On a frigid January day blanketed in snow, thirteen citizens stood hand-in-hand in Sherborn, Massachusetts, forming a human chain in front of a statue of Mahatma Gandhi. It was Inauguration Day—January 20, 2025—and also the Martin Luther King Day of Service. The symbolism could not have been more powerful. In this moment of transition, as the nation held its collective breath, these individuals engaged in peaceful civil disobedience, forming what they called the “Peace Chain,” to sound an alarm about the state of democracy.
Among them were Quaker activists Bill Holcombe and Lewis Randa, whose refusal to simply go quietly has led them to face charges of “disturbing the peace.” Rather than accept a quiet dismissal like the majority of their co-protesters, they’ve chosen to bring their case before the Natick/Framingham District Court on May 6, where they will present a “necessity defense”—a legal assertion that their actions were not only justified, but urgent and morally compelled.
A Protest Rooted in Conscience
This was no spontaneous outburst. Like all actions organized by the Peace Abbey, a nonprofit peace organization with deep spiritual roots, the protest was planned with full notice given to local police. It was a demonstration shaped by intention and guided by principles of nonviolence.
While President Trump took the oath of office inside the same Capitol building once stormed during the January 6 insurrection, his first executive act was a sweeping clemency order—pardoning nearly 1,600 individuals involved in the very event that had shaken the democratic foundations of the nation. For Holcombe and Randa, this moment crystallized the stakes. It was not simply politics as usual—it was a turning point, and one that demanded a response.
“The clemency proclamation confirmed the dangers we were warning about,” Randa later reflected. “To forgive insurrectionists on your first day back in office—what clearer message could there be?”
The Necessity of Saying “No”
Holcombe and Randa’s legal strategy hinges on the necessity defense, a rarely successful but deeply symbolic argument. It’s a declaration that their peaceful disruption was not only a right but a civic obligation—to prevent a greater harm, namely the erosion of constitutional checks and balances, and the rise of authoritarian governance.
Their defense echoes the words of both Gandhi and King, who believed that civil disobedience was not rebellion but a higher form of citizenship. This was not a protest rooted in anger but in love—love of country, love of justice, and love of the democratic process.
After their arraignment, Holcombe, Randa, and supporters plan to read prepared statements on the courthouse steps. These statements will affirm their belief that standing against authoritarianism is not optional—it is essential.
Speaking Truth at a Cost
What sets this protest apart is not simply its message, but the willingness of its participants to accept the personal consequences of their actions. While eleven others involved in the Peace Chain accepted a dismissal of charges, Holcombe and Randa’s decision to stand trial is a conscious choice to highlight the urgent stakes of our political moment.
Their message resonates with those who feel silenced or fatigued by the relentless news cycle. In an age where outrage often dissipates into digital echo chambers, their physical presence in the courtroom becomes a rare and vital act of embodied resistance.
Randa, founder of the Peace Abbey and a longtime peace educator, has emphasized that such actions are not just for activists—they are for all who cherish democracy. “We stand not as heroes but as messengers,” he says, “reminding others that this moment calls for more than silence.”
The Call to Witness
The protest in Sherborn was not large by national standards. But its ripple effects are profound. It reminds us that civil disobedience is not a relic of the past—it is alive and well in small towns, on courthouse steps, and in the conscience of ordinary people.
Holcombe and Randa invite others to bear witness. On Tuesday, May 6 at 2:00 p.m., supporters will gather at the Natick Framingham District Court, not just to stand in solidarity with the defendants, but to uphold the principle that democracy requires active participation—and sometimes, uncomfortable courage.
Why This Matters Now
To many, this might seem like just another local protest in a politically charged era. But consider this: when citizens are punished for peaceful resistance, when executive clemency extends to those who have undermined democratic institutions, and when accountability becomes politicized, silence itself becomes complicity.
This is not merely a legal case—it is a moral stand. It is about preserving a form of protest that has long been the conscience of the nation, from abolition to suffrage to civil rights. And it is a reminder that, even in the cold of winter, even in times of disillusionment, voices can still rise in unison for justice.