Courage and Hope

[ID: Painting of a solitary tree on a hill with the words "Be strong enough to stand alone, smart enough to know when you need help, and brave enough to ask for it." Attributed to Mark Amend]

I am a member of a Facebook Group called 'Twin Cities Mutual Aid Network." It's made of over 2,000 members of people down on their luck, and other people who have the ability to help them. Most requests are for $20 for gas, $100 for a security deposit, $50 to help give a little girl a birthday party. Those who are able to donate typically give $5 or $10, a micro-donation amount, and when everyone pools their money these needs get met. 

The pandemic has been unequally unfair to low-income workers and to women, and it is primarily these people who make up the Facebook group, not people like me who are doing fine through all of this.

One of the challenges of this group is that those asking and those giving are going entirely on trust. Donors trust that those who are describing their situations are painting a real picture of what they need, and because there's no way to verify that, the donation amounts are small. The administrators do a good job of monitoring this — one person was kicked out of the group for asking for assistance for her kids but was using photos of her friends' kids to get help (she doesn't have children).

I noticed a man continuing to post throughout asking for assistance. First it was to help pay for repairs for his car, then his car got towed because it sat so long in one place, to money to pay for a hotel so he could have a place for him and his daughter, to money for a security deposit on an apartment. Each time, he never received quite enough to get by. 

He and I got connected via messenger and started chatting. He needed way more help them he was ever going to get in micro-donations. I asked if he would be willing to meet, to tell his story, so that I could rally to get him more meaningful support. He agreed.

We met at Fat Nat's Eggs in New Hope, close to his cousin's apartment where he was staying the night. I asked if he would entrust me with his story, so I could write about his situation and create a GoFundMe page for him. He agreed. You can read the story here, and make a donation if you'd like.

Some of the things he told me brought me back to Dr. Ibram Kendi's book, Stamped from the Beginning, which I read this past summer. 

When he was a senior in high school, he was accused of being involved in an incident that occurred at the school. Chandan was physically intimidated and interrogated by a police officer about his involvement in this incident, roughly pushed up against a wall with his hands forced behind him.  As Chandan points out, if the police had evidence they wouldn't have needed to intimidate him or attempt to get him to confess to something he hadn't been a part of. This is a 17-year-old boy — Chandan is a slight figure, tall and slim. Would a white teenager have been treated so roughly? Because of this incident he left school and never earned his high school degree. He was certain that the police were going to continue to harass him until they eventually charged him with something.

Now, during this pandemic, Chandan is looking for work. He had heard from an acquaintance that a hotel near him was hiring a slew of housekeeping positions because they anticipated that business would start to return soon. He and his friend, a woman, both put in their applications the same day. She was called the next day for an interview and hired on the spot. He was called the day after and interviewed. The hiring manager told him, "If I don't call you by the end of the week, please call me and I'll let you know." Chandan did as he asked and when he talked to the hiring manager on Friday of that week was informed that all the positions had been filled. The manager used this tactic to fill all the positions with people other than Chandan and then turn him down. I'm not sure if Chandan was being discriminated against because of his race or his gender, but once again, he didn't get what he needed.

He and I spoke of his hopes for the future and for his daughter, who is cute as a button. It takes great courage to ask for help and abundant hope that you'll receive it. I am hoping that Chandan gets the help that he needs through this endeavor.

The Feeling of Community

Monday March 8th, 2021 was to be the first day of Derek Chauvin's trial for murdering George Floyd. It ended up being delayed by a day as the courts wrestled on a matter of how many charges he can face at one time. Regardless, the community showed up.

People in my house began rousing around 6:30 a.m., wiping sleep from their teenage eyes and dressing for the day. Breakfast was delivered by the boyfriend, bagels were munched down and we all piled into the car with signs in hands.

Downtown Minneapolis during the pandemic has a strange feel to it. No longer are there crowds of business men and women dressed in suits, ties or heels, waiting impatiently on corners for the light to change, checking their phones or talking into their Bluetooth devices. Parking spaces are available in every ramp at steep hourly prices since no one is parking in ramps all day right now. Breakfast spots that used to have lines of customers waiting for food are temporarily closed until employees return to downtown. The few people you see walking the streets are usually essential workers; postal carriers, delivery service people, cleaners. The working poor gather in doorways and corners, wondering what the day will bring them. 

We walked through blocks of this surreal downtown to reach the Minneapolis Government Center since the street in front of the center has been closed and the plaza surrounding it barricaded with fencing, concrete barriers and barbed wire. The flowers we had placed in the fencing the day before were still there. We looked to the left and there we found our people — hundreds of them. 

Our people were of every color, ethnicity and gender. They held signs, wearing shirts from various previous events seeking justice; "George Floyd Changed the World," "Native Lives Matter," "Justice Delayed Is Justice Denied," and many more. 

We walked around a bit to get a sense of the space. We checked out the t-shirt vendor selling "Black Lives Matter" t-shirts, bumper stickers, hats and other items. We found the People's Revolution van, a business sprung up from the protests of the past year that provides mobile AV support for marches such as this one. We read the massive banner that marked where the front of the crowd was, then took our place several feet behind it. 

The first speaker began with "Good morning! I am so happy to see all of you here, my community, my friends." And we, four middle-class white people, felt like we belonged. We could sense the people around us smiling, crinkles at people's eyes giving away the smiles behind their masks. 

The words from the microphone bounced off the empty buildings around us. Native dancers performed a traditional dance in front of the banner, the accompanying drums booming from the towers around us. The chants of the people reverberated back to us from the buildings' heights. 

The buildings around us created an echo chamber of sound.

Cries for justice resounded through downtown Minneapolis. The court must listen. The world is watching.

History Has Its Eyes On Minneapolis

The sit-in on Hennepin Ave and reading of the names of Minnesotans murdered by police in MN.

Today the girls and I participated in a silent march to honor George Floyd's memory and demand justice on the eve of the trial of his murderer, Derek Chauvin. There were several hundred people in attendance. We also noticed a huge contingency of press were there; cameras and microphones everywhere, two broadcasting station helicopters hovering overhead. 

They had a white coffin draped with a massive spray of red roses representing George Floyd and all Minnesotans killed by police brutality. They handed out flowers for participants to carry along the route. Afterwards, many of the participants chose to place the flowers in the massive fence that's been placed around the government building where the trial will take place. 

The coffin being carried to the head of the march, the courthouse where the jury will take place in the background.

 The white coffin and a massive banner that said "I Can't Breathe!" were at the front of the march. While chants and music are often a part of these demonstrations, the organizers today asked people to be silent. It was quiet with the exception of quiet chatter. Partway through we stopped, sat in the street for 8 minutes and 43 minutes, the length of time that Derek Chauvin had his neck on George Floyd's neck, and heard the organizer read out some of the names of the more than 400 people murdered by police in the state of Minnesota. It sounded like a someone reading names at a graduation, only all of these people died at the hands of police. We only got through people with last names starting with A through J before we were out of time. 

For the number of photographers and videographers I saw through the crowd, the one thing that drew many of them to point their cameras their way was the crew who were there boarding up the glass on the Marshall's store. 

Media interviewing a march participant.

A photographer stands on the van at the front of the march, another taking photos through the crowd.

I don't know what this coming week, weeks or months will bring. I do know that Derek Chauvin is the first White police officer being charged for murdering a Black man in Minnesota, even though hundreds have lost their lives to police brutality. As in the weeks after George's death, I believe the national media will focus on the few incidents of violence, anger or destruction. The massive peaceful gatherings will be largely ignored. 

We will be watching this carefully, helping to amplify the voices of those who deserve to be heard and seen, and hoping for justice for George.