Sign Snob Over Here

A few weeks ago at the Saturday morning sign protest, someone held a sign that said, “Trump Has Dementia.”

Now, I like these people – the sign protesters – a lot but I’m not keen on talking about Trump’s age or cognitive status. It’s not so subtle ageism and it gives me the crawlies. I also don’t like signs that say things like “Jail Kristi Noem” or “Republicans Deserve What They Got.” None of this seems inspirational to me. It seems low level like a spit ball fight.

Across the street from where I stand, one woman holds the same sign every week. “We don’t want a DICK-tator.” The accompanying graphic fleshed out with Trump’s face and imagined other parts rounds out the thought. It’s cute but I don’t love it. I don’t want to stand next to it.

I’ve become a sign snob. This is my ‘go-to’ sign.

One of my signs has made me famous. Written on a piece of cardboard as I flew out the door to a protest at the downtown federal building, the message seems to have resonated, at least with the media. Write the first true thing, Hemingway said, and this was the first true thing I thought of when Judge Hannah Dugan was arrested by the FBI for an immigration-related incident in her courtroom. That was in April. Since then, this picture has turned up all over the place, today, in the editorial section of the local paper. I place this in the pantheon of clear protests signs that don’t call other people dicks.

In a sign protest, cars are zooming by. Where I stand, cars and trucks and buses are coming straight through a green light or making a left turn in front of me. I have about 3 seconds to make an impression. I want them to honk, give me a thumbs up, smile and wave. I want them thinking, yeah, freedom of speech really is #1, maybe talk about it on their way to McDonald’s, tell their friends they saw this old chick with a sign and it made them think.

Hearts and minds. That’s the goal.