“This Damn City”

Balancing State-Sponsored Violence with Resistant Histories

By WINKS

During long nights on my weary way back from somewhere, I occasionally catch glimpses of the Minneapolis skyline looming over downtown. ‘Don’t you do this to me,’ I always think to myself. ‘This damn city.’ It catches in my throat; I want to turn away. And, shining, the lights of the business district burn on, indifferent. I find it ironic that such a symbol for a city comprises only the most fervent corporate interests. Still, the skyline reminds me of all my best memories here as well as my worst—its symbolic ambiguity is both heart-wrenching and exhilarating.

I’ve come to know this city’s history firsthand in my own way, spelunking the prohibition holdouts in Lilydale and running through the waterlogged walkways under the mill ruins; volunteering in unhoused encampments and hearing testimony from Rondo residents who watched their homes be bulldozed as children; I don’t know how much it warrants saying, but Gen Z seems to live in a detached and infinite present, out of touch with their pasts, surrounded by so much technology, media, and socio-political monoliths. Maybe it’s extremely difficult to picture the city being any different than it is now—we forget that our neighborhoods, the deeds to our homes, and our school systems are all still segregated, that structural racism wasn’t just centered in the South.

In the name of “progress,” these local histories have been expunged from (or understated in) our history books—early Indigenous histories comprised of war crimes, concentration camps, and mass hangings; industrial histories comprised of union busting, Klan rallies, being the American “Anti-Semitism Capital,” and the forced sterilization of people of color. Maybe it’s easier to forget this all happened in our backyards. Maybe it’s easier to buy into contemporary myths of forgetting.

Before this myth lived the spirit of resistance—if productive interests have had our pasts forgotten, then our antecedent anecdotes of rebellion have been forced to be forgotten even more. In hopes of memorializing or energizing resistant spirits, I will summarize a more holistic account of history. Here’s a list of fun facts in no particular order:

Both the “Baldies” and the Anti-Racist Action (ARA) group emerged from the hardcore punk scene in Minneapolis in late 1980s. The “Baldies” were a loose group of skinhead anarcho-punks who jumped neo-Nazis and any other bigots they came across. The ARA spread across the world, having no doctrines other than advocating for bodily autonomy and anti-racism. Many view this as the beginnings of Antifa.

AIM (American Indian Movement) started in Minneapolis in 1988. The grassroots organization continues their work country-wide today, addressing, discussing, and demonstrating against the systemic injustices that Native American folks face today. The group’s ongoing projects include preventing pipeline construction and providing defense to Native unhoused encampments.

The Nonpartisan League (NPL), its splinter-groups, and countless labor unions helped fight off and disband the secret anti-labor intelligence agency of the CCA (Civic and Commerce Association) and CA (Citizen’s Alliance). Additionally, they set the precedent for preventing courts from providing injunctions against striking workers (Wonderland theater) and fought off the formation of a large, consolidated, and corrupt police force for 14 years (1917-1931).

Minneapolis has a long history of mass protest and occupation against excessive state violence and predatory housing practices: there’s the Dakota War of 1862; the “long, hot summer” of 1967; Occupy Minneapolis in 2011 and 2012; Jamar Clark in 2015; Philandro Castile in 2016; Justine Damond in 2017; George Floyd in 2020; Daunte Wright, Winston Smith, and Deona Knajdek in 2021; and Amir Locke in 2022. Throughout this entire time, activists have been defending communities of unhoused folks from eviction and police violence as well.

If there is anything the long history of Minneapolis has made clear, it’s the fact that the state will always respond to civil unrest and disobedience with extreme force, no matter how conscionable the cause. This highlights the bravery of those who risked their ways of life advocating for equity, justice, and the right to stay alive. Sure, the state may crack down on your cause with police, the National Guard, informants, or trespassing orders, but the more people you have and the more persistent you are, the more likely you are to be heard and survive another day.

So how about that skyline, huh? Big, expensive, artificial. We don’t need to have it as a symbol of our city, our lived experience—we have our streets, our local music, our diverse communities, our labor unions, and our neighbors, willing to live and die for each other. We don’t need a monument, a football field, a city center—all we need is each other, and by god will we protect ourselves.