A Poem for Tim Walz

A tribute to a beloved folksy public servant

My Fellow Democracy Defenders,

Governor Tim Walz should have been our current Vice President. I am devastated that he will no longer seek reelection in Minnesota. He bravely stood up for the Somali community against racist fascist MAGAts and misinformation conspiracy theories. I have written a poem for him, inspired by his courage like Heather Cox Richardson, Jasmine Crockett, Karen Bass, E. Jean Carroll, and Kamala Harris.

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To stand in the cold, to march in the streets,
To cast a vote without fear—this is the promise.

In Minnesota, the cedar houses remember
The hands that built them: Somali sisters, brothers,
Opening shops where spices outshine the snow,
Teaching children to dream in two languages.

Tim Walz listened.
Not to the noise of the crowd,
But to the quiet courage of the cashier
Who still smiles after the slur,
The grandmother who explains her hijab
To neighbors who’ve never left the county.

He blocked the troopers from the polling places,
Vetoed the papers that would turn neighbors into ghosts,
Stood in the rotunda and said:
“You belong here. Full stop.”

When the shadow of fascism crept—
Demanding loyalty oaths, hunting the vulnerable,
Calling refugees “invaders” for seeking shelter—
Walz became the wall they could not topple.

Not a perfect man, but a present one:
Hands calloused from rope and sign,
Voice hoarse from saying “No, not here,”
Again and again.

The Somali community knows:
Democracy isn’t a speech.
It’s the bus route that runs at dawn,
The English class at the community center,
The ballot printed in your mother tongue.

Walz defended those small, sacred things—
The threads that weave a republic.

So when the sirens howl
And the demagogue’s fist pounds the podium,
Remember the man who stood between,
Whose spine became a bridge,
Whose “Yes” to the stranger
Was a “No” to the darkness.

This is how democracy is defended:
Not in marble, but in meeting halls,
One neighbor, one law, one unglamorous choice at a time.