Stormy Nights and Good Trouble

I belong to a group of progressive activists called Good Trouble in WNC, an affiliate of Red, Wine & Blue. After seeing Heather Clark Richardson’s program about Project 2025, (a chilling conservative blueprint for Trump’s next term,) we wanted to get the word out. We applied for a permit from the city to set up a table downtown to give people a heads-up about this possible future,  and help them check their voter registration.

Downtown Asheville on a summer Friday night is alive with tourists, shoppers, musicians, buskers, and artists. An arts and crafts fair was set up across Pack Square. The weather was fair when we set up, but the forecast called for afternoon and evening thunderstorms.

Asheville has the reputation of being a blue spot in a purple state. It surprised people when former president Trump held a “town hall” earlier in the week at the Thomas Wolfe Auditorium,  but Asheville draws from a wide area in western North Carolina, Tennessee, Georgia, and South Carolina.

Coincidentally, on this particular Friday, Trump’s nemesis Stormy Daniels was doing a show at the Wortham Center for the Performing Arts, just around the corner from where we set up. We gave directions to several people headed for the show. It provided an odd cosmic balance to the rally at the Wolfe

We waved signs, smiled, made eye contact, called out greetings, offered postcards and lit. Some people hurried past, averting their eyes, avoiding the pitch. I’m used to that from doing author events in bookstores. But we got a favorable reception for the most part, with lots of fist pumps, questions, and conversations. The only person who strongly disapproved was a street busker who seemed to think that we were crowding his space.

Two of us carried our signs and postcards down Patton Avenue to Pritchard Park, where the traditional Friday night drum circle was going on. There’s just something about drums that gets the blood moving. After a bit of love and conversation with the drum circle onlookers, we walked back.

An hour into our event, another group—a family of five--set up next to us with colorful signs, a sound system, a video camera and tripod, and a platform for preaching. I guessed it wasn’t their first rodeo. Their placards said, “Christ died for the ungodly” and “Repent from your sins & Turn to Jesus Christ.”  Between them and us, and the busker on the other side of us, walking around our corner must have seemed like running the gauntlet

But not for long. The skies grew dark, thunder rumbled, and weather alerts began pinging on my phone. Either God was weighing in, or there was a mountain thunderstorm incoming. I called my ride and we hustled to gather up our gear just as the skies opened. I had an umbrella, but when the rain is blowing sideways and you’re standing in a river, it doesn’t do much good.

With the rest of my group gone, I noticed some people sheltering under the marquee of the art museum, so I hurried to join them. It was the evangelical family. So there we were, saints and sinners, all of us soaked, all hoping and praying for the rain to let up.

Though I have strong convictions, I’ve always been conflict-averse. There’s a certain arrogance in getting up in front of people, preaching at them as if you own a truth that they need to know, whether the topic is politics or salvation.

The truth is, when you’re  one on one, you’re less inclined to preach, and more inclined to talk and listen.

I asked where they were from, and the  mom said “Morganton.” I must have  looked blank, because she added, “You know, down the mountain on 40.”

“Aah,” I said. “So you’ve come a ways.”  

She nodded. “You live in Asheville?”

“Yes.” I guess I must have looked the part. Wet and weird. I asked their youngest if she was in kindergarten yet. She said yes, she was home schooled. I asked her if her mother was a good teacher, and she said, ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

Right about then, my ride arrived. The dad insisted on carrying my chair to the car, despite the pouring rain. “I’m a landscaper,” he said. “I’m used to being out in the weather.”

He was kind, and I was grateful. When the hard rain fell, we both got wet. Though we likely agreed on very little, we were each trying to save the world in our own way. As things stood, though, I knew that we both couldn’t get what we wanted.