Twenty years later, Wellstone's enduring spirit needed more than ever

Twenty years ago, we lost Paul Wellstone, his wife and daughter, three campaign workers and two pilots in a tragic plane crash. Hardly a day goes by that I don't think of him. Some politicians disappear quickly from the public imagination once they are no longer with us. Others have a legacy that lives on in the people they impacted and the values they upheld. Their light continues to shine beyond their time in office or on earth. Their influence even magnifies over time. That is true of Paul Wellstone.

I first met Paul as a 19-year-old student at Carleton College. He was my faculty adviser and political mentor and became a lifelong friend. No one had more influence on me than Paul. I worked on the 2002 campaign that ended so tragically and helped to found Wellstone Action. This is how I remember him.

Paul Wellstone loved and respected working-class people. He honored their dignity and their struggles to support their families. The Iron Range — indeed the entire Eighth Congressional District — was his second home. He was comfortable in union halls, church basements and on the picket line. He fought for the rights of steel workers, autoworkers, public sector workers and mine workers. These already strong relationships were cemented in the fight against NAFTA, the North American Free Trade Agreement.

Paul understood that any trade agreement that did not protect U.S. jobs was certain to cause dramatic dislocation for many workers, wrecking families and entire communities, as jobs were shipped overseas. What a different world we might have today had that fight not been lost. Huge swaths of voters might not have been attracted to Donald Trump's fake populism.

As the son of Jewish immigrants, Paul had a natural affinity with immigrants, whether they be Hmong, Mexican, Liberian or Russian. Having watched his mother work for years in cafeterias and his father in jobs far below his education level, Paul knew what immigrants give up when they come to the U.S. and how much they contribute to their new home. He never held himself above anyone and honored all communities who were finding a place in the fabric of our state. His was not a phony appeal to working people or immigrants, but rather a deep and abiding respect for who they were.

Paul loved rural and small-town Minnesota. One of his first organizing projects as a professor at Carleton was to create Organizing for a Better Rice County. This project enabled him to bring issues of local poverty to his students and to bring skills and organizing tools to his neighbors. Later he would forge alliances with farm families, whose livelihoods were being threatened by large utility companies, corporate agriculture and politicians who just didn't care. Paul walked their land, sat at their kitchen tables and listened to their stories. Then he would help turn that knowledge into action to improve people's lives.

Paul did not believe there was a contradiction between defending the environment and the need for good, high-paying jobs. He didn't change his position from audience to audience on these and other issues. Rather, when he was with a labor audience, he talked about the urgency of environmental protection, and when he was with environmentalists, he helped them to understand the real and immediate concerns of workers. He educated all sides and helped people see connections.

Remarkably for a politician, Paul admitted when he was wrong, and then sought to make amends. Early in this country's debate about marriage, Paul took the position that marriage was a right to be afforded to only a man and a woman. He believed civil union should be available for all. Later, after listening to the hurt and anger of his gay and lesbian friends, he changed his position. He evolved. He admitted that he was wrong and became a champion for same-sex marriage. This takes courage.

Paul Wellstone was authentic. He found joy in politics and in turn people felt his warmth, his genuine concern and his interest in finding solutions with them. "We all do better when we all do better" was not just a slogan for Paul; it was a core belief. He worked with his friend and Republican colleague, Jim Ramstad, to promote mental health parity and to see addiction as an issue worthy of legislative action. He worked with colleagues across the aisle on domestic violence.

He fought vigorously to protect workers and the environment, but after a fierce political battle, he could be friends with those with whom he disagreed. He could laugh with them, ask about their families and sympathize with personal setbacks. He was so certain of his convictions, that he was able to be both fierce and compassionate.

Paul is remembered for his friendships on the Senate floor, but also with the Capitol police, the elevator operators, the cafeteria workers, the custodians and the legislative staff whose jobs it is to make government work. These people were never invisible to Paul.

Long before Barack Obama, Paul understood that a multiracial, multigenerational coalition was not only an effective way to win elections, but also the only way to advance social change and strengthen our democracy. He believed in collective power and grassroots organizing. I witnessed dozens of gatherings where he shifted the focus from himself to the work being done by others in the room. He understood one person does not make change. Organized people do.

As I sit with the current ugly state of politics, the cesspool of lies, the rise of authoritarianism and racism, and our inability to get anything done, I remember Paul. A beacon of hope when he was alive, his legacy is still a beacon of hope. I believe we can learn to respect each other again, to come together to solve serious problems and to build a future worthy of our children and grandchildren.

Pam Costain lives in Minneapolis.