“Every One of These People Are Ours": How Minnesotans are remaking the sound of resistance
And how it is catching on.
Years ago, I visited communities around my small city and asked residents what they would like to see in their neighborhood parks. Over months, people sent in comments, answered questionnaires, or had discussions with me in local events and meetings to answer this question.
Reliably, there were three things that people agreed upon, no matter how big the site or what its surroundings were. Kids wanted slides and swings for the playground. Adults wanted a walking path. And then, what I didn’t necessarily expect, everyone wanted a stage where events and small concerts could be held.
The more I heard this last suggestion, the more I loved it. It seemed to speak to a need for unity and connection, specifically the kind you get from sharing a musical experience.
My mind drifted to memories of my own childhood, with blankets laid out on a grass lawn listening to whatever local band happened to be on the music in the park series. I remembered spinning in circles to the uptempo songs and closing my sleepy eyes under starlit skies as some tune played on in the background. I can still picture those places, still feel in my body the peace and freedom in those moments.
Now in 2026, I take inventory of a changed landscape, and a new meaning that is attached to these small music venues, formal or not, in our public spaces.
This year, music has shone through as a mainstay in our American protests.
I took notice last spring, when rock, folk, and pop legends turned up the volume while speaking (and singing) out against Trump. Then came Arkansas residents singing public comments at a city council meeting in response to environmental destruction. Soon after, choirs showed up outside The Home Depot and Target with protest-versions of Christmas carols.
All of the protests were inspiring in their own way. But nothing holds a candle to how music is transforming Minneapolis in the face of ICE’s devastating injustices. From the moment Renee Good was killed, the community rallied with unmatched passion and solidarity. Someone somewhere shared their voice, and quickly, a choir of civilian freedom fighters joined in.
They sang a rallying cry, a declaration of purpose and commitment.
Every one oh every one oh every one
of these people are ours
just like we are theirs
we belong to them
and they belong to us
It has evolved in the midst of their tragedy, and more soulful songs came forth, each line echoing with resilience and communal strength:
Hold on. Hoooold onnnnnnn. My dear ones. Here comes the dawn.
and
I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I will stand for liberation, Cause I know why I was made.
The songs were sung on small stages—the back of a pickup truck or the seat of a park bench. They echoed throughout the standing room only crowds that stretched for city blocks. And they resonated in the bones of those who heard and joined in the chorus.
Immigrants inside locked-up homes, advocates holding protest signs, people driving by on their way to work—all hear the songs. What a changed landscape those hymns must create as they float through daily life. What a way to reach out for community and have it reach right back at you.
As the songs move from street to street, and from church pews to nightly news shows, they are catching on and sharing a sort of presence and vision that I can’t imagine taking root any other way.
These melodies aren’t the only musical forms of solidarity in Minneapolis either.
Chants with vuvuzela horns, bells, and whistles fill streets outside of ICE hotels and targeted neighborhoods. Chaotic as they may seem, they are a soundtrack rife with meaning. In the last month, residents 3D-printed plastic whistles, organized codes of sound for different warnings, and distributed thousands to justice-seeking neighbors.
Minneapolis is also calling back to its recent protest history with local musicians. A brass band that formed during the George Floyd protests is actively out and about at marches. They played I’ll Be There and I’ll Fly Away as throngs of comrades sang along at Alex Pretti’s outdoor nighttime memorial.
Just last week, Bruce Springsteen played a small concert venue with Rage Against the Machine where he sang his new protest anthem called “Streets of Minneapolis”. The lyrics appropriately repeated the line, “Oh, our Minneapolis, I hear your voice, Singing through the bloody mist…”
As Tom Morello spoke to the crowd before the show’s last song, “Power to the People”, he made clear the purpose of the concert. He talked about taking the energy created together to the streets to stand together strongly—and peacefully—against authoritarianism. Without too much gravity, he made clear that this was a deliberate manifestation of Americans taking their destiny into their own hands:
“This is a celebration of resistance, and right now, we’re going to create a little bit of the world we’d like to see.”
I don’t know if anyone could say it better.
That is the same drive I saw in my residents to connect with their neighbors and share local culture as they planned their parks. In times of peace and prosperity, it may look like a formal stage with electrical outlets where neighbors gather leisurely to share something beautiful.
Creating a little bit of their world together.
Right now in Minneapolis, it is more urgent and more innovative. People are finding the right place at the right time to send out their message, to carry it forward on a musical note, and to connect with their community. They are singing out in order to inspire desperately needed hope, and to share it with the watching world.
Theirs is a beat to get up and move to. It’s a lullaby that carries the worn and weary off to sleep. It’s an earworm that travels across the country and overseas.
We are loving, we are compassionate, we are peaceful, and we are fighters. We will drown out fear and cruelty with awe and beauty. We won’t give up, and we will win.
I hear it in every note Minnesotans play. I believe it. And with all its brilliance, I can only imagine it becoming a true American classic.
With love and hope for the future,
Stephanie
This is how we create a little bit of the world we'd like to see—together. Parks People is reader-supported, with no billionaire owners and no corporate agenda. If these stories of resistance, hope, and community mean something to you, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber today:
In what ways do Minnesota’s protests speak to you, or inspire you to act?
Great article 👍🏻✌🏻👏🏻
Love this!!