Pockets of Resistance

I was speeding down a gravel road, and my phone was zero help because I didn’t have service. I was lost and I was late. I know how dangerous it is to drive down gravel too fast…one slight overcorrection and I’d end up in a ditch with no service and no help because these roads are rarely traveled.

I was on my way to an event in a tiny town in Iowa. Nodaway, Iowa. Population 74.

Yes. 74 people.

My phone never picked up a signal, but I realized I was close when I finally reached blacktop again. I slowed down, and within minutes, I saw the sign for the little town. Tragedy averted. I was back in civilization.

There is only one building in town, the community center, so I knew I was in the right place. I was on the agenda to speak to local Democrats at 3:30, and it was 3:20, but I only saw 5 or 6 cars.

Oh well…sometimes it goes like that.

When I walked into the community center, there were just a handful of people who were surprised to see me…it seems I wasn’t supposed to speak until after supper and that was around 6:30.

I read the agenda wrong.

I wasn’t too far from home, but it would make no sense to drive back home and back again. The man at the door suggested I walk up a few streets to the Mayor’s house — she was having wine and cheese with friends.

So I did as he suggested, and when I walked through the door, I was pretty sure the entire town was there. It was a large farmhouse with big wide doors separating the rooms. Every door was thrown open. One door led to the dining room and kitchen and another into a sunroom. There were people talking politics with napkins holding Triscuits and cheeses and meats and fruit in one hand and a glass of wine or water in the other.

Diet Coke for me.

I couldn’t believe how many people were there…It looked like I was going to be speaking to the entire town. And, this tiny little town in Southern Iowa has a Democratic Mayor.

I bet most folks would be surprised by that fact…but, she wasn’t the only small town Mayor in attendance. I was introduced to another. He was from Corning, Iowa — population 1,400. The hometown of Johnny Carson.

I felt like I was in some sort of dream. This never happens. Sometimes I feel like I have to slip into these little towns and right back out unnoticed. I’m not scared. I just don’t want to call attention to people who come to hear me. I don’t want to out them if they haven’t already outed themselves.

Being a rural Democrat can impact your life, your family, and your employment. Ask me how I know.

The Nodaway event went well. I love to blow the doors off a small room and leave people excited and pumped and remembering who they are and why they keep going.

Did I ever tell you that I was a cheer coach? I know all about pep rallies.

Democratic banner, Nodaway, Iowa.

A week or so after the Iowa event, I was in Mountain Home, Arkansas.

I spoke to about 50 folks in this cute town tucked into the Ozarks with lakes and streams and lots of trout. The small Democratic group asked me to come to rally others to run for office. The crowd was engaged and fun, and they asked question after question about the political landscape and running for office.

The next morning, I went back to the library to do a little work. Good wi-fi was hard to find in the mountains. Not only did the library have free internet, but also a cafe.

I needed coffee.

When I walked into the library cafe, I saw a group of seven people sitting around a table speaking about Trump. Oh, god…I didn’t know if I could stand to listen to the conversation while working on my laptop in the other corner of the room. I have an almost allergic reaction to Trump talk these days. I start sweating and feel myself getting hot and irritable.

There is no Epi-Pen for Trumpism…

As I ordered my chai, I could hear their entire conversation. It was anti-Trump. They were discussing their recent protest and the regime and the impact on the country and the people around them. They were not Trumpers, and yet they live in this small town in Arkansas…

All seven of them.

I walked over to say that I was eavesdropping and so happy to hear their positions. One of the men recognized me. His name is Bob, and he said the group meets every Thursday in the library cafe to talk politics, both local and national.

They are speaking about Democratic politics in public. On a regular basis.

I sat down with my chai and started this essay and had a few words written when two young women came in the cafe and sat right behind me.

You have to believe me when I tell you that I am not a professional eavesdropper, but the cafe was so small. They also started a conversation about politics. I couldn’t help but hear the conversation because I was sitting within inches of the women.

I was also struggling to write with so much going around me.

The women were talking about the Texas flooding that killed so many…including the heartbreaking news that young children were swept away.

One woman said an acquaintance, who voted for Trump, was expressing horror at the disaster and wondered why the National Weather Service “failed” in notifying the folks in the path of the flood.

The young woman said to her friend, “I told her, what National Weather Service? The same one Trump decimated with cuts? The same one DOGE cut by 25%? That National Weather Service?”

What is going on in Mountain Home, Arkansas? How could I happen to run into this many progressives in the same town within a few hours?

Then it hit me…I was in a library. I was surrounded by readers and thinkers.

But it is still small town Arkansas. The same town that folks warned me about — when I posted the meeting in Mountain Home, people on my social media said to be careful. That there are white supremacists in this town.

While I am sure they are partially right, I did pass a Confederate flag coming into town, I think we are missing what is right in front of our face. There may be racists in this town, I’m sure there are racists in every town, but there seems to be a lot of people standing up and speaking out.

I know this. I talked to them.

Mountain Home, Arkansas gathering. 7/9/25.

I know it can feel hopeless. I feel it myself sometimes too, but that’s why I do what I do. I can’t feel down when I am in rooms with people who are doing the work.

We aren’t fighting MAGA anymore. We are fighting a fascist regime that is moving quicker than we ever thought they might. It’s insanity in front of our eyes. It’s horror out in the open.

It’s authoritarian thugs doing the things we’ve only read about in other countries…it’s here now.

But, there are pockets of resistance around every one of us too. There are allies in our communities. People are fighting back in every space across the country.

You are not alone. Find your folks.

Link arms. Onward.

~Jess