The ruthless murder of Renee Good has left me fraught with worry for the future. How can such blatant evil exist? The president, intoxicated by his destructive power, seems unstoppable. At times, I am overcome with darkness. I want to crawl into bed, wrap myself in my comforter, and sleep. “Wake me when it’s over,” I pray, but my prayers aren’t answered. Then I remember the Thursday gathering, a vigil for a mother of three, whose life meant nothing to the coward who pointed his gun, looked straight into her face, and fired.
The vigil began with freedom songs: “This little light of mine,” “I’m gonna’ let nobody turn me round,” “Singing for our lives.” My heart felt lifted. Familiar faces on both sides of me, behind me too. Following the MC’s instructions, I looked towards the stranger standing a few feet away from me, smiled, and introduced myself, gradually feeling a connection that spread to each and every person gathered in front of Holyoke City Hall.
‘If you hope my words will calm you, they won’t.’’ The Unitarian minister spoke. “Tonight, I want you to be outraged, not comforted.”
Transformed by her words, the crowd had become a force to be reckoned with. I won’t use metaphors of war to describe our power. We are unarmed. We win without weapons. We are not fighters. We are strong, because we are determined. We are not winners or losers. We bring love in the midst of chaos. We treasure humanity. We don’t follow the money. We follow our moral compass. Though darkness had enveloped the evening, we were surrounded by light.
When I remember that every human being without exception contains a spark of divinity, they become family. My obligation to protect family endures because love endures, in spite of fear. I can’t crawl under the covers for safety when Renee Good’s children will never again feel their mother’s embrace. Fear lingers, but love says, “Act anyway.” Love is not a Hallmark card. Love is the greatest tool we have to power our resistance. If we collectively say “yes” to love, we remain undaunted. We grieve for the daily assaults, but we remain a force for peace, sure of our direction. When I say “yes,” to love I say “Yes,” to tears of grief, grateful that I can feel for another. I even say “Yes,” to fear when it shows up, knowing I stand alongside millions, determined to act for justice.
The brutality we are confronted with on a daily basis takes a toll on our spirits. Conversations over coffee, around the dinner table, or on Facebook posts become rants about the madman who has hijacked our country, our future. We incessantly repeat the dastardly deeds done by his minions. The need to share our anger is understandable, but does it help? Or does it lead us into a rabbit hole of disempowerment and hopelessness?
My invitations to friends and neighbors to meet me at the Easthampton protest, (one of more than a thousand organized just a couple of days after Renee Good’s murder), were sometimes received with grumbles of, “Why bother? What good does it do?” I began to wonder if our pessimism and anger protect us from the enormity of our grief. Would releasing our tears make our suffering more real? Does a group rant mask our terror?
When I parked my car across the street from Easthampton’s Emily Clapp Library, I immediately got out and headed towards the gathering crowd in the park next door. I felt uplifted standing together with some 200 people holding signs and votive candles. Together, we sang some of the same freedom songs I had sung only a few nights before in Holyoke. I joined with a chorus of voices singing, “We shall overcome.” Will we overcome this tyranny? Will this fascist reign of terror end in my lifetime? Activism comes with no guarantees.
The speakers affirmed everyone’s humanity, without exception. Implored by state Rep. Homar Gomes’ words, “We the people is everybody,” we recite the names of some of the 32 humans, mostly people of color, murdered by ICE directly or indirectly in 2025. Some shout, “Presente.” They are with us.
Back at home, I read the list of the dead. Many took their last breaths in ICE concentration camps; victims of medical neglect, suicide, unexplained deaths “under investigation.” They came from Honduras, Ethiopia, Ukraine, Dominican Republic, Cuba, Columbia, Vietnam, Haiti, Mexico, Canada, China, El Salvador, Jordan, Philippines, Pakistan, Eritrea, Nicaragua, Bulgaria, the U.S. Like me, they had dreams, aspirations, disappointments, fears. They loved. They are missed. They were human beings, abducted by home-grown gestapo, like those who murdered my own extended family in Poland.
I breathed in what I had learned … Stay outraged, but remain peaceful. Take action together.
Protests energize, but protests alone are not enough. I read a handout distributed at the vigil and acted, phoning U.S. Rep. Richard Neal’s office. “He MUST hold ICE accountable,” I demand.
Non-violent activism is love in action.
Sara Weinberger is in Easthampton.