Imagery from the general strike in Minneapolis.
It was far too frigid to remove my mitts and consult Google Maps, so I placed my trust in the trickle of bundled individuals in front of me. Each of them bore signs and donned whistles around their necks atop multiple layers of winter attire. Initially, there were dozens of us heading towards Government Plaza, just across from Minneapolis City Hall, and within a block it transformed into hundreds. By the time I reached the destination, it was thousands. Some estimates suggested between five and ten thousand, but on the ground, it felt like one pulsing mass that was too immense to quantify.
I pushed my way through the crowd, repeating “excuse me” and “pardon me” amid the noise because the people here, above all, are consistently courteous. One individual offered me a “Fuck ICE“ pin. Another presented me with a chocolate-chip cookie. A third handed me a red vuvuzela. All three chose to remain unnamed and declined interviews.
On Friday, January 30, it marked the second general strike in the Twin Cities since the federal immigration officers claimed Alex Pretti’s life. This event was allegedly coordinated by Somali and Black student organizations at the University of Minnesota. Unlike the previous strike, which occurred last week and had the support of local unions, this Friday’s was more hastily organized than the earlier economic blackout. I overheard whispers of lower participation this time around, which was hard to reconcile with the reality that the plaza was so packed that I couldn’t see how additional people could possibly fit. Yet Minnesotans continued to arrive. The light-rail car pulled up, and through the windows, I noticed the occupants were crammed shoulder to shoulder, and they spilled out and somehow occupied space that didn’t seem to exist.
They shouted: “No more Minnesota nice, Minneapolis will strike.”
In contrast to the ongoing demonstrations outside the Whipple Federal Building, the departure place from which ICE agents leave in unmarked vehicles to track down immigrants, the atmosphere at the City Hall rally felt almost celebratory, despite the underlying sense of anger and fear that permeates everywhere here. At Whipple, attendees jeer and shout at both federal agents and local sheriff’s deputies, and their taunts are frequently met with flash bangs and pepper spray. Today, there seemed to be no such threat at the City Hall rally, yet if the citizens of Minneapolis have gleaned anything in recent weeks, it’s that peril lurks at every turn. You can be inside your car and face fatality at the hands of a federal agent. You can be monitoring ICE activities and meet the same fate. You can be protesting that killing and see yourself arrested by federal agents. You can be en route to work and be whisked away by a federal agent. You can sound a whistle to notify your neighbors that federal agents are seizing someone from the street, and you might end up, at minimum, pepper sprayed by a federal agent. Medics were present, roaming, ready for any eventuality.
Helicopters hovered above. Volunteer marshals clad in neon vests, positioned at nearly every entryway and street intersection, guided the throng. One cautioned me about the ice; unfortunately, I did not catch her warning and slipped, but a woman behind me broke my fall.
