Below, you will find an essay by my friend Sigrid. Sigrid is good people and is sharing their experience in Minnesota. If you ever wondered if you would Peggy Carter it (plant yourself like a tree, etc.), then you should read this and see that action in real time.

There are moments in life that demand our strength and our courage. You do not need to do this perfectly to make a difference. You simply need to show up, stand up, step up, speak up, however and whenever you can. You don’t have to do everything, but one thing is manageable. Do what you can. And everyone can do something.

One thing I’ve found important to remember in troubled/troubling times is that I have friends everywhere.

I saw the message around 9:00 a.m.—ICE was in the neighborhood.

The first thing you have to know is that I live in St. Paul, Minnesota. My city has very publicly rejected many policies and admonitions of the current federal regime. St. Paul police do not assist Customs and Border Patrol or Immigration and Customs Enforcement. St. Paul has refused to create concentration camps, as has Ramsey County. This is the capitol of Minnesota and the seat of power for Governor Tim Walz who, quite legendarily, called our current president weird. We know we will eventually be a target of federal pettiness and ire. But it hasn’t happened yet.

I saw the message on the neighborhood email list. I texted the family chat. My daughter, you see, is not white and she lives in this neighborhood: St. Anthony Park. She was safely at work, thank goodness. (She has a detailed plan for what she will do when she is grabbed by ICE. So do we, her white parents with access to lawyers.)

(But I digress.)

My kid was safe. The messages continued coming in on the St. Anthony Park list: Where are the feds? Down by Hampden co-op. Saw a van go by. Where is ICE? Two SUVs sped past my house. When is this? Where is this happening? Over by Territorial. Hampden, but not by the co-op. Where are they?

I wasn’t at a point that I could drive somewhere. Besides, by the time I got there, it would all be over. I knew my kid was safe. (Good. Good enough.)

Around 10:00 a.m., I left my house to run errands. I’ll just cut through that part of the neighborhood, I thought. (Not that anything will be happening there anymore.)

I saw the crowd ahead of me on Hampden and parked three blocks away. Zipped up my jacket and put on a knit hat. I left my bag in the car. Took my pocketknife out of my pants, slid my ID into my pocket, and left my wallet in my bag. I locked the car and began walking. I didn’t bring my rollator, even though walking is incredibly painful for me. I didn’t use it because I didn’t want it taken away from me. I took a couple pictures of the crowd as I got closer, then shoved my phone in a zippered pocket. Two people walked past me heading away. One was limping, the other was supporting the first person. On the outskirts of the action, I saw dozens of people recording what was happening. (Good. There is a record of events.)

As I got nearer, I saw a white van trying to pull out of a driveway. People were trying to stop it, standing in front of the vehicle and pushing on it. I lost sight of events for a moment, blocked by the crowd, and when I looked back, the van was pulling out and white smoke floated out into the crowd. People began covering their faces and eyes. I walked around the area with the chemical munitions. I could smell whatever it was—it stung my nose and throat. Whistles were shrieking constantly. The noise level was intense. So many people were shouting. I moved toward the area the van was headed. I found myself in the midst of dozens of masked armed people getting into vehicles—some SUVs, some sedans. A few looked like law enforcement cars, but many looked like personal vehicles.

(Take pictures of license plates next time.)

Dozens of protestors were in the same location as I. Most were screaming, shouting, bellowing at the armed people wearing stun guns and grenades, carrying rifles and shotguns. (I am not a weapons-type-nerd. I am making assumptions based on watching a lot of U.S. media.) I began roaring at the anonymous kidnappers. “Get the FUCK OUTTA MY CITY” is what I remember saying most often. I was vigorously gesturing my disapproval. I knew, going in, that I was not going to grab, hit, kick, spit on, or throw anything at the cars or the armed thugs. I have a right to stand in a public space (the street) and voice my opinion (get a JOB, you fucking ASSHOLE), but I do not have a right to assault them. (Although, perhaps, with a sandwich, since that has been found in the courts to be nonthreatening.)

(I did not have a sandwich on me at the time.)

I followed the SUVs, walking them down. (Humans are the greatest persistence predator known in nature. We will out-walk anything, to its death.) So were tens, dozens, of other protestors. Did I see anyone damage a federal secret police vehicle? Of course I didn’t, and if I did, I’m not a fuckin’ narc. But mostly we shouted. I had wondered, earlier this year, if I would be one of those trying to reach the thugs, trying to be reasonable or empathetic. It turns out, I am not.

We had walked far enough that I started to consider whether I would be able to get back to my car—I’m disabled, and I can’t walk for shit—I turned to head back. A sedan of some sort was headed toward me. I began looking to the side to start walking closer to the sidewalk. The car pushed me. I, who have shitty balance, fell over. I remember looking at the driver as I fell. Whoever it was, they wore sunglasses, a cap pulled low, and a camo-colored bandana covering their face. By the time I got up, the car had moved along. I’ve seen video of other moments of the protest. I feel extremely fortunate that I was not hurt. (But I’m glad I left my rollator in the car.)

I was amped up at this point. I walked after more vehicles. Someone I was walking near was a little more amped than I was, and I turned to put some space between myself and their actions. I realized that I had been yelling invectives long enough that my throat hurt. I assessed my realistic physical limits and turned back.

The chemical munition from earlier was no longer visible. I ended up walking through where it had initially been. My eyes watered and my nose and throat stung. I began coughing and hurried away from the spot. (I felt better in about a half-hour.)

I made it to my car. I ran my errands.

I learned some things afterward. Shortly after I left, more chemical munitions were deployed. One of my friends was hit with pepper spray. (We had not known the other was there and missed each other by a couple minutes.) My city council rep, my mayor, and my state representative were all there. They all tried to stop the raid. Some unknown-to-me number of people were taken by the feds. I saw one van leave. I have heard two left with victims. I heard a couple men were arrested on warrants. I heard more than 10 people were kidnapped with no explanation.

I have always wondered what I would do in this moment. What would I have done in 1937 Germany? What would I have done in the U.S. 1960s? Starting last year, I wondered, what will I do when the raids come here? Now I know. I know I can still look at myself in the mirror. I know that I will speak up. (Loudly, and with middle fingers raised so firmly I had sore arms the next day.) Could I have gotten there earlier? Sure. Could I have stayed later? Not usefully. I knew my limits.

Think about what you will do. I had thought through how far I was willing to go. I had a plan, to leave my wallet and pocket knife in the car. I knew I wanted a jacket and hat for protection. I knew I did not want to kick at the cars. If no one was filming, I would film. But if that was handled, I knew I wanted to get in the way–though not as literally as whoever was driving that car clearly thought.

Go to training. Go to bystander training, go to training for how to film cops, go to know your rights training—go to something. Learn what your options are. What your rights are. Consider your personal expertise. What can you bring to an immigration raid protest? Are you a lawyer? Can you follow the van to learn where people are being held? Are you current on first aid and can you carry a kit? Can you donate to the organizations local to you that are more able to be in the street? (It doesn’t have to be money—it could be time. Help with social media, redo their spreadsheets, leaflets, write educational posters—the work is vast and anything you can do to help, helps.)

How do you start? Look up the Indivisible chapter closest to you. Email them and ask how you can get involved. Look for articles in your local press about past immigration stories, find out who was interviewed and what organizations they are with. Get on some local email lists. Go to a big protest! The 50501 ones, No Kings, etc. Pick up flyers there, connect with local groups already doing the work. If you have a 3D printer, print out the alert whistles. (The information is online in many places.) Ask your local librarian what he or she knows. Call your electeds (the number for the U.S. Capitol switchboard is (202) 224-3121, and it will get you connected to your elected officials)—call them over and over. Demand they do better or tell them you appreciate their work, whichever is appropriate.

No one of us can do everything, everywhere, all at once. We need each other. I found a role I could handle, something that worked for me. What you will do will have to work for you. Make a plan. Test it in your head. Learn as much as you can about how to resist. How to resist immigration kidnappings, how to resist gerrymandering, how to resist authoritarian school boards, how to resist—

To resist.

Thanks for listening. Solidarity, friend.