Community Hope –
Voices That Carry
Part 2 of a Weekly October Series on Hope

Hope isn’t only found in national leaders—it lives right here in our neighborhoods, in people who show up for their communities day after day. And in the everyday experiences of music and movement.

Local Elections

As I sorted through my T-shirt drawer, three more caught my attention: campaign shirts for MaryAnne Quiroz (City Council), Jim Vue (School Board), and Cheniqua Johnson (City Council).

MaryAnne Quiroz is co-director of Indigenous Roots Cultural Arts Center, a mother of five, and one of the most dynamic, community-oriented people I know. When she ran for City Council against a politically connected incumbent in a ward that had never elected a person of color, she faced ongoing hostility. Still, she persevered with grit, strength, and joy. Though she didn’t win, her courage cracked open a door that had long been shut. What gave me hope was not the outcome of the election, but the possibility she revealed—that our communities can make space for more voices, more stories, and more leaders to be included in shaping our future.

Jim Vue and his wife, Sai Thao (recently honored with a Facing Race award!), have five kids, some with special learning needs. Their deep involvement in public schools has made them tireless advocates for education equity. Jim’s candidacy reminds me that leadership doesn’t have to come from the top—it can come from the parents, neighbors, and community members who care enough to step up. He and Sai give me hope that change is possible when everyday people lead.

Cheniqua Johnson, a young community organizer and philanthropic leader, came after MaryAnne, running a values-driven campaign to win the Ward 7 seat. She became part of the first all-women St. Paul City Council. Rather than turning cynical, her generation is stepping forward—hopeful, determined, and unwilling to give up on what’s possible.  Seeing her build on the foundation MaryAnne laid gives me hope that our democracy can grow more inclusive, more representative, more just.

Each of these shirts represents someone who saw a need and decided to act, to lead, and to believe that change starts close to home. These shirts remind me that hope isn’t always loud or national—it’s local, often quiet, and rooted in everyday courage.

👉 Reflection: Who in your local community helps you hold onto hope?

Vote for Change

At the very bottom of my drawer is my Vote for Change T-shirt, from a 2004 fundraiser headlined by Springsteen, REM, and John Fogerty with a surprise appearance by Neil Young. (Yes, it was as amazing as it sounds.)  This concert T-shirt reminds me of the power of music to transcend emotion, guide movements, and inspire change.

The peace sign on the shirt takes me back to the many protest movements I’ve witnessed over the years. Most recently, it reminds me of WAMM (Women Against Military Madness) and their weekly vigils for peace. Learning from gray-haired activists, hearing the encouraging honks from cars passing by, and feeling the solidarity of community reminds me that hope doesn’t fade with age—it endures.

And woven through it all is the reminder that we still have the right to vote—a tool for change that gives me hope for the good we can still create together.

👉 Reflection: How does music, art, protest, or even the simple act of voting, stir hope in you?

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Hope doesn’t just live in politics or protest—it’s also in the people and places that keep us grounded. Join me next week as I turn to the land, to friendship, and to the quiet kind of hope that heals.