Maine is Moxie, Not N*z*
On February 5th I attended a rally at the capitol. It was the first national event after the inauguration and the dizzying weeks that followed. In the days leading up to the rally there was a lot of confusion. Confusion over the time, the identities of the organizers—groups that might normally step in to organize were busy holding back a tidal wave of threats to vulnerable people. The Kennebec Democratic Committee sent out a cancellation email to their mailing list due to safety concerns which compounded the confusion and scared people. I started receiving emails from others; encouraging me not to go, telling me it was cancelled.
My dad was going to attend with me so we had a conversation about safety. I tried to explain to him that the KDC were not the only sponsors, the event was not cancelled, that it was our right to peacefully assemble and finally the worst part; my dad was scared. This was not his usual demeanor. He sounded a little like he did those first couple weeks of covid—shocked, out of control, in the unknown. Our conversation went something like, “But the Democrats…” At which point I said something to him that I needed to hear said, out loud and unequivocal: The democrats are not going to save us, we are on our own. Safety will not be guaranteed.
For two lifelong civic participants this was a scary proposition. My parents raised me on civic responsibility. My ideology and understanding of capitalism has evolved to a more radical perspective, but one foundation of this belief remained—if you don’t show up, you don’t get a seat at the table. (Everybody’s version of showing up is gonna look a little different, and that’s okay!) This is all to say, I wasn’t about to sit out the first gathering out of fear.
I knew in all likelihood things would be fine and the gathering would be peaceful but I also knew that in a big picture way, something had shifted. The state sanctioned violence, the nazi salutes, all these ugly things front and center—loud and proud. The people emboldened during the first term are rolling in with a fully produced and delusional cheer squad.
My nervous system was on overdrive and I was working it out by making signs. (The cathartic nature of sign making—there will be a future post on that.) With an abundance of cardboard and some paint I went to town. I figured there are gonna be a lot of protests so I’ll want a variety of signs and I had a lot of cardboard. Then I made the first Maine is Moxie, Not N*z* sign. Then a few more thinking it would be nice to give some away to folks who weren’t able to get a sign together. It seemed clever and like something we could all agree on. I did not expect what happened next.
Arriving at the rally the energy was palpable. I could tell we weren’t the only people who’d been confused, put off and a bit scared. Then there was a shift. We are here, together. We have our hastily drawn signs on the backs of pizza boxes, fancy signs made by artists, various flags, people of all ages. We’re—about 400 of us— here, together in the cold and it is very cold. For me, I think, if this salty bunch can make it out under these discouraging circumstances that’s a real start.
My signs are gone in a few minutes. I just wait for someone to compliment mine and if they aren’t holding a sign already, I offer them one. The response is really positive. One person shares with me that this sign is special to them because their own parents had been persecuted by N*z*s. Another person tells me it is extra meaningful because they are originally from Lisbon. It is a privilege to connect with these people—my neighbors. In these moments I barely notice the cold.
The next rally, I make more signs. I make them better, more colorful and legible. I’ve been making them since—two and a half months that feel like two and a half years. One thing has stayed the same at each—people respond to ‘Maine is Moxie.’ I see the signs being re-used (thank you!!!) at other events, as intended. Some things have changed though; we’re no longer a group of four hundred—last weekend’s statewide turnout was well over five thousand and spanned every county. While I don’t think fear has necessarily become absent, there is no denying these are scary times, we move ahead anyway— that is the definition of bravery, the definition of moxie. This idea means something to us here in Maine. We are intrepid people, we sustain, we lead.
That is how Maine is Moxie came about, I figured there must be more to contribute here—this energy is important. I will post again soon to expand on our mission, the various ways to get involved, and the indigenous origins of the word moxie.
For now, if you have a story about a time you showed moxie, I’d love to read it and possibly share it on this site. I won’t reproduce your story without consent and you’re welcome to share privately if you’d just like someone, but not a lot of someones, to know.
See you soon,
Moxie