I didn’t go to any of the No Kings rallies this past Saturday, of which there were a number here. I’d gone to the first two, but these past weeks of heavy involvement with local efforts to protect immigrants (including yesterday and this evening) have taken a lot from me.

Of course, none of those whom we’re concerned about could attend these rallies. I notice how many people who were not born here, including those who are American citizens or have green cards of all races, remain invisible. ICE agents’ approach of detain first and ask questions later, without warrants or identification, especially when they’re accompanied by violence, leaving spouses stunned and children weeping, causes many nonwhite people to basically stay home.

Every month Elena (not her real name) gives a basic cleaning to our home. As usual, last month she cleaned my office, where a small American flag that I’d used in a past rally lay flat down on a credenza. When I came back after she’d finished, I noticed that she’d stood the flag up against the wall behind some books in the corner.

I was deeply moved. Instantly I felt in touch with a much bigger and more diversified crowd than the one I have here, many of whom don’t believe or vote like me but care about this country in their own way.

How is it that the Right usurped the American flag to such an extent that when we see it waving outside a house, we automatically make assumptions about the people living there? How did the Left let them do that? And why is it that, to this very day, rallies for progressive causes rarely show American flags? As I wrote earlier, the first No Kings rally I went to last June showed way more Palestinian flags than American. A Martian landing there would have assumed that the rally was for no kings in Palestine, not the United States.

I don’t usually wave flags nor pledge allegiance to them, just not my thing. But if there’s a country in the world that stands for No Kings it’s this one, so where did the famous visual symbol of it go? Many Republicans accuse liberals of being ashamed of this country.

I have little space for shame or guilt, perhaps because my upbringing was full of both. It’s important to cure racism, homophobia, and misogyny, but I see no value in bludgeoning ourselves to death over those things, whether verbally or in print. That doesn’t make even one person happier.

So here was Elena, living in this area for 20 years with no legal status, who left a very young daughter back home all those years ago never to see her again (but working her butt off to save money to buy the now young woman a home), who lets out a short moan when I ask her about herself and her family, specifically are they safe, nods, and says so far so good—and she’s the one who lifted up that flag into its proud, upright position.

I thought of so many of us who get cynical about this country, but this woman had no questions about it. She lives here, has gotten lots of benefits for herself, her husband, and a little girl they had here, otherwise she’d go back home to stay with the daughter she left behind. And she’s the one who raised the flag in my office.

You know you’re in a privileged position when you get into cynical arguments about what’s wrong with us and this country, preferably over a glass of wine. You can do that kind of thing forever, listening to your favorite podcasters and reading your favorite newspaper columnists. The people who are in need can’t afford to do that.

My test for how effective a mensch I am is whether, with whatever action I’ve taken, I’ve lightened the load of one person today, especially of someone at risk, insecure, unsafe, unsheltered, or hungry. I can read and listen to as much commentary and history as I want, invest my energies in being fully up-to-date, but if it doesn’t result in some action, no matter how small, then I’m only taking care of myself.