It was a masterclass. The bone-chilling videos we all watched laid the groundwork – people dragged through the streets, pepper-sprayed, assaulted – and in the case of Renee and Alex, shot to death in broad daylight. In the face of this unthinkable hate, Minnesotans gave us a masterclass in the most beautiful of things: peaceful resistance, community building, resilience, using art for good, and love.

As I traveled back to Minneapolis earlier this month – for the first time since the ICE raids began – I felt despair and embarrassment that I wasn’t there sooner. I took a post-rehearsal afternoon to drive through the city, receiving the street art and protest murals before visiting the memorials for Renee Good and Alex Pretti. Through my tears – taking in the teddy bear in nurse’s scrubs, colleagues’ stethoscopes hanging by the dozen on a makeshift cross, scarves of love tied on handcrafted sculptures, and the now-famous “Be Good” portrait – asking why and how we got here, I felt some bizarre combination of anguish and pride. Anguish for what happened, pride in what came from it.

Minnesotans embraced sub-zero temperatures to stand in solidarity with their neighbors, sing songs of love and resilience in the streets, and look after those around them. They knitted hats, created street art, crafted protest swag, quilted blankets, wrote music, performed concerts, wrote poetry, delivered meals, organized demonstrations, assembled trainings, supported immigrant-run businesses, wrote letters to legislators, and testified before Congress. I donated where I could, bought sweatshirts to support local non-profits, and joined the “Schools Drop ICE” Campaign, but it was all from afar – I’m sorry I wasn’t on the ground sooner. And I’m so proud to be a Minnesotan.

There were two moments that stood out to me in all of this, like being at the bottom of a giant sequoia in California and looking up at its crown, as it becomes part of the sky: Aliya Rahman’s testimony to Congress and this poem written by Michael Bazzett – if you’ve not seen them already, it’s entirely worth the watch and read.

From Minneapolis in January
by Michael Bazzett

We live in the numbness 
of an occupied city 
where every story has another 
story curled inside its labyrinth—

and when Sleep reads 
to you at bedtime, it is 
the nested one that comes 
slinking out to sew you, 

with tiny stitches and 
scarlet thread, to the mattress. 
It is a story that believes itself 
to be permanent (an odd word, 

because nothing is), 
a story that is somehow 
made of white light 
bent and glaring to illuminate 

what happened, then tell you 
it did not happen. Dawn 
slowly washes every face  
sleeping in the pale grey

mop-water of its light. 
Yet nobody awakens 
and we cannot say why. 
The answer is simple. Death 

has come here on holiday 
from the coast, yet its cousin 
Sleep remains in charge. 
Our nightmare is the waking.

As many weeks have passed and the temperature has lowered in Minneapolis, our eyes and ears are pulled toward devastating revelations in the Epstein Files, civilian lives lost overseas, and and now a new war, I try to keep in mind: May we all do our best to be Pretti Good.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

With no adequate way to transition, I’ll keep this section brief and hopefully uplifting. My days since we last met here have been rollercoaster-y with medication side effects and the emotional weight that bears, but the start of spring is showing its buds, album progress is coming along swimmingly, students are flourishing, and time with chosen family has been wonderful; there is gratitude to be held in all of these places of community, art, and joy.

Here’s a little photo diary to close out this post:

And with a heavy heart, a tribute and farewell here to a wonderful woman who we lost far too early – Deb Tien Price. May the beautiful music she created, the generous community she built, and the beautiful family she left behind, carry her legacy for always. We love and miss you, Deb.

Until soon, and in solidarity –