Michele Norris on culture, news, art, cuisine... & all the things in between.
It's a BIG world. Lotta Stories. I'm Listening. <br/><br/><a href="https://michelenorris.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast">michelenorris.substack.com</a>

by Say What? with Michele Norris
Michele Norris on culture, news, art, cuisine... & all the things in between. It's a BIG world. Lotta Stories. I'm Listening. <br/><br/><a href="https://michelenorris.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast">michelenorris.substack.com</a>
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June 1, 2026
<p>I could not sit on this story any longer. 🤎</p><p>I have released a <a target="_blank" href="https://michelenorris.substack.com/p/the-tulsa-tapes-the-bystander-who?r=4n1rf">special audio episode on my Substack</a> about a rare recording and a reckoning on the anniversary of the Tulsa race massacre of 1921. </p><p>We need to know more about this troubling chapter of American history. On June 1, 1921, the Greenwood community of Tulsa woke up to ash and rubble. The entire community, a Black neighborhood so prosperous it was known as Black Wall Street, had been wiped out by an angry White mob. Thirty-five city blocks were obliterated. Burned. Bombed. Looted. As many as 300 people were killed.</p><p>And then the erasure began. First, they destroyed the community. Then the act itself was removed from collective memory. Police records went missing. Photographs disappeared. The people responsible for that terror pulled down a veil of communal silence.</p><p>But one man named Elgon Wilson who witnessed the whole thing kept talking. And his family recorded the stories that he told over and over again at the dinner table. One of his grandsons shared those audio tapes with me, and now I can share the resulting podcast episode with you — a story about a family’s burden of inheriting a history than an entire community tried to hide. </p><p>Grandpa Elgon always said he did not participate in the mayhem while he was working that night. But the family discovered things about his past that raise questions about his claim of being just a bystander. There are twists and turns and conundrums in this episode. And we also hear from Anneliese Brunner, whose great-grandmother survived the assault on Greenwood, as well as Tulsa native and Historian Scott Ellsworth, author of the book, Death in a Promised Land.</p><p>This episode was a pilot for a podcast called You People, inspired by T<a target="_blank" href="https://theracecardproject.com/blog/page/4/">he Race Card Project</a> where we collect 6-word stories about race and cultural identity. The genesis for this journey began when Elgon Wilson’s son Zachary shared his 6-word story about the carnage in Tulsa. We listened to the tapes. We did a lot of research. We traveled back to Tulsa with Zachary Wilson for the 100th anniversary of the race massacre in 2021. We produced a powerful episode, but it never got picked up for a full series so we are serving it up here on Substack. Some stories are too important to stay on the shelf collecting dust. </p><p>And we intend to keep going. We will occasionally dip into the archives of The Race Card Project to serve up interviews, videos, animations, hidden histories, curiosities, courageous conversations and recorded segments. Stay tuned.</p><p>Hope you will press play and take a listen. Let us know what you think.</p><p>Take care of each other. Stay safe out there. 🎧 <a target="_blank" href="https://michelenorris.substack.com/p/the-tulsa-tapes-the-bystander-who?r=4n1rf">LISTEN HERE</a></p><p><strong>Guest: </strong>Zachary Wilson, a Presbyterian Pastor in Minnesota, whose grandfather was a witness to the Tulsa Race Massacre as he worked that evening and into the next day, delivering telegrams on his motorcycle for Western Union. Historians say the family audiotapes of Elgon Wilson’s memories from that day are an extremely rare instance where a White witness to the carnage in Tulsa recorded their recollections. </p><p><strong>Chapters:</strong>00:00 Introduction to the Race Card Project<strong>00:34 About TRCP</strong>01:16 Exploring Inheritance and Identity<strong>04:39 Zachary Wilson’s Family History</strong>10:21 The Tulsa Massacre: A Historical Context<strong>16:05 The Role of Bystanders in History</strong>21:32 Zach’s Journey to Tulsa<strong>27:09 Confronting Family Legacy</strong>32:49 The Complexity of Racial Identity<strong>38:29 Reflections on Change and Responsibility</strong></p><p><strong>SHOW CREDITS:</strong>You People is a podcast inspired by The Race Card Project. This episode was produced by Futuro Media, whose commitment to stories that matter made this work possible. Special thanks to Nicole Rothwell, Mike Sargent, Marlon Bishop, Maria Hinojosa and the <a target="_blank" href="https://www.futuromediagroup.org/">Futuro Team</a>. There’s a reason that team keeps racking up awards! David Walters served as content editor. Melissa Bear is the coordinating producer for Say What Media and The Race Card Project. A big round of thanks to<a target="_blank" href="https://kaporfoundation.org/"> Mitch Kapor and Freada Kapor Klein</a> who have supported TRCP on this long journey. BIG THANKS to everyone who has supported The Race Card Project over the years. Independent projects like this rely on people who are willing to lend resources, time, ideas and encouragement. </p><p><strong>About Zachary Wilson:</strong>Zachary Wilson grew up in Yakima, Washington, twin brother at his side, apple orchards out the window, which he’ll tell you was more formative than it sounds. He studied Philosophy and Classics at Augustana College, earned his M.Div. from Princeton Theological Seminary, and has spent his career as a Presbyterian pastor in the Twin Cities, most recently serving as “Acting Co-Executive Presbyter” of the Presbytery of the Twin Cities Area of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) It’s a title akin to a Bishop. He and his wife have called St. Paul home for many years.</p><p>He is also, it turns out, the grandson of a man who was riding a motorcycle through Tulsa, Oklahoma on the night of May 31st, 1921 — and then talked about it for the rest of his life. That inheritance is what brought Zach to The Race Card Project.</p><p><p><strong>Say What? Substack</strong> is a reader supported project kept alive by reader donations and the generosity of our community. It’s a really exciting model, but I need your help to keep it going. Subscribe so you never miss Say What?. </p></p><p></p><p></p> <br/><br/>Get full access to Say What? with Michele Norris at <a href="https://michelenorris.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4">michelenorris.substack.com/subscribe</a>

May 31, 2026
<p>I have been eager to share this story with all of you for years, and as we hit the 105th anniversary of the 1921 Tulsa Massacre, it’s time to finally pull it off the shelf.</p><p>What you’re about to hear is the pilot episode of You People, a podcast we created five years ago , inspired by our work at <a target="_blank" href="http://www.theracecardproject.com">The Race Card Project</a>, where we collect 6-word stories about race and cultural identity. The journey started with a 6-word story about “carnage.” A word like that captures your attention. We dove in and did reporting. We recorded a fantastic episode. We believed in it. We were proud of it. And then, because of the vagaries of legacy media, it was never picked up.</p><p>That changes today. Some stories are too important to stay on the shelf collecting dust.</p><p>On May 31st, 1921. A White mob descended on a neighborhood in Tulsa, Oklahoma, called Greenwood. At the time, it was one of the most prosperous Black communities in America — a boomtown known as Black Wall Street. Tensions were running high that night because a 19-year-old Black man who worked as a shoeshiner had been accused of attacking a 17-year-old White elevator operator named Sarah Page the previous day. That accusation led to an incendiary article in the afternoon newspaper under the headline, “Nab Negro for Attacking Girl in Elevator.” By the evening of May 31, a large crowd assembled in front of the courthouse where the shoeshiner, Dick Rowland was being detained. Black residents, worried for his safety, also went to the courthouse to protect Rowland. Several confrontations flared up, and in the chaos, gunfire erupted, and quickly things spiraled out of control. Law enforcement decreed that Black people were the instigators and joined forces with the angry Whites headed toward Greenwood to quell what they called a “Negro Uprising.”</p><p>What happened next turned into the most destructive act of anti-black violence in modern American history. The mob destroyed everyone and everything in sight. Thirty-five city blocks were obliterated. As many as 300 people were killed. More than 1,200 homes were destroyed. One hundred and ninety-one businesses were wiped out. What was left was stolen and looted.</p><p>By the morning of June 1st, the once prosperous area of Greenwood had been reduced to rubble and ash. And then, the erasure began. The bodies were buried. The police reports disappeared. Photos were increasingly hard to come by. And the White community in Tulsa moved forward with silence. First, a community was wiped out. Then the act itself was removed from collective memory.</p><p>What makes this episode so rare and so important is that it spotlights a fragment of history that actually survived — a rare set of first-person audio recordings of a White eyewitness to the massacre. This story revolves around a former White Tulsa resident named Elgon Wilson. He was 18 years old in 1921 and had been working for Western Union as a delivery man. He was delivering telegrams by motorcycle in Greenwood on the night of the massacre and into the next day. He watched the mayhem. His own life was threatened. And he kept working. And then, for the rest of his life, he did something rare. He kept talking about what he saw and experienced.</p><p>He told the stories to his family members over and over again, often at the dinner table with Sunday supper spread out on the good linen. And the reason I can share this story with you is that his family put a tape recorder on the table. He told the stories over and over, and they recorded those tales over and over.</p><p>Years later, one of Elgon Wilson’s grandsons sent his 6-word story to The Race Card Project, and it wound up being a portal into this gruesome chapter of American history.</p><p>Zachary Wilson is a Presbyterian pastor in St. Paul. After listening to those stories throughout his childhood, Zach has been ruminating over deep questions for most of his life. Zach has spent years wondering , not just what his grandfather saw, but what he did beyond driving his motorbike. His grandfather, who left Tulsa soon after the massacre and began a family elsewhere in the Midwest, said he was just a “bystander.” Zach wondered if that was the right word for a witness to carnage? What was his responsibility since he and his brothers hold a piece of history that no one else has? What does it mean to inherit an intimate view of a story that so many people tried to hide?</p><p>This episode doesn’t offer easy answers. It gets complicated. And messy. And honest in a way that will most certainly cause some discomfort. And there are a few twists and turns that upend easy assumptions. I hope you hit play and take a listen. I hope you share your thoughts about what you hear. And I hope you will come back because we are going to be talking to Zachary Wilson again because so much has happened since we recorded his story five years ago. We will also spend some more time with Anneliese Bruner, whose great-grandmother survived the massacre and then wrote one of the very first books about the terror in Tulsa back in1922.</p><p>As you listen, remember this episode was recorded years ago, around the 100th anniversary of the Greenwood annihilation. You will hear references to COVID-19 and a time when people were not venturing out to restaurants. At the time we recorded this, historians told us that the Wilson family recordings of Grandpa Elgon represented one of the only incidents where a White witness to the Tulsa massacre recorded an account of what they saw. In recent years, more witnesses may have come forward, but these recorded accounts are still VERY rare.</p><p>The work of reckoning in Tulsa continues. <a target="_blank" href="https://abcnews.com/Politics/tulsa-race-massacre-probe-finds-1921-horror-coordinated/story?id=117581090">A Department of Justice investigation produced a 126-page report</a> that found that the terror in Tulsa was triggered by an unfounded allegation. Still, no charges have been filed for crimes committed. The statute of limitations leaves few paths to justice. After all these years, no reparations or restitution. And with recent efforts to use ground-penetrating technology and advanced genealogical tools, bodies that were hastily buried are still being recovered, exhumed, investigated, and identified.</p><p>It reminds me of the African Proverb I heard Skip Gates reference at a book festival years ago, “the body you tried to bury in the yard years ago has a toe sticking out of the ground today.” I have no idea whether that is a real proverb, but the metaphor certainly applies here..</p><p><strong>One more thing before you press play.</strong></p><p>We are so glad we can finally share this episode. We’d love to hear your thoughts, questions or observations. And if you want to share your own 6-word story, the inbox at The Race Card Project is always open and we will occasionally roll out new episodes of You People in coming months. Stay tuned.</p><p>Take care of yourself and each other. Stay safe out there.</p><p>The Tulsa Tapes- Hosted By Michele NorrisYou People Episode 01</p><p><strong>Guest: Zachary Wilson</strong></p><p><strong>Chapters:</strong>00:00 Introduction to the Race Card Project<strong>00:34 About TRCP</strong>01:16 Exploring Inheritance and Identity<strong>04:39 Zachary Wilson’s Family History</strong>10:21 The Tulsa Massacre: A Historical Context<strong>16:05 The Role of Bystanders in History</strong>21:32 Zach’s Journey to Tulsa<strong>27:09 Confronting Family Legacy</strong>32:49 The Complexity of Racial Identity<strong>38:29 Reflections on Change and Responsibility</strong></p><p><strong>SHOW CREDITS:</strong>You People is a podcast inspired by The Race Card Project. This episode was produced by Futuro Media, whose commitment to stories that matter made this work possible. Special thanks to Nicole Rothwell, Mike Sargent, Marlon Bishop, Maria Hinojosa and the <a target="_blank" href="https://www.futuromediagroup.org/">Futuro Team</a>. There’s a reason that team keeps racking up awards! David Walters served as content editor. Melissa Bear is the coordinating producer for Say What Media and The Race Card Project. A big round of thanks to<a target="_blank" href="https://kaporfoundation.org/"> Mitch Kapor and Freada Kapor Klein</a> who have supported TRCP on this long journey. </p><p><strong>About Zachary Wilson:</strong>Zachary Wilson grew up in Yakima, Washington, twin brother at his side, apple orchards out the window, which he’ll tell you was more formative than it sounds. He studied Philosophy and Classics at Augustana College, earned his M.Div. from Princeton Theological Seminary, and has spent his career as a Presbyterian pastor in the Twin Cities, most recently serving as “Acting Co-Executive Presbyter” of the Presbytery of the Twin Cities Area of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) It a title akin to a Bishop. He and his wife have called St. Paul home for many years.</p><p>He is also, it turns out, the grandson of a man who was riding a motorcycle through Tulsa, Oklahoma on the night of May 31st, 1921 — and talked about it for the rest of his life. That inheritance is what brought Zach to The Race Card Project.</p><p><p><strong>Say What? Substack</strong> is a reader supported project kept alive by reader donations and the generosity of our community. It’s a really exciting model, but I need your help to keep it going. Subscribe so you never miss Say What?. </p></p><p></p><p></p> <br/><br/>Get full access to Say What? with Michele Norris at <a href="https://michelenorris.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4">michelenorris.substack.com/subscribe</a>

February 9, 2026
<p>I was asked a question recently on air that has stayed with me.</p><p><strong>What does the world need to know about Minnesota right now?</strong></p><p>It came during a conversation about the aggressive immigration enforcement operations unfolding across the state — a conversation rooted in what I’d seen firsthand as a journalist reporting on the ground. I answered as a Minnesotan. As someone who understands the state’s rhythms. It’s silences. Its pride of place.</p><p>But the more I thought about the question afterward, the more certain I became: no one person should answer it alone.</p><p><p><strong>Minnesota is more than a slogan.</strong></p></p><p>It is not a stereotype, though when people hear the word Minnesota, they often think of popular culture or pain points—Prince or plentiful lakes or the flat-oh’d accent in films like Fargo or a city in flames after the murder of George Floyd or the way the killings of Rene Good and Alex Pretti have inflamed the debate over immigration enforcement.</p><p>Minnesota is now under a global spotlight and in moments like this — when a place is being defined from the outside, often through images of conflict or fear — it matters who gets to speak.</p><p>So I asked the people who live there, who love it, who chose it, who left and still carry it with them.</p><p><strong>What does the world need to know about Minnesota right now?</strong></p><p>What came back wasn’t a rebuttal.</p><p>It was a values statement.</p><p>Melissa Rach has lived in Minnesota for 30 years and wants the world to know this :</p><p><strong>We are stoic but unyielding: We aren’t loud for the sake of noise. We are loud for the sake of justice. We are the North Star State: We consistently lead the nation in voter turnout (nearly 80% in 2020) because we believe our voices are our power. Maybe ICE didn’t realize that civics is a way of life in Minnesota. It is what makes us Minnesota. We carry the Constitution in our pockets.</strong></p><p><strong>We’re used to the cold, but our hearts don’t freeze. When 3,000 federal agents descend on our streets for “Operation Metro Surge,” we don’t hide. We put on our yellow vests, we grab our cameras, and we stand on the sidewalk to bear witness.</strong></p><p><strong>They can bring the “largest operation ever” to our doorstep, but they cannot break a city that views civic duty as a sacred oath.</strong></p><p><p>SAY WHAT? SUBSTACK is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.</p></p><p></p><p>Steve Ladwig was born and raised in Minnesota, but left for a time when he was in the Navy onboard submarines</p><p><strong>The one thing you always hear in the sub service is to have the persons to your left and right. You sacrifice everything for those to the left and to the right. That is what makes submarine crews so effective and a brotherhood.</strong></p><p><strong>Minnesota is the same; it doesn’t matter if your neighbors to the right and left are Asian, Latino, or Somali. You sacrifice everything for your neighbors. We are Minnesota</strong></p><p>So let’s talk about the word, “Neighbor.”</p><p>It is a word that echoes through so many of the responses. And people are not talking about folks who live next door. It is a big, elastic, open-armed concept that embraces the idea of beloved community.</p><p>Lona Dallesandro, who moved to Minnesota in 2008, wrote this:</p><p><strong>“We’re good neighbors even when we’re not good friends. There is a line we won’t cross as it relates to how we care for each other - generally, people don’t want to see other people do badly here.”</strong></p><p>Another writer explained it through the patterns of daily life:</p><p><strong>“Empathy is ingrained in us. You don’t survive a cold winter without a village. Bars are tastier when they are shared. A campfire beer only hits the spot when you can toss one to a neighbor.”</strong></p><p>Rob Kimm added this;</p><p><strong>“Born and raised in northern MN, but have been in a lot of other places. It’s the only place I’ve ever heard the word ‘neighbor’ used as a verb. It’s not an accident of proximity, but an obligation to do something. To me, that explains a lot of how MN has responded to our neighbors being attacked.”</strong></p><p>In Minnesota, community is built for the long haul. Not for applause. For survival.</p><p>To neighbor someone is to take responsibility for them. That, Kimm suggested, explains a lot about how Minnesotans have responded to seeing their neighbors targeted.</p><p>Another lifelong Twin Cities resident traced that ethos through generations — from great-grandparents to parents — who taught him to share, to learn from others, to hold out a hand.</p><p><strong>“We can be a little reserved,” he wrote. “But make no mistake, our convictions run deep.</strong><strong>”</strong></p><p>Several people suggested that the spirit of mutual aid springs from the cold, long winters. The months when survival is collective, whether you like it or not. LaurenWarren explains that surviving the state’s brutal winters is not a solo endeavor.</p><p><strong>“Every time it snows, you’ll see someone’s car get stuck, and it is your duty to help push them out, no matter what you’re doing, because the same thing will happen to you and you’ll need a stranger to help when it’s your turn. Right now, they are coming for thousands of people, so we have to help however we can because someday we will need help too.”</strong></p><p>Monta Hayner is a fly fishing guide and says this:</p><p><strong>“The long history of mutual support begins with farming, then farm co-ops, then food co-ops, then fighting against war (Women leagues for International Peace and Freedom), then accepting and supporting immigrants, especially asylum seekers from war and abuse.”</strong></p><p>I was born and raised in Minnesota. </p><p>I grew up on the South Side of Minneapolis. My mother was born in Duluth. My grandmother was raised in Alexandria, MN, where she lived with her grandparents, who came to Minnesota as a black family in the 1800’s and were welcomed by a Catholic Church in Douglas County, that helped them get settled and start a business. I know that is not everyone’s experience. Minnesotans can be insular, and outsiders sometimes struggle to fit in. But there is a strong civic pact in the state, and from experience I know this: Even with that whole Minnesota Nice thing, folks in teh state are not always overtly friendly but they are fiercely loyal. Minnesotans are not performative. They don’t announce their values. They live them quietly — until they are forced into a zone where silence is not longer an option.</p><p><strong>“For people in Minnesota to be getting this loud,” one person wrote, “there must be something really wrong.”</strong></p><p>That line really resonates because Minnesota is not a state that rushes to outrage. It prides itself on being temperate and even subdued. Civic attitudes are shaped by consensus and community infrastructure. They are molded by the belief that showing up matters more than being seen. In normal circumstances, the guiding principle is that outward expressions of anger undermine the civic pact. There aer not normal times.</p><p><p><strong>“We’re good neighbors even when we’re not good friends. We embrace the outdoors in all its seasons. And we live by ‘we all do better when we all do better.”</strong></p></p><p>Minnesota’s population is still overwhelmingly white. About 80 percent of the state’s 5.7 million residents are white. But it has been experiencing a faster rate of diversity than the national average for several reasons. </p><p>Minnesota’s meatpacking plants and agribusiness rely on diverse workforces. The state is also home to 18 Fortune 500 companies and several more on the Fortune 1000 list and many of those corporations have attracted diverse workers who appreciate the low cost of living, highly-ranked education systems, and world-class theater and musical venues in the Twin Cities. </p><p>The state’s long tradition of generous social welfare programs is also a factor. The large population of Hmong, Somali, Burmese, Ethiopian, Liberian, Ukrainian and other newcomers is tied to robust resettlement programs, often run by religious groups. There have been tensions around immigration and resettlement to be sure, but Minnesota as a state has decided to embrace resettlement through strong sponsorship programs and job pipelines. That view was reflected in the stream of comments that rolled in from locals.</p><p><strong>“MN is home to everyone. We believe in community and acceptance, no matter who they are or how they got here.”</strong></p><p>In the torrent of comments I received, it was clear that this reached beyond belief — into practice and protocols.</p><p><strong>“We share. We break bread together. We give the coat off our backs so the other person can survive.”</strong></p><p>That may help explain why Minnesotans recognize each other anywhere.</p><p><strong>“When we move away, we find each other out in the wild. There’s a magnetic pull.”</strong></p><p>There was also a lot of humor in the thread.</p><p><strong>“The best thing I’ve seen,” someone joked, “is that Minnesota is what Texas tells itself it is.”</strong></p><p>But beneath that wit is steel.</p><p><strong>“Our diversity is our strength. We’re tough as hell. Creative problem solvers. Generous. Fiercely protective.”</strong></p><p>And a deep reservoir of pride. There is something I heard over and over again.</p><p><strong>“I’ve never been more proud to be a Minnesotan than right now.”</strong></p><p>I hope you will take the time to read through some of these longer statements. </p><p>It’s worth it, whether you live in Minnesota or not because the residents there are dealing with a form of aggressive policing that could become more commonplace anywhere or everywhere.</p><p><strong>Damon Dempsey:</strong></p><p>We live for each other, and we will stand up for our communities. Our way of life is the way of life for all Americans. If we fall, it won’t be because we didn’t fight for us, the people of Minnesota, will fight till the end to protect our part of this nation, our God-given rights, our constitution, our rights as Americans. Take notes for the rest of America.</p><p>Your state might be next. Don’t be fooled. Prepare yourself because we Minnesotans are holding the line. Wake up, America. Wake up.</p><p><strong>Juli Kuhne Rasmussen:</strong></p><p>Life-long Minnesotan. We are an interesting dichotomy. Many friends who have moved here say it can be hard to foster friendships because people spend so much time with family. But I think that, in moments like this, fosters a sense of “I would not want anyone in my family to go through this,” and so people show up for a larger sense of family. We are both reserved but downright fiery when our values are breached.</p><p><strong>Jennifer Myrick Little:</strong></p><p>I am from the Chicago suburbs. I have lived in a Twin Cities suburb for over 20 years. We are 20 minutes from either downtown. Ice has been going door to door in our community and even showed up at the high school on Friday. My kids are Minnesotans. This is the first time I have felt like a Minnesotan. It is hard to break in here. For half the year or more, you don’t see your neighbors unless they are also not from here, and you get together, while Minnesotans get together with their families. They don’t need you, but they show up. I don’t know where it comes from, but people are packing food, donating goods, delivering boxes of trash food, and standing in the cold. It is fresh, brisk, and beautiful. But don’t let anyone fool you. There are people excited to see this happening.</p><p><strong>Karl Van Beckum:</strong></p><p>My wife and I have been living in Minnesota for 26 years. People outside of Minnesota need to know how bad it really is here. ICE agents p*ss on the Constitution every single day. The way folks in Minneapolis have organized to help their neighbors and push back against the infiltration of lawless ICE agents gives me hope.</p><p>There are groups of folks across the country who saw the effectiveness of the general strike and are looking to organize one nationwide. People need to realize Minneapolis is a testing ground for fascist rule, and now we’re seeing it in Maine and Memphis. I hope what is happening in Minnesota inspires citizens across the country to push back and protect the Constitution.</p><p><strong>Nicky Lynn:</strong></p><p>I was raised in a small Minnesota town, but have lived in Minneapolis for almost 20 years. It is a BEAUTIFUL city. People who visit are often amazed by our parks, lakes, rivers and streams, restaurants, and art scene. We’ve been vilified by Trump and Fox News for the last decade to the point that some rural folks I know think that I am literally dodging bullets on my way to work. The lies and propaganda have been building for YEARS and allowed this nightmare to unfold. So when you see us on the streets, know that we are fighting for our neighbors, our children, our reputation, our livelihoods, our futures, EVERYTHING. We are fighting so hard because we have felt them coming for us, and it has built our resolve. If they want our neighbors, they will have to come through us.</p><p><strong>Jen Langlois:</strong></p><p>Born and raised in St. Paul, and have lived in MN my whole 53 years.</p><p>Our cities are beautiful, wonderful, and diverse, but I do have to say that our rural areas have a long way to go. As much as I want to talk about all the positivity, love, and support we’ve seen poured out by Minnesotans over the last several weeks, I hope this is a wake-up call for rural communities to challenge their neighbors to embrace the spirit we’ve shown in our citie<strong>s.</strong></p><p><strong>Ann Tessler:</strong></p><p>If you know, in your heart, when something’s right and when something’s wrong, then you’ll feel at home in Minnesota. We don’t want to make a fuss, but if something’s wrong, then we’re going to put our foot down. We may not invite you over for dinner ‘cuz we haven’t known you since grade school, like most of our friends, but if you need some help, we’ll help you. We don’t think anyone is better than anyone else, but we’re very proud of our state, so I guess we kind of do think Minnesota is better. </p><p>We’re a hearty bunch whose family came from the farm or The Range or the old country, whether that be Scandinavia, the Pale of Settlement, Laos, Liberia, or Somalia. We’re Floyd B. Olson, Nellie Stone Johnson, The Mayo Brothers, Hubert Humphrey, Harold Stassen, Rudy Perpich, Rosalie E. Wahl, Hy Berman, Clyde Bellecourt, Paul, Sheila, and Marcia Wellstone, and Melissa, Mark, and Gilbert Hortman. We’re not perfect, though, think about the Dakota 38+2 in Mankato, the Duluth Lynchings, Philando Castile, and George Floyd. But we’re learning.</p><p>We’re neighbors helping neighbors. And if, like Renee Good and Alex Pretti, our last words are,“It’s okay, dude, I’m not mad,” and “Are you okay?” Then we did the right thing.</p><p><strong>Marika Staloch:</strong></p><p>The strong work ethic of Minnesotans extends beyond industry into education, community, and understanding our diverse neighbors’ cultures. There’s a curiosity and drive to understand each other that makes us unique.</p><p><strong>Eliz Lo:</strong></p><p>In Minneapolis, we are actively finding ways to each do our part to protect and support our neighbors.</p><p>The community is showing up with food, coats, money for rent, care packages for the front-line heroes, and support for our immigrant friends who fear for their lives. Our text chains and socials are blowing up with opportunities to lend a hand, share resources for the common good/ safety, and to hold space for each other during this time. We are doing our best to ensure needs are met and strengthen our community. “Move your feet” and “be the light” became calls to action following the Annunciation shooting, and it is bringing hope and motivating people to lead with love over the past few weeks, as well.</p><p><strong>Lynne R:</strong></p><p>Lifelong Minnesotan here. People in rural Mn are also organizing. ICE has kidnapped people from here; the cases get much less attention.</p><p>Someone drove to Texas in the snowstorm to retrieve a Hmong man who had been wrongly detained and sent to El Paso. We are all traumatized - but doing our best. There will be tons of psychological damage (in addition to the physical) when this terror ends.</p><p><strong>Michael Hall:</strong></p><p>We are under attack. We’re very frustrated, but we are strong, we are neighbors, and stubborn. We are fighting for everyone’s constitutional rights. We stand up, and we don’t scare.</p><p><strong>Andy Lindquist:</strong></p><p>We are deeply loving people. We are slow to anger. But when we are faced with abject racism and bigotry, we defend our people. We are Vikings. When we are cornered, we fight back, both with our intellect and our kind hearts.</p><p>Trust me, we will not forget these abuses. We believe in our diverse population. We will fight to the death for freedom for all of us!</p><p><strong>Morgan Mae Schultz:</strong></p><p>The ICE surge has made so many aspects of my community clearer to me. Today I’ve been thinking about a tendency to follow rules.</p><p>Don’t mistake it for meekness or deference to authority. It’s a commitment to a social contract, and we expect it from others.</p><p>Shovel your walk, pick up after your dog. Have the right warrant.</p><p>We may have been well-suited all along to observe and assert our rights without obstructing, and to protest in a peaceful way that shines a brighter spotlight on recklessness.</p><p><strong>Kathleen:</strong></p><p>We can be a little reserved; however, make no mistake, our convictions run deep, and when we need to, we can make noise. We know our neighbors and champion one another. I learned early on from my great-grandparents, to my grandparents, to my mom and dad that we share, we learn from one another, and we hold out our hand in kindness to someone in need.</p><p>Maybe it’s the cold winters that steal our constitution, I’m not sure.</p><p>I’m proud to have lived my whole life in the Twin Cities.</p><p>Thank you for the posts from near and far; it helps to be seen. We’re in the spotlight right now, and we will do our best because this moment is bigger than MN. Do me a favor, look to the night sky for the north star.. that's us.. that's Minnesota.</p><p></p><p><p><strong>“Look to the night sky for the North Star. That’s us. That’s Minnesota.”</strong></p></p><p>That image feels quietly emblematic.</p><p>It is not a claim of perfection.</p><p>It is a statement of orientation. An appeal to one’s moral compass.</p><p>So what does the world need to know about Minnesota right now?</p><p>It needs you to know that what you’re seeing isn’t a sudden radicalization.</p><p>It is a line being crossed.</p><p>It is a community that prides itself on restraint, rising up en masse when its moral center is disturbed.</p><p>Minnesotans don’t talk about doing the right thing.</p><p>They just do it. We have all seen that.</p><p>And when they start speaking this clearly, this urgently, this collectively — it isn’t just noise.</p><p>It’s a message. A mighty flare from the plains.</p><p>Take care of each other. Cherish your neighbors. Take care of them because one day you may need them to take care of you.</p><p>Stay safe out there. ❤️</p><p>-Michele</p><p></p> <br/><br/>Get full access to Say What? with Michele Norris at <a href="https://michelenorris.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4">michelenorris.substack.com/subscribe</a>
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Michele Norris on culture, news, art, cuisine... & all the things in between.
It's a BIG world. Lotta Stories. I'm Listening. <br/><br/><a href="https://michelenorris.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast">michelenorris.substack.com</a>
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