Last month, the Village of Northbrook took a welcome step toward greater transparency by publishing a public summary of its May 27 Board meeting—a thoughtful addition to civic communications. But notably absent from the recap was the topic that dominated the meeting: a controversial display at the corner of Shermer and Walters.
If you've driven through downtown Northbrook recently, you've probably seen it: a display at the corner of Shermer and Walters featuring a blue inverted triangle—a symbol used in Nazi concentration camps to mark stateless persons, foreign forced laborers, and migrants. Alongside it, the message: "Northbrook stands with migrants."
The sign went largely unnoticed at first—truth be told, it took our own 19-year-old to point it out to us. But once recognized, the symbolism was jarring. It spread quickly, generating outrage, confusion, debate, and regional attention. During public comment at the Board meeting, more than twenty residents spoke: some voicing support, many voicing concern or outright indignation.
The display’s creator has explicitly stated that the symbol is intended to draw a parallel between the treatment of migrants by the U.S. government and the Nazi regime—citing deportations to facilities in El Salvador, and possibly Sudan or Libya, as modern-day equivalents to concentration camps.
Let’s be clear. This display is not just provocative—it’s profoundly offensive.
It invoked Holocaust trauma in a community with survivors, their descendants, and a significant Jewish population. It drew a grotesque moral equivalence between the systematic genocide of six million Jews and U.S. immigration enforcement. It did this during Jewish American Heritage Month.
That’s not advocacy—that’s cruelty dressed up as commentary.
We stand with those who were hurt by this display. That pain is real, and it deserves both our recognition and our solidarity.
It’s clear the registrant deeply disagrees with U.S. immigration policy and current enforcement. But this approach was profoundly presumptive—at times bordering on arrogance. To declare that “Northbrook stands with migrants” without any public mandate or civic process oversteps, even if well-intentioned. Paired with Holocaust-era imagery, it becomes something more troubling: a symbolic overreach that invokes the moral weight of genocide without the communal consensus such a message demands. And when public outrage is met with indignation—as if to question the sign is to deny the suffering of migrants—that rhetorical posture shuts down dialogue instead of inviting it. The goal, it seems, was not to understand but to instruct—to educate others, not to learn from them, as though the answers were known and obvious if only people would simply listen. But advocacy should persuade, not presume. And genuine solidarity begins with listening, not speaking for everyone.
Immigration policy in the United States is broken—and has been for decades. It’s complex, misunderstood, and far too often weaponized. But political theater doesn’t change the human cost. Many migrants—especially those fleeing persecution or violence—face inhumane conditions. Deportation can mean family separation, indefinite detention, or forced return to countries where they face imprisonment or worse.
That’s the difficult truth: immigration enforcement can be deeply flawed, even cruel—and reform is long overdue. But invoking Holocaust imagery to make that point isn’t just historically inaccurate. It’s morally disorienting. It collapses nuance and undermines the very case it aims to strengthen.
This display didn’t start a conversation. It ended one. It skipped substance in favor of spectacle, ignored complexity, and jumped straight to the most emotionally loaded metaphor imaginable. It didn’t persuade—it provoked. It didn’t open minds—it hardened them.
And in that sense, it was no better than the kind of rhetoric that helped re-elect Donald Trump—like his grotesque, fabricated claim that migrants were “eating the dogs.” It wasn’t true. It wasn’t serious. But it didn’t need to be. It struck a nerve and hijacked the news cycle. That was the point. Not change—attention.
The added irony? Northbrook is already represented by Democrats at every level: Congressman Schneider, Senators Durbin & Duckworth, and Governor Pritzker. All publicly oppose Trump-era immigration policies—yet have struggled to find a coherent message let alone champion meaningful reform.
Nothing about this approach suggests it was strictly about policy. Everything about it suggests performance.
And it’s a performance we’ve seen before. During the COVID-19 pandemic, the same individual erected a running “Death Scoreboard” at this same intersection. It featured the phrase “We’re #1,” a running total of American deaths updated daily, and the sitting president’s name at the bottom. That display generated protests, media attention, and even physical altercations.
It worked then. It is working again now.
WGN covered this latest controversy, sending a reporter to the Village Board meeting and interviewing the registrant on camera in front of the sign (albeit with the Nazi symbolism blurred out). The story aired in prime time. Once again, the tactic delivered—not policy change, but publicity.
My high school newspaper adviser used to tell us that it doesn’t matter if readers love you or hate you—so long as they read you. (I always thought that quote was Mike Royko, but I’ve never been able to confirm it.) This sign followed the same logic: it didn’t matter if people were horrified or supportive, so long as they made it go viral.
And it did.
This wasn’t a plea for reform. It was a provocation engineered for maximum visibility. To shock. To dominate. To hijack the conversation—if only for a moment, a headline, or a soundbite.
It worked—drawing outrage, pain, and calls for action. But when emotion runs headlong into constitutional limits, the result is rarely satisfying.
Some have called for the resignation of Village officials over the decision to allow the sign to remain. Others have gone further—accusing the Board of quietly endorsing the message or “hiding behind the First Amendment” to avoid accountability.
That context matters. The Village is not refusing to act out of cowardice—it is following clear constitutional limits. The First Amendment protects speech from government suppression, especially when that speech is provocative or offensive. And in this moment, upholding those protections is not only a legal duty—it’s a strategic necessity. If the Village were to act outside the law, it wouldn’t just lose in court. It would hand this display a bigger platform, legal vindication, and an even wider audience.
Still, the public frustration is real. When a Board embraces partisan support as we have documented in this space many times, it can blur constituent perceptions of neutrality. But that perception doesn’t change the legal reality. Whatever the optics, the Constitution leaves the Board almost no discretion in this case.
It’s tempting to assume that speech this inflammatory must be illegal. But the First Amendment protects far more than polite discourse. Unless a display constitutes a true threat, incites imminent lawless action, or falls into one of a few very narrow exceptions—like obscenity, defamation, or speech integral to criminal conduct—it remains protected. Offensive? Absolutely. But courts have consistently ruled that offense alone is not a basis for government censorship, especially in a designated public forum. That’s the legal reality—frustrating as it may be—and ignoring it doesn’t make it go away.
The First Amendment is clear: once the government creates a designated public forum, it cannot deny access based on viewpoint, even highly offensive or inflammatory speech. In Rosenberger v. University of Virginia (1995), the Supreme Court ruled that government entities cannot pick and choose among speakers once a forum has been opened. And in Forsyth County v. Nationalist Movement(1992), the Court held that even deeply unpopular or hateful speech cannot be restricted based on audience reaction.
Nor does the Village have the option to remove the sign under the guise of public safety. Brandenburg v. Ohio (1969) established that speech must incite “imminent lawless action” to be restricted. This sign doesn’t meet that threshold. Neither did the display in Terminiello v. Chicago (1949), which the Court upheld despite its inflammatory nature.
And while the Village theoretically could move to shut down the forum altogether, it must do so in a content-neutral, forward-looking way. In Perry Education Association v. Perry Local Educators' Association (1983), the Court emphasized that closures targeting specific viewpoints are constitutionally impermissible. And in Pleasant Grove City v. Summum (2009), the Court warned that spaces long open to public messaging cannot be revoked merely to avoid discomfort. Sudden changes motivated by controversy are legally vulnerable.
The Village is already well aware of what it means to navigate speech and symbolism in this exact space—because it has done so before. For about 15 years, a private group of Northbrook residents known as the Christmas Committee displayed a nativity scene in what was then called Triangle Park—the same small parcel of land at Shermer and Walters now referred to by some as Freedom Triangle. Owned by the Park District since 1928 and long used as a civic gathering spot, the land had effectively functioned as a public forum. But when the Village assumed ownership in 1994, it sought to end that tradition and cited the group fourteen times—deeming the religious display inappropriate. In 1996, the Village declared that the space was no longer a public forum. The Christmas Committee sued. A federal judge denied the Village’s motion for summary judgment, citing unresolved issues of fact. As I understand it, after tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees—and facing a likely defeat—the Village ultimately settled.
The result: Triangle Park was designated a public forum, with the Village limited to regulating only time, place, and manner—not content. That agreement has governed the space ever since.
In short: the Village will almost certainly lose in court if it removes the sign before the thirty-day display period ends, or – as it learned the hard way nearly thirty years ago – if it rewrites policy in direct response to this one display. Forcing a legally unsound action would mean costly litigation, wasted taxpayer funds, and a likely court ruling that doesn’t just uphold the display—but amplifies it. The result? A deeply offensive message, now backed by legal validation and even more public attention.
We can be horrified by the sign and still understand the legal limits of what the Village can do. That, in many ways, is what makes this moment so painful: the same constitutional protections that shield speech we cherish also protect speech we abhor. The Village does not have the legal authority to deny or remove a display based on its message—no matter how offensive that message may be. That is the burden, and the brilliance, of the First Amendment.
The Village’s official website statement reaffirmed the legal history of the Shermer & Walters forum and clarified that the current display is privately installed and not an official endorsement. While legally accurate, the statement felt more like boilerplate PR than real leadership. It avoided any direct acknowledgment of the controversy, the symbolism involved, or the pain voiced by so many residents. In a moment that demanded clarity and empathy, it favored compliance over compassion. And that silence, too, spoke volumes.
Compare that to September 2020, when the “COVID death scoreboard” was erected at the same site. The current Village President—then serving as a trustee—expressed pointed discomfort with the display, even while affirming its constitutional protection. “I don’t understand what [his] motivation was,” she said. “The country is incredibly divided. We have neighbors and friends with whom we have more in common than we don’t… I think [the display] is incredibly divisive. It raises blood pressure. It puts people against each other.” She contrasted it with gestures of unity—like the 20,000 American flags planted on the National Mall in remembrance of COVID victims—and concluded, “We have to defend the Constitution. And I support his right to put up this sign. But I’m sorry he did.”
At the recent board meeting, now as Village President, her tone was markedly less direct about the current display. She offered a longer statement reiterating Northbrook’s legal obligations, acknowledging the trauma felt by Jewish residents, and urging the community to support one another through difficult conversations. But even in this expanded version, the message strained to be inclusive without being specific. While she condemned antisemitism and affirmed the dignity of migrants, she avoided the controversy’s central question: whether using Holocaust-associated imagery was an appropriate or effective form of advocacy. It was a statement that sought to comfort without confronting—one that left many residents parsing meaning from omission.
By contrast, another trustee offered the night’s most personal—and arguably most courageous—statement. The senior trustee spoke not only as an elected official, but as a Jewish resident whose family had endured the horrors of the Holocaust. He acknowledged the visceral pain caused by the sign’s imagery, described his own emotional reaction to it, and yet still defended its right to remain under the First Amendment. He reflected on the power of symbols, the fading urgency of Holocaust education, and the role of civic spaces in provoking reflection—even when that reflection is deeply uncomfortable. While I disagree with him on the sign’s framing and question its effectiveness, I have deep respect for his willingness to be vulnerable, to speak from personal experience, and to model what principled engagement can look like. It was a rare human moment from this board—met, shamefully, with boos from some in attendance. That reaction spoke volumes about the state of our civic discourse.
And while the Board lacks the legal authority to act forcefully, that doesn’t mean meaningful steps are off the table.
We can begin by demanding that the Village apply its policies consistently and transparently. I’ve submitted a FOIA request for ten years of past permit records to better understand how the process has worked—what’s been approved, what’s been denied, and on what basis. Residents deserve confirmation that SOP #23-Res-169 has been enforced evenhandedly.
Next, the Village Board should revisit the procedures that govern Freedom Triangle—not in reaction to one display, but to ensure that the forum reflects the values of fairness, equity, and civic intent. One legally sound and obvious improvement would be to strengthen limitations on repeat usage. The policy currently limits registrants to one display per 12-month period, but in practice, enforcement isn’t always transparent—and technicalities like changing the applicant’s name may allow the same individual or household to repeatedly occupy the space. The Village should consider closing these loopholes: potentially expanding the limit to cover households or affiliations, and shortening the duration of any single display. The aim isn’t to silence anyone—it’s to ensure this public space doesn’t become the domain of the most passionate applicant.
Another needed improvement concerns how these displays present themselves to the public. The Village does place a small, fixed disclaimer at the Triangle indicating that posted messages are private speech, not endorsed by the Village or its residents. But that sign is easy to miss—and it’s not affixed to the display itself. While the Village cannot dictate content, it can require that all registrant displays include a clear and visible disclaimer, in language provided by the Village, to avoid confusion and reinforce the neutrality of the forum.
At the same time, the Village could do more to provide civic counterbalance. This isn’t about censorship—it’s about context. While residents already have three minutes to speak at every Board meeting, the format often deters participation. Fear of public speaking, time constraints, and the lack of back-and-forth make it difficult to engage in meaningful dialogue.
One option might be to create more accessible channels for community input. For example, the Village could designate space in its weekly e-newsletter, or a dedicated section of the website for residents to submit responses during the active period of a display. These contributions—clearly labeled “Community Perspectives” and marked as private views—would follow the same disclaimer standard as the displays themselves.
The Village might also consider hosting quarterly or annual “Community Expression Forums,” where display applicants can present their views publicly and others can offer thoughtful responses. These forums wouldn’t require consensus, but they could build connection—promoting understanding rather than deepening division.
Of course, there are tradeoffs. Space in print publications is limited, and choices about what gets included won’t be perfect. But the goal here isn’t perfection. It’s to widen the path for expression, so that more voices can be heard—not just the loudest or most provocative ones.
I also hope more elected Trustees feel empowered to speak in their personal capacity. Legal constraints are real, but so is moral clarity. A Trustee can say, “I personally find this sign abhorrent,” without violating the First Amendment—as evidenced by principled stands taken during the September 2020 Board Meeting. And when they do, they help the public understand that neutrality in enforcement is not the same as neutrality in values. The senior trustee’s statement at the most recent meeting, in particular, showed how civic leaders can speak from personal conviction while still respecting constitutional boundaries. That kind of candor doesn’t weaken the law—it builds trust. More of it—and more voices willing to meet the moment with clarity and courage—would be a welcome change.
Residents can also get more organized. Just as partisan activists have gradually overtaken the formerly nonpartisan Northbrook Caucus, civic-minded neighbors can coordinate to ensure the Triangle remains a place for thoughtful, respectful expression—with timely applications, purposeful signage, and prompt responses to misuse or defacement. This isn’t about crowding out dissent—it’s about contributing more meaningfully to our shared civic space.
These aren’t silver bullets. They won’t end every controversy. But they’re steps toward greater transparency, stronger civic balance, and the kind of resilience that helps a community endure moments like this with its integrity intact.
And, of course, the door has now been opened for a flood of similarly provocative “Northbrook Stands With…” sign applications that toe the legal line but do little to elevate public discourse. We could soon see public comment time overrun with mockery and counter-mockery—escalation in place of engagement. I’ve long advocated for a more engaged Northbrook but that was not what I envisioned. For what it's worth, I'm partial to Northbrook stands with those who don’t presume to speak for all of Northbrook.
Towards the end of the May 27 meeting—after the initial 30-minute public comment period had passed and the Board’s scheduled business had concluded—a local rabbi stepped to the microphone and offered two prayers that deeply resonated.
“The first,” he said, “is for my friends and neighbors here—for us to learn how to disagree better. Reasonable people might have differences of opinion about this action or that action of this body, and we need to have those conversations. But I’ve also seen—not by all, but by some—messages filled with vilification, politicization, dehumanization, and real personal attacks against some members of our village’s leadership. And I find that really painful. I’d like to see us, at least on the local level, elevate the level of discourse and find a way to disagree with one another that still respects one another’s humanity.”
His second prayer was addressed to the individual who installed the sign.
“Just because something may be legal,” he said, “doesn’t mean it’s right. When activist rhetoric that’s intended to provoke or inspire crosses a line into causing offense, pain, or trauma, I worry that it doesn’t serve the people you hope to ally with—or the people you say you’re trying to help. As a rabbi, I care very deeply about the plight of immigrants and migrants, and the way they’re being treated in this country and in our world. But in my view, to play-act as a Holocaust victim doesn’t advance their cause. In fact, it pushes people away—people who might otherwise have stood with you. So my prayer is for greater understanding of the impact of your actions and your rhetorical choices.”
His words didn’t excuse the harm or erase the pain. But they modeled something that’s been in short supply: moral clarity paired with grace. He named what was wrong—and still called us toward something better.
So let me try to meet that spirit.
I believe this display was a mistake. It crossed lines—ethical, emotional, and communal. But I also believe the person who created it, though misguided in some choices, was not acting out of malice. His concern for the treatment of immigrants is sincere, and he’s deserving of compassion. I just wish that focus didn’t have to come at the expense of empathy for others who were also deeply impacted.
As for the rest of us: we can reject the sign without rejecting the freedoms that allow it. We can call out harm without making enemies of each other. We can seek to understand the spirit behind the message—even as we firmly reject its form. And we can acknowledge that yes, there are historical parallels we must guard against, without endorsing the sign’s extreme framing.
Above all, we can resist the bait. We can stay focused—not on staged spectacle, but on rising above to be the kind of community that responds with integrity, listens with empathy, and leads with courage. A community that protects free expression without surrendering moral clarity. That doesn’t flinch from hard conversations—but insists they happen with decency, humility, and respect for all who call Northbrook home.