In the Cold, They Found Each Other

The people of Minneapolis didn’t wait for permission to defend freedom; they just showed up.

Author’s Note

If you’ve noticed I’ve been slower than usual replying to comments today, here’s why.

I spent a good part of the day watching the images and videos coming out of Minneapolis…and they got to me in a way I didn’t expect. Not in an angry way. In a quiet…emotional way…that pulls you out of whatever else you thought you were doing and says: pay attention to this.

I felt compelled to write something about it. Not in my usual analytical voice. Not to persuade…or dissect or map the chessboard. But to witness it. To honor it. To let myself write the way I sometimes love to write…when the moment calls for something more human than strategic.

To write the way I used to journal…in the quiet hours of the Persian Gulf…over three decades ago.

This piece comes from that place.

Thank you for your patience…and for being the kind of readers who understand that sometimes…the most important work isn’t fast. It’s felt.

In the Cold, They Found Each Other

The people of Minneapolis didn’t wait for permission to defend freedom; they just showed up.

The Jack Hopkins Now Newsletter #757: Friday, January 30th, 2026.

The Quiet Before the Roar

There is a stillness that precedes true awakening.
It is the hush of a city at dawn…when the wind carries cold into every bone…and the streets are empty…until they are not.

In Minneapolis, on a frigid morning that should have only held silence…something electric began to stir. What had been whispers…became footsteps. Fear…became determination. And…in the face of a surge of federal force…the people of this city began to gather.

This wasn’t a story of scripted leaders or polished speeches.
It was the story of neighbors…who refused to be bystanders.

A mother clutching her scarf against the bite of winter…a teacher leaving her school early…to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers…a baker locking the doors of his shop…and handing out warm bread to anyone who needed it…this was the quiet courage that birthed the chorus of defiance.

These were not trained activists.
These were fathers and daughters…teenagers and seniors…lifelong Minnesotans…and recent arrivals. They came…not because they wanted to be heralded…but because they could not not come.

And…with each breath of cold air taken together…their resolve grew warmer.

A Pulse That Spreads

On a day that the mercury dipped to the lowest in years…thousands walked out of their homes…their schools…their workplaces…and into the streets.

Not because they were told to.
Not because they were paid.
But because something far deeper stirred within them…a realization that freedom is not preserved by passive hope…but by active love.

They called it an economic blackout…a collective pause on everyday life…to signal that some things are worth more than routine. To sit in community. To march in solidarity. To choose conscience…over convenience.

What I saw in the images and stories from Minneapolis was not anger without direction…but purpose…in motion.

In every chant…and every placard…was an unmistakable truth: We are here. We belong. We will not be moved by fear.

And…as thousands walked alongside each other…bundled against the cold…voices rising like flames against the winter sky…they gave shape to a new narrative: that a community that sees itself as one…will never be defeated from without.

The Price of Compassion

Grief did not stay silent in this story.

On streets once quiet…anguish erupted…not as chaos…but as love pressed to its limits.

When a soul was taken in the struggle…people did not turn away.
They converged. They gathered. They created memorials out of flowers…candles…and whispered promises. They stood guard where sorrow had touched the pavement…not in bitterness…but in profound human solidarity.

I imagine those moments as a cathedral built of tears…and resolve.
Not a cathedral of despair…but of meaning.

For in Minneapolis… it became clear that love and courage wear many forms:
• A group of people standing silent in a vigil against violence.
• Another group…linking arms in defense of a street…they believed should belong to community…not intimidation.
• And countless others…who simply showed up…because to show up…is the first act of hope.

That is the true mystery in this story:
How does a city keep walking forward…when the world asks it to turn back?

The answer, as every heart there knew…was simple:
Not alone…but together.

The Unseen Triumph

This has never been a protest merely about politics.

It has been a testament of spirit.

In neighborhoods across Minneapolis, faith leaders sang inside corporate facades until decision-makers agreed to listen; ordinary citizens stood at street corners …forming watch groups…and communicating with each other across networks born of trust…not hierarchy.

In that, there is a profound lesson:

Freedom is not the absence of conflict…
it is the presence of unity.

It is the hands that reach out to steady one another…when fear rises.
It is the voices that rise in song…when silence would be easier.
It is the step taken forward…not because the path is safe…but because the heart insists on rightness.
These stories…small…yet mighty…are the real victories.

We speak of courage as if it is rare,
but there it was…in the breath of every marcher…in the warmth of every shared coffee handed over cold streets…in the tears shed not in defeat…but in recognition of what we stand to protect.

How This Chapter Ends

You might expect this story to end with a resolution.

It does not.

Instead, it ends with a question…a question that invites every one of us into the narrative:

What would you stand for if your tomorrow depended on it?

Because in Minneapolis’s streets today…that question is not theoretical. It is lived. It is felt. It is breathed into every chant…every solidarity march…every step taken in defiance of forces that would have us believe…that courage is extinct.

But courage is not extinct.
It is rising.

And…it walks with us.

To the people of Minneapolis…we love you.

-Jack

Jack Hopkins