By: Margaret W

Lake Harriet in South Minneapolis. Photo by author.

Minneapolis is a beautiful, messy, resilient, complicated place. It has broken my heart and given me life, and made me who I am. It is a mirror, showing us both the evil underpinnings of our country, and the radical possibilities of who we can be if we embrace one another in pursuit of liberation. Minneapolis is where I was born and where I spent most of my life, until I moved to the East Coast a few years ago. It is difficult to describe the emotions I have felt this month as both my newsfeed and personal conversations have reflected the violence playing out on the streets I grew up on. The heartbreak is parallelled only by pride and hope as my city stands up to authoritarianism with coordinated courage and care. As events have unfolded, something that has stood out to me are posts on social media that seem to romanticize Minnesota as a place filled with hearty Midwesterners who are somehow innately “built different.” While it is gratifying in some ways, and while I, too, feel inspired, it also feels important to emphasize that we Minnesotans are nothing more and nothing less than human. We make mistakes, we feel helpless and hopeless sometimes, and we do, in fact, get cold. The people of Minneapolis didn’t just show up perfectly prepared– this was learned. Which means that all of us, no matter where we are, are capable of resisting, protecting each other, and taking action for a better future. Each person, and each community, has a gift to offer the movement, and we must remember that diversity is our strength.

As a young adult in Minneapolis during the occupation and uprising of 2020, I did a lot of research about emergency preparedness. Throughout my exploration, the first step was almost always to know yourself, and know your people. What resources do you have? What are your vulnerabilities? Who are you connected with? What is your local ecosystem like? Wherever you are, there are allies around you, there are bonds to form and strengthen. There are children to care for, seeds to plant, trees to rest under. There are neighbors to check in on and conversations to have. Seek and listen, keep your heart open. You might have deeper knowledge about your surroundings than you realize, or you might know someone who does. I can’t tell you what your role will end up being, but I do know, as adrienne maree brown often says, that we need all of us.

This month I am also reminded that storytelling is part of what makes us human; it’s the foundation of how we learn and how we process the world around us. I was moved to join Libraries Liberation because I believe in the power of stories to spark long-term change. Each book that gets dropped off, each heart that is challenged or healed gets us closer to a liberated future. Each independent bookstore we support gets to keep providing critical resources to their communities. One of our core partners, Birchbark Books, is particularly dear to me, as my family and friends frequented it growing up. Located in South Minneapolis, Birchbark has been offering sanctuary and warmth to those who need it. They also stood in solidarity with their neighbors by participating in the general strike on January 23. You can show them some love by purchasing books and art directly from their site– they ship anywhere in the country — and following them on social media. You can also explore and share this toolkit, put together by Minnesota organizers, which includes resources for encouraging local businesses to know their rights and stand up to ICE.

Although I am watching from afar this time around, my body remembers the constant chest pain, the numbness, the horror of state violence in my city. But it also remembers the power, courage, and tender yet defiant hope as I witnessed the depth of care and resistance. We are in this for the long-haul, and remembering our humanity helps us sustain our work, while also pushing back against the forces of dehumanization. I will end with a poem I wrote as I was processing the events of this month. In all of our many places, may we create a future where the fullness of our humanity is celebrated as the sacred gift that it is.

Minneapolis Love Poem

City of water,
You teach us to flow,
To adapt to extremes, while staying true.
Sun bakes, leaves fall, ground freezes, buds burst.
The cycles are the same in the way they change everything.
City of water,
You have held so many tears.
Heartbreak haunts your history.
Yet hope has made its home here, too.
Under the cold lies a tender warmth, steadfast and enduring.
People are drawn by your gravity and wonder,
The rainbow mist of Minnehaha, the murals along Lake,
The craggy cottonwoods brushing the sky as they make their summer snow.
City of water,
You hold centuries of sickening violence.
You have had to become an expert vigil keeper.
Candle wax drips and pools, offerings pile up at every corner.
No street is untouched by tragedy. 
Here, it is impossible to ignore the grief that saturates this land.
City of water,
You hold eons of boundless hope.
Seasons turn, and Loon cries as she slices through your reflected skyline,
Creating ripples in her wake.
She has taught you to dive deep,
To keep the vulnerable safe with your own body.
Your people gather to cry for justice,
They feed one another, see one another.
Waves turn to a flood, years in the making.
City of water,
You remind us that we are powerful.
The Mississippi churns and whispers under the ice.
Six-foot Sturgeon slips slowly through the frigid depths.
A gentle giant, a formidable force.
She too has offered you wisdom from her survival strategy.
Embrace the dark, find a way, keep moving.
Minneapolis, 
There are no words to encompass you
Or the imprint you have left on my heart. Our hearts.
You demand dignity, you do not accept defeat.
Your people are radiant, messy, grieving, beautiful.
Utterly human.
The breaths of thousands puff out in foggy bursts.
Cloudy water, rising as one.

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Margaret has been volunteering with Libraries for Liberation since 2023. She is a birthworker, an avid reader, and a lover of the outdoors. You can find more of her writing on Substack.