership. And while some challenges to power include individual defiance, Sharp argues that, “If the rulers’ power is to be controlled by withdrawing help and obedience, the noncooperation and disobedience must be widespread.” In other words, what’s needed in America now is a nonviolent insurgency, one that enlists all those folks holding clever signs on that grassy sward in Vermont and all the drivers flashing their lights in solidarity, not to speak of that Pepsi truck driver (as well as Coke truck drivers) and even some modest portion of the drivers who honked in opposition. (Don’t at least a few have buyer’s remorse by now?) And don’t forget those people passing by in embarrassed silence and everyone like them across the country and their friends and relatives, all refusing to go along until their demands are addressed. Think of it—it could happen—as an epidemic of passive aggression against a brazenly aggressive president.
Noncooperation, nonviolent as it is, isn’t without risks, and you can bet Trump would respond to any organized, widespread challenge with a hissy fit of historic proportions and a slew of punitive, repressive executive orders. But he’s also been known to cave in to pushback, as bullies often do. (TACO—yep, Trump always chickens out—anyone?) If the grassroots action is sustained and substantial, if it really is inconvenient enough, he might indeed have to deal. His deal offers are, of course, invariably one-sided and self-serving, but as he loses power, so too will he lose the capacity to make deals solely on his terms.
Sharp’s strategy reminds me of a prediction Charley Richardson, a very good troublemaker who cofounded Military Families Speak Out, made to me long ago. A government changes its behavior, he told me, when a country becomes ungovernable. My question is: When will that happen in the latest version of Donald Trump’s America?
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