The Quiet Courage of Minneapolis
A city coming together to battle fascism, cruelty & death.
Hi,
I landed in Minneapolis just after 11.30am. It had been a three hour trip. Outrageously popular Twitch stream Hasan Piker had been on the same flight, sitting in 1A. I was in a middle seat, somewhere near the back.
Things were normal, until they weren't. Exiting the airport, I passed through a mass of police officers in riot gear. I asked one of them what they were doing. He wouldn't tell me.
Turns out there'd been a protest at arrivals shortly before I got in, which saw nearly 100 members of the public get arrested just for protesting. Many of them were religious leaders in Minneapolis, coming together in a similar fashion to what Webworm observed in Portland.
A Webworm reader caught the moment outside, sending me the image on encrypted messaging app Signal.
A lot has happened since I sent out this morning's newsletter at 4am. It always does, as if the bad news is trying to be outdone by more bad news. In this case, news had spread that a two-year-old girl had been detained, and that the White House had digitally manipulated the image of civil rights attorney Nekima Levy Armstrong to make it appear that she had been weeping. She hadn't been weeping.
Every day there are new reasons to be pissed off, which is why many of Minneapolis' businesses – over 700 in the greater Minnesota area – were calling it quits for the day. And as I drove towards downtown, things felt crisp and alive and vital.
Part of that has to do with the fact that this city is really fucking cold. Almost immediately my glasses fogged up, and that fog immediately froze.
Glasses defrosted, I headed towards downtown park The Commons, joining in what would become a march numbering in the tens of thousands.
It was big and loud. And while there was anger there, too – how couldn't there fucking be – it was somehow joyous and peaceful.
In amongst it all was hot food and drinks, passed out by the community.
There is a huge focus on mutual aid here in Minneapolis. "The press coverage coming out of the Twin Cities is terrible. Terrible things are happening," Anna tells me.
"But the lesser covered situation is what Minnesotans are doing to combat the siege. All over this city there are people who have no leader, no spokesperson, no memo from above, saying to themselves and their friends and neighbors - 'I can help.'
Protestors are getting media coverage and dodging pepper balls and tear gas in subzero temperatures, but for every protestor is a neighbor who's raised money to give toward groceries for people who don't feel safe leaving their home, or to go toward their rent while they're not safe going to work, or to legal fees for families with someone who's been detained or deported."
Anna and others I spoke to noted all the other ways residents, and visitors, are helping: Donating to fundraisers, tracking and tracing ICE vehicles in Signal group chats, throwing water (very soon to be ice) on sidewalks used by ICE, and housing those who need a roof over their head (some who simply need a place to hide).
It goes on and on.
Today's rally ended up at the Target Center, an indoor venue organisers had booked so people's appendages wouldn't freeze off.
I'd RSVP'd for a spot, but instead chose to double back to my car and head to a location that had been top of my mind: the neighborhood where Renee Good had been shot three times by ICE agent Jonathan Ross.
The crossroads are marked by a small pile of flowers, teddy bears, photos and cards – and as you walk up the street, a sign reminds you to treat the area with respect:
Central is a historically black neighborhood, home to vibrant cultural and linguistic diversity, situated in the heart of South Minneapolis on the traditional and ancestral lands of the Dakhóta and Anishinaabe people.
The block you are entering is a space of mourning. You are a guest in this neighborhood. Take a deep breath. Drive slowly. Clean up after yourself. Approach the space with reverence. Respect the people that live here.
Walking towards the place where Renee's life was taken, the large tyrannosaurus rex I'd spotted in the background of those sombre January 7 photos finally made sense. There it was, as loud as day.
It's hard to convey the emotion of the place Renee Good eventually died after being refused urgent medical attention. It's eerily quiet, locals and visitors like myself quietly observing and remembering.
There's a small fire burning so people can warm their hands (it's -22°F), fueled by logs thrown on by a big guy in a fluro vest. He tells me he lives in the neighboring building, and sees it as his duty to act as a kind of security. He tells me ICE keeps doing laps every day, just to make their presence known.
He offers me heating pads and a whistle.
"Tell the feds I say 'fuck you'", says John Martin. He's been parked close to Renee's memorial for the best part of the day. Out of all the people I talk to, he's the one who seems happy to tell me. I get the feeling he's absolutely fed up with this shit.
It's starting to get dark, and there's one final stop I want to make. Things have been shockingly freezing all day, but as the sun starts to drop I realise it can get even colder.
My destination is the Bishop Henry Whipple Federal Building – ICE HQ – where various detainees are being held. Like the downtown jail in Los Angeles where I encountered a spot of teargas last year, Whipple has been a site of clashes and protests over the last few weeks. But this evening it was quiet, around 40 people gathered with signs and vats of hot coffee.
Well, not all quiet. "I hope you fucking kill yourself," a member of the public screams at distant federal agents through the chain link fencing.
"It's been pretty quiet this afternoon, everyone mostly went to the march," a woman tells me.
She's gripping a "Viva La Raza" sign – "Long Live the Race" in Spanish – and going by the icicles on her eyelashes, I'd say she's been out here for awhile.
I've only been here a day. I feel frozen and exhausted – but these endlessly courageous locals are in it for the long haul. It's their home. They have each other's backs.
And in an America that feels utterly upside down and inside out, that's really, really encouraging.
David.
Finally - I'm only here in Minnesota thanks to paying Webworm members, who not only power all of Webworm's journalism - but keep all my public interest journalism unpaywalled and ad-free.
See you in the comments, or you can reach me in confidence at davidfarrier@protonmail.com
Some useful places if you're interested in helping further:
- Minneapolis Community Response Reference Doc
- @smittenkitten: a sex toy shop that has turned into the donation drop and distribution epicenter.
- @powwowgrounds & linktr.ee/powwowgrounds: a native community organisation that has been in the mutual aid game for a long time.
- linktr.ee/mplsmutualaid: mutual aid suggestions in MN
More on "mutual aid" as a concept:
David Farrier
