Photo by Julia Watt
Anti ICE demonstration in Milwaukee's Red Arrow Park
Anti-ICE protestors demonstrate in downtown Milwaukee at Red Arrow Park (Jan. 2026)
"So now we've got two Minnesotans dead," Minnesota Governor Tim Walz remarked with an empty matter-of-fact-ness at a press conference this weekend. In recent weeks, Governor Walz has made many addresses to his constituents, attempting to strengthen the morale of his people as ICE agents have now killed two citizens while claiming to have arrested thousands in a mass deportation campaign known as Operation Metro Surge. "We didn't have time to start telling Renee's story...and now we're telling Alex's story."
The tragedies unfolding in Minnesota hit close to home, literally, leaving Milwaukeeans heartbroken and horrified for our neighbors, fearful and resigned that we are next. We felt similarly during Operation Midway Blitz in Chicago this fall, and perhaps more enraged throughout ongoing protests outside of local ICE facilities.
Emergency rallies took place in Milwaukee this week, demonstrating solidarity with Minnesota, many coalitions since calling for more. Grappling with the same extreme cold as much of the country, the crowds were small, though the turnout to these demonstrations was impressive given their short notice.
Saturday's protest was called by groups including Milwaukee's Party for Socialism and Liberation, Voces' Comité Sin Fronteras, and Milwaukee For Palestine. The demonstration began in Red Arrow Park then marched to the Knapp Street facility, an MSOE building currently used as an ICE processing center. Organizers expressed outrage at the federal government's campaign of domination, connecting violence in the US to the ongoing attempted genocide in occupied Palestine, to unlawful attacks on Venezuela. They also voiced frustration at the lack of action from local lawmakers and officials: "We have to normalize having political discussions with our city and state leaders...we need action from them."
Signs equated ICE agents to the Gestapo. Palestinian and Venezuelan flags billowed. A crowd of legal observers from the Milwaukee Turners perched on the plaza overlooking the park. Attendees bundled up in all the warm things they could find, keffiyehs and UW beanies alike, clouds rising with their voices.
An urgent call to unite
Many faith leaders and political scholars note that this occupation in Minneapolis is telling in a big way — ICE simply cannot intimidate, control, or coerce the people who call the Twin Cities home in the way they had hoped with the resources they have. They fail to do so even as the federal government pours thousands more of his secret police into the area, demanding Minnesotans to obey while discharging chemical weapons and pointing guns in their faces. In defiance, tens of thousands of Minnesotans took to the streets in subzero temperatures to protest these cruelties and grieve with one another, unbowed by legitimate threats of violence. If ICE can't carry out their mission in Minneapolis, it is evident they cannot do so everywhere else. We must hold the line.
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The worst we can do right now is fume in isolation. We must build community and unite with one another, now. "Your fight is my fight," one organizer at Saturday's Red Arrow Park demonstration contends.
Did Saturday's demonstration change anything? No. But the point wasn't to tear down the system in one day; the point of these public demonstrations is to visibly build solidarity, to create as many on-ramps to resistance as possible. "If you aren't here today for humanity, where are you?" an organizer with Milwaukee for Palestine cried out.
Your eyes do not deceive you — what appears to be happening in our country is indeed happening. Even many conservatives are beginning to break from Trump, unable to remain complicit in this country’s democratic backsliding, including Minnesota Republican Chris Madel, who announced his exit from the state's governor's race on Monday on precisely these grounds. Meanwhile, Johnathan Rauch, centrist and contributing editor at The Atlantic, wrote in a scathing analytical piece Sunday that it’s about time we use the F-word. His article outlines the many ways the Trump administration's actions and ideals are aligned with authoritarians as we have historically understood them, as well as the ways they differ, creating a version of fascism unique to the United States.
And there's the F-word: fascism. Inflammatory? Not so much anymore, argues Rauch.
"When the facts change, I change my mind. Recent events have brought Trump’s governing style into sharper focus. Fascist best describes it, and reluctance to use the term has now become perverse. That is not because of any one or two things he and his administration have done but because of the totality. Fascism is not a territory with clearly marked boundaries but a constellation of characteristics. When you view the stars together, the constellation plainly appears.
Wouldn’t it be better just to describe [Trump's] actions without labeling him controversially? Until recently, I thought so. No longer. The resemblances are too many and too strong to deny...Trump has revealed himself, and we must name what we see."
I come from a family that survived Nazi blitzkrieg in Rotterdam during World War II. Heavily involved with resistance efforts in their community, especially through their church, the stories I have heard of their actions in the face of Hitler's aggressions have made me quick to activate in response to evident fascism in the United States — layered upon the existing moral disquiet I feel as a civically-engaged member of society. Like many, I am disturbed and nauseated in waves around these big headline moments of fascist violence, which flood my mind with panic and "what-do-I-do"s. In these moments, when I'm looking for guidance, I turn to my family's roots and ask myself what they would have done. Or, rather, what they did.
Look at your roots, Milwaukee. Build solidarity in your communities: your neighborhoods, workplaces, academics and extracurriculars. Have difficult conversations and build your half of a bridge.
With a strong socialist history and a network of well-grounded action groups and mutual aid coalitions, Milwaukee's diverse communities are already equipped for potential federal invasion, not out of alarmism but out of pragmatism. "We are who will save us," one organizer remarked at Red Arrow Park, eschewing the naive fantasy that we can all just escape to Canada, or that some foreign power will finally declare no more and rescue us. Local coalitions continue to hold demonstrations, small businesses and organizers distribute whistles, educators vow to protect their students, action groups campaign for a general strike, and community leaders call on city officials to proactively prepare for ICE brutality. Though for what it’s worth, Trump would be a fool to mess with a purple state that voted for him not once, but twice.
Milwaukee is a cradle for class solidarity, built like many other Midwestern cities by working-class immigrants. As organizers suggested at Saturday's protest, we must normalize holding challenging and urgent political discussions with our officials. (Worth mentioning there is an appropriations bill in the Senate right now that intends to give more funding to DHS that we all owe a phone call or email to Senators Ron Johnson and Tammy Baldwin about.) As imperative as contacting our legislators is and as futile as it all feels, the real change happens on the ground in our communities; we must have these difficult conversations with our neighbors, families and friends in which we name what is happening and call each other to action. Thanks to our working-class roots, our horrible city is great at this kind of civic discussion.
Now, not to imply that American fascism can be squashed over a beer, but it doesn't hurt to be in the beer capital of the country if this is to be the setting of such challenging conversations. One of the most accessible and effective ways of making earnest connection, even in dark times, is by sharing food or a beverage. Breaking bread.
Our proclivity towards comfort and community building is uniquely Midwestern, particularly potent here in Milwaukee. "Small-waukee," we exclaim running into our boss's cousin who is also our freshman-year-roommate's ex-best friend at the bar, poking fun at how unlikely/small world encounters are actually quite likely in our city. We joke, but this interconnectedness is really our strength. Let's use this as an impetus to broach these difficult conversations in which we call this what it is: fascism.
Don't know where to start? Maybe begin with Rauch's piece and a beer. It bears repeating that while the best time to align yourself against fascism was the beginning of this mess, the second best time is now.
