Well, it has taken more than 25 years of living in Saint Paul, but I believe that this winter I have finally become a Minnesotan. What we in Minnesota and the Twin Cities have endured (and are even now enduring) has been a crucible through which my own commitment to this state has been forged. I’ve experienced nothing like the outpouring of neighbors caring for neighbors that these months of resisting ICE has inspired. I am deeply proud of my community and I hope we have the fortitude to carry on caring as the challenge becomes more subtle and moves behind closed doors.
Back in 2024 when Minnesota created a new flag and seal, I was pleased with the resulting design even though it was not quite what I would have chosen. But seeing this flag fly in a time of trouble, I am now fully on board. The simplicity of design and color has made it easy to embrace and adapt. To see the state colors become a rallying point has been eye opening. The lump in my throat it fluttered in the wind above a crowd of thousands mourning fallen heroes caught me by surprise. I have never felt as patriotic and proud as in that moment at Powderhorn Park.
As movements and marches have swept us along this decade, I have lamented the lack of new music. Mostly people chant, which I can do. But chants often feel angry. Occasionally there was a song, but primarily songs borrowed from movements past, songs we have sung since the 1960’s and before. I wondered where the music was. I needed to sing.
But, oh, these past months that has changed. I discovered the Singing Resistance and their songs of strength, support, grief, and invitation. These are new songs, written while our hearts bleed, written by our neighbors. It is a fresh kind of music, somewhere between the chants of this decade and the meditation of Taizé. The songs are taught to us as we gather, with echos of Jacob Collier conducting the masses. Singing Resistance has now developed a toolkit to help others rise in song in their communities.
Alex, Mary, and I have for many years taken part in a monthly vigil for our immigrant neighbors at the Whipple Building hosted by ICOM. Alex and I created and manage ICOM’s website and technology. The site of that vigil has become the epicenter of tension here. In fact, the Bishop Henry Whipple Building has become a concentration camp, overstuffed with neighbors who have been abducted from our streets and are now being mistreated in our midst. This building, named after an advocate for Native Americans who begged clemency for a group of Dakota to be hanged in 1848, is now the site of America’s great shame.
Reports of masked agents marauding on our streets have eased a bit in the past week. But thousands have been detained, many beaten, all mistreated, and most still trapped and seeking justice. We cannot leave them behind. As one of the Singing Resistence songs says…
No one is getting left behind this time
No one is getting left behind
No one is getting left behind this time
We get there together, never get there at all
We get there together, never get there at all
We get there together, never get there at all