Minneapolis' common spirit, through panic and pain

From the start, I had a sense of foreboding: The administration picked a fight with the wrong city.

My husband Brian and I lived and worked in the Twin Cities from 2016-2022, before returning to my family home in Greenport. Since December I've watched in disbelief and then horror as Operation Metro Surge targeted streets, neighborhoods and people that I came to know and love. What started as the administration targeting Somali residents and immigrants, and alleging fraudulent use of public funds by community organizations, degenerated into mayhem.

In Minneapolis, 3,000 ICE and U.S. Customs and Border Protection agents mobilized, wearing fatigues and masks and carrying weapons. Seasoned U.S. attorneys, investigating those same allegations of fraud, resigned after being ordered to "investigate" the partner of Renee Good, the first U.S. citizen fatally shot by the Department of Homeland Security. Since then, Alex Pretti was killed and another resident wounded. Citizens and misidentified individuals are being detained and assaulted. A withdrawal of 700 officers was announced Wednesday, but thousands remain.

Amid the panic and pain, a real sense of common spirit has surged in Minneapolis. While remarkable, I am not entirely surprised.

In the winter of 2016, we landed in Powderhorn Park, a cultural smorgasbord of a neighborhood in south Minneapolis. We came to support my mother-in-law at the end of her life. Brian was a Midwestern boy coming home. I was a stranger. What I first had to absorb was the cold. Winter brings long months of subzero temperatures, snow and ice. Yet most everyone was out and about. Many complained while most embraced the cold with citywide outdoor treasure hunts, ice sculpture contests, skating and more. I got a warm coat and boots and walked and traveled all over by bus and light rail.

I volunteered with community groups, worked part time at a local historical society, and endlessly networked, hearing genuine pride across the corporate and nonprofit sectors.

My neighbors were full-on engaged. I found a community where people met across cultures and ethnicities, huddled around trivia games and meat raffles in corner pubs and small eateries, commiserating about the cold. Folks shoveled sidewalks for neighbors, without being asked.

Minnesotans are also a skeptical bunch; they respect authority but not blindly. You need to earn trust and respect.

In 2020, working in marketing and public relations for the City of St. Paul, my public and personal life gave me a front-row seat to the historic events that erupted, from COVID deaths to the police murder of George Floyd. The Twin Cities were left ravaged and raw. It's important to understand those events as the historical backdrop for all who've come together to face an army of federal agents run amok now.

Based on what I've learned from family, friends and former colleagues, what's been reported is just part of the story.

Massive peaceful marches and economic strikes, joined by businesses, are indeed impressive. What we don't see are the countless individual acts of caring every day, even among disparate communities who hold widely divergent views on politics and race relations. Across the Twin Cities, people are bringing food and supplies to vulnerable non-white residents who remain locked in their homes, fearing for their lives. Real time warning systems ensure that neighbors bear witness when agents appear.

In the havoc on the streets, ICE and CBP have lost something big. Well beyond Minnesota's borders, their siege marks a watershed moment for our nation. The federal government will need to work hard to regain respect.

This guest essay reflects the views of Suzanne Donovan, of Greenport, who is retired after a career that included work as a nonprofit director, writer and communications professional.