MINNEAPOLIMEDIA EDITORIAL | First They Came. And We Are Still Here.

Inspired by Pastor Martin Niemöller

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out,
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out,
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out,
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.

The poem above is attributed to Pastor Martin Niemöller.

A Different Question for Minnesota

This poem is often read as an indictment. It can sound like an accusation. It can feel like judgment aimed at those who did not act quickly enough or loudly enough.

But there is another way to hear it.

It can also be heard as an invitation.

An invitation to notice one another before regret replaces possibility.
An invitation to reach out while there is still time to comfort, to steady, to stand beside.

In Minnesota today, many of our neighbors are carrying fear that does not announce itself, fear shaped by what they have seen happen on familiar streets and in ordinary places. Some are afraid to drive. Some are afraid to go to work. Some are afraid to seek medical care. Some are afraid to leave their children even for a moment. Others are carrying grief, confusion, or exhaustion after watching people like them questioned, detained, or taken away.

At the same time, many Minnesotans are living ordinary days. They go to work. They shop. They attend school events. They read the news and feel concern, but also distance.

This editorial is not written to collapse that distance with guilt. It is written to bridge it with care.

Silence Is Not Always Indifference

Not everyone who has remained quiet is uncaring.
Not everyone who has stayed on the sidelines is hostile.
Many are unsure what to do. Many are afraid of doing the wrong thing. Many do not want to inflame a moment that already feels fragile.

That hesitation is human.

But Niemöller’s words remind us that waiting does not freeze time. While we pause, others continue to carry the weight alone.

The question before Minnesota is not, “Who failed?”
The question is, “Who can still help?”

What Solidarity Looks Like When It Is Gentle

Solidarity does not always require a microphone or a courtroom. Sometimes it begins with presence.

It looks like checking on a neighbor who seems withdrawn.
It looks like asking, “Are you safe today?” and meaning it.
It looks like offering a ride, a meal, childcare, or a quiet place to breathe.
It looks like listening without trying to fix or explain away fear.

For those who are not personally affected, this moment offers a different kind of responsibility. Not to speak over others, but to walk alongside them. Not to assume leadership, but to offer steadiness.

Hope often arrives not through grand gestures, but through the simple knowledge that someone sees you and has not turned away.

Consolation Is a Civic Act

We often think of consolation as private. But in moments like this, it becomes civic.

When a community is afraid, reassurance matters. When families are under strain, compassion becomes infrastructure. When people feel isolated, connection becomes protection.

You do not need to know the right words. You need only be willing to show up with humility.

A hand on a shoulder.
A willingness to stay when it would be easier to retreat.

These acts do not make headlines. But they hold communities together.

Why Niemöller Still Speaks to Us

Niemöller’s regret was not that he lacked power. It was that he underestimated the power of early care.

He did not say he should have been louder only when it was dangerous. He said he should have spoken when speaking still mattered.

Minnesota still has that opportunity.

Not everyone must do everything. But everyone can do something.

And sometimes, the most powerful thing is not protest or policy, but mercy offered in time.

A Closing Invitation

If you have not responded actively to what is happening around you, this is not a condemnation. It is an open door.

Reach out.
Listen.
Offer comfort.
Stand close enough that fear does not have to echo unanswered.

History is not only shaped by those who act boldly. It is also shaped by those who choose, quietly and deliberately, to care for one another before it is too late.

First they came.
But we are still here.
And so are our neighbors.

MinneapoliMedia