My Minneapolis

(From Oklahoma to Minnesota)

My new home hurts.

I have entered as a stranger into a long tradition of Scandinavian roots, people who are strong, who don’t just say they love others— they show their love. They feel passionately that all people should be shown respect. They are strong and resilient and all of that, but they are also worn thin, witnesses of such injustice. And I feel like a bystander to the grief they share. I want to say, “I am so sorry.” “It shouldn’t be this way.” “What can I do to help?” Instead, I just listen to their voices that cry out at the powerful who “protect” the innocent in unimaginable ways.

The right is wrong and the wrong is right and how do we respond when they’ve redefined justice? As if it’s all my fault, I just keep telling them, “I’m so sorry. What a position they’ve put you in!” When defending the oppressed is deemed rebellion and protecting is insurrection, something is wrong. When commands to “stop!” flow out of them like water through whistles and screams - but any noise that might stop the intruders only provokes them, now what? Because it’s been one too many crimes committed on your front yard, and I tip toe onto it hoping my steps bring an ounce of consolation.

You’ve witnessed way too much; I hope you know. You had only been allowed to grieve from past tragedies before they showed up to add more and what else is a parent to do but fight back?

Of course, peace doesn’t come through violence — we know that, but do they? Do they know that force doesn’t bring compliance? Fear tactics just create more separation as we flee from the brutal strategies.

Can we talk?

Will our condolences, offers for help, meals sent across the yard make all of this a bit easier? I watch as my friends take care of neighbors imprisoned in their own homes, afraid to go out. They collect grocery bags, rice, beans, milk, and chicken until, eventually, the shelves are empty and there’s not enough to go around. And they have to say, “I only have enough for 20 families.” “I’m so sorry - I’ll try to have more next week.”

How many weeks?

Where are we right now and how did we get here? When did brutality become the way we provide justice? When did rifles and weapons replace words? You have frightened our children, taken them out of school, taught them that their protector cannot be trusted, and we just keep waiting for it all to end. But when it does, where will it leave us?

With stronger ties, with a greater love for our neighbors and for those we don’t know. With more resilience and responsibility.

And with scars.

So many scars.