Noble acts of futility or just optics?

This past weekend brought word that we have not seen the last of the protests directed at our former Work Ethic Camp. The sponsoring group has not responded to inquiries about the central objective of the demonstration, so we question whether an objective exists at all.

Our nation has a long history of citizens engaging in noble acts of futility, and some have mattered more than others. Two examples come to mind.

The Boston Tea Party began as an act of vandalism that failed to change British policy, yet the restrained and principled nature of the protest prompted an overreaction in London that ultimately unified the colonies. Its symbolism overpowered the damage, transforming a burst of defiance into a lasting sense of shared identity.

The 1967 March on the Pentagon stands in contrast. Nearly 50,000 demonstrators descended on Washington for a sit-in that generated striking images but little practical effect. The protest was well-publicized, although its message was garbled. Were participants opposing war in general, or only the war in Vietnam? Were they defending human rights worldwide or avoiding the draft? Was it cultural rebellion and distrust of government? In the end, the war lasted another seven years, produced three additional bombing campaigns and spread into two neighboring countries. The event became a vivid example of theater that stirred emotion without influencing those who held power.

Modern demonstrations often follow a similar pattern. Protesters exercise their right to free speech, one we support without question; yet, the absence of a coherent message leaves the impression of narcissistic posturing. Are they supporting human rights? Defying the governor and, by extension, the president? Or registering disapproval of the way the project was thrust upon southwest Nebraska without local consideration? The activists are notably silent on the last point.

One might also question the necessity of shipping protesters in from other parts of the state. That choice speaks for itself.

Most McCook residents express a perspective that resembles the Taoist notion of ziran, the acceptance that something “just is.”

The ICE facility is a federal project, governed by federal law and neither local sentiment nor legal challenge has slowed it. The supremacy clause remains intact; even a record-setting federal shutdown failed to interrupt its trajectory. There is no satisfaction in the way the decision was made and the frustration is genuine, yet the reality stands before us.

It just is.

Communities have choices once a decision moves beyond their control, and McCook has chosen to make lemonade. McCook will benefit from jobs, federal dollars and the multiplier effect that follows--and those outcomes matter more than a temporary display of defiance.

The protests, in this context, echo what some commentators describe as virtue signaling. They take on the air of a brave but futile gesture, something closer to the Doolittle raid—remembered not for what it accomplished, but for the resolve it displayed.

The right to protest remains essential to civic life, and no one should be dissuaded from exercising it. Yet leadership, the real kind, begins after the placards are set aside. Progress tends to come from work that is quiet, steady and largely unseen, which may explain why so few have the patience—or perhaps the humility—to do it.

That said, we remind our out-of-town visitors that McCook offers a selection of fine lumber and hardware stores for those pesky, last minute sign-making supplies, that Mac’s Drive-in closes at 4 p.m. on Saturdays and that Norris Avenue is open for early Christmas shopping. Let’s make lemonade.