I LEANED MY HEAD against Randy’s shoulder, my left hand gripping the rod of a protest sign and a small American flag. I felt such profound sadness in that moment. The moment when a pastor asked for a period of silence in honor of Minnesota State Representative/House Speaker Emerita Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, assassinated in their home during the early morning hours of June 14.
Flag Day. Nationwide NO KINGS protest day. A day of gathering turned tragic here in Minnesota.
I alternated between leaning into my husband and leaning my bowed head against the bottom of my NO MORE KINGS protest poster held high, the sign with the cursive words, “I value freedom,” scrawled on the back side. The wind blew, swept my hair across my face like a veil covering sadness. The heaviness felt palpable here, in Ames Park in Northfield, along the banks of the Cannon River. But so did the energy.
We were a group of hundreds—maybe even a thousand (I’m not good at estimating crowd size)—gathered to publicly express our concerns about leadership in this country, about decisions being made that negatively affect all of us, about the state of and future of our democracy… It was my first protest. Ever. I wanted, needed, to be here. To remain silent seems complicit.
I’d already arrived when a friend texted that Minnesotans had been advised by state law enforcement not to attend NO KINGS protests. That warning linked to the suspect in the shootings of the Hortmans and of State Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette. We would later learn that NO KINGS fliers were found in the vehicle of Vance Boelter, now accused in the double murders and attempted murders.
That explained why, on the way to the riverside protest, I overheard a woman telling a couple that her police officer son had advised her not to participate in the rally. She was going home. I was not. Nor were any of the others converging on Ames Park at noon. I wasn’t scared. Vested safety people, trained in conflict resolution and de-escalation, were in place. I felt safe in the masses, which, I suppose, is an unrealistic perspective. But I refuse to be silenced by fear, by the words and actions of those who attempt to suppress voices. And intimidate.
And there were those, including the drivers of a white pickup truck and of motorcycles which repeatedly roared past the rally site, spewing their opposition in noise and in political flags bannering messages I won’t repeat. But they, too, have a right to protest. Peacefully. Just as I do. And I wrote that on the back of a second sign: FREE to PROTEST. But, mostly, passing vehicles honked in strong support.
At this rally of people opposing the current administration and its policies and actions, I felt a unity of purpose and a deep, cohesive concern for the future of our country. I felt uplifted, embraced, empowered. Speakers spoke (although I couldn’t hear most). The pastor led us in prayer. We sang—”The Star Spangled Banner” and “We shall overcome.” We cheered. We chanted. We waved our posters and flags. And a group held an over-sized American flag, which I couldn’t see from my vantage point deep in the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.
We were mostly an older group. Baby Boomers. Grandparents. Even octogenarians. Perhaps some protested during the Vietnam War. Or served this country. We’ve lived a few years, enough decades to understand that we need to rise up against authoritarianism. Enough to understand what’s at stake. But there were some young people, too, like the dad behind me with his preschool daughter playing in the grass. He clearly cares, if not for himself, but then for his child.
The morning after the NO KINGS protest, I left for Madison, Wisconsin, to spend time with my 5-month-old grandson (and his parents). As I snuggled Everett, I thought, he (and my other two grandchildren) are part of the reason I chose to protest. Their lives stretch before them. I want them to live in a country where they are free. Free. I want them to live under a government based on a three-pronged system of checks and balances, not one ruled by a king or some version of a king or dictator. I want them to live in a kind, caring and compassionate country. Not a selfish, uncaring, divisive nation filled with hatred.
I returned to Minnesota yesterday and am catching up on laundry and writing. And, along with my fellow Minnesotans, I’m collectively grieving the assassination of an elected official and her husband. And I’m thinking, this is what it’s come to in Amercia…
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
On the protest line, twice on June 14 June 16, 2026
Tags: Appleton, commentary, democracy, faith, Faribault, Flag Day, ICE detention center, Interstate 35 protest, June 14, Medford, Minnesota, Minnesota Speaker of the House Melissa Hortman, No Kings Day protest, protest, protest signs
IF NOT FOR THE DATE, June 14, Sunday would have been like most Sundays for me. Off to early church, then bible study and back home for brunch.
But June 14, 2026, was not just another Sunday. This date marked the one-year anniversary of the politically-motivated assassinations of Minnesota Speaker of the House Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, and the shootings of State Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette.
June 14 also marked Flag Day.
And June 14 marked another No Kings Day event, nationally a concert and locally several protests.
I began my Sunday in church, where the pastor’s sermon focused on love. That seemed a fitting topic given the day. I jotted notes, taking away the key point that true love is “the willingness to do good.” The pastor applied that to both the love between and among people and the love God has for us as sinners unworthy of his love. Of course, the sermon got much more in-depth. I left church and bible study feeling loved and more determined than ever to show love in my actions. And words.
A quick change into jeans, a tee, denim jacket and tennis shoes and hair pulled into a pony tail and baseball cap placed atop my head, I was ready to join the weekly protest along Minnesota State Highway 60 in Faribault. The organizer changed the usual 11 a.m.-noon Saturday protest to Sunday because of the national No Kings Day event.
Randy and I were ready with new signs, mine themed to the national event wording: Rise up. Sing out. I added “Resist.” I’ve been publicly resisting the actions of the current administration for more than a year now. I cannot imagine remaining silent and therefore complicit.
Forty of us stood strong outside the Rice County government services building on Sunday, holding our protest signs, conversing, listening to Vietnam era protest music strummed on a guitar and sung by several protesters. It felt empowering to be there among like-minded individuals, raising our voices, trying to make a difference, creating awareness and, yes, showing love.
Love came in a heartbreaking sign carried by a little girl whose friend was deported to Mexico with her family. “Protect our friends,” her message read. She’d drawn, with the help of her mom, two girls holding hands. One brown, the other white. Two pink hearts filled out the poster.
This is love, when a little girl creates a love-filled message that calls upon adults to “Protect our friends.” Urging us “to do good.”
I carried a similar two-sided sign, NO ICE PRISON IN APPLETON stenciled on one side, RISE UP, SING OUT, RESIST on the other. Plans are underway to open an ICE detention center in an abandoned private prison owned by CoreCivic in Appleton in far western Minnesota. The little girl who carried the sign asking us to “Protect our friends” is likely unaware of this planned prison. She knows only that someone took her friend, whom she misses.
This little girl is among the reasons we protest. We care about our children, about the country they will inherit, about our democracy.
Five hours after the Faribault protest ended, Randy and I stood with 10 others on a bridge over Interstate 35 by Medford, each of us holding a single letter to spell out two messages: NO WAR and NO KINGS. As 25-30 southbound vehicles per minute zoomed by below, we stood strong with our letters plastered against the fence, small American flags in between, large American flag flying in the brisk wind at the beginning of our line. Down the road in Owatonna, a similar group faced northbound traffic on the Bridge Street overpass with the same messages.
It felt good to be here, to make new friends, to commiserate, to uplift, to wave, to show travelers on the interstate below that we love this country enough to protest threats to democracy, injustices, war,…the abundance of words and actions that are anything but loving.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling