Tumultuous Times and Community Care

A brief history of collective community struggle and activism of Minneapolis

Britta Pietila

“It could not be clearer that we are here out of love. Love for our community, love for our immigrant neighbors, love for each other,” said Amro Heshmat, a member of Students for Justice in Palestine, at a rally in the heart of campus on Jan. 26.

The Northrop building towers in front of me as each speaker grabs my attention with hopeful words and unifying demands like “ICE Out,” “No one is illegal on stolen land,” and “Immigrants make America great.”

In addition to Heshmat, representatives from the University Graduate Labor Union (GLU-UE 1105) and Students for a Democratic Society spoke. They all demanded the same things: ICE must leave our city and the University of Minnesota must protect its students, professors, and employees.

Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) has been occupying Minneapolis since the beginning of “Operation Metro Surge” on Dec. 1 2025, prompting fear to creep into every corner of our lives. Fear of being stolen from our home. Fear of our friends, classmates, parents, siblings, and neighbors disappearing. Fear of being fatally shot for “intervening” on a federal operation, or rather, attempting to protect a neighbor.

Luis Gustavo Núñez Cáceres, Geraldo Lunas Campos, Víctor Manuel Díaz, Parady La, Renee Nicole Good, Luis Beltrán Yáñez–Cruz, Heber Sánchez Domínguez, Alex Pretti, and Keith Porter are the names of people who have lost their lives due to the federal occupation of the nation. We must remember each and every one of their names.

The helicopters that whirr above our heads are hard to ignore, but the way Minneapolis has been showing up for its community is not. Turns out, Minneapolis has been showing up and out for nearly 100 years.

Minneapolis held its first general strike 92 years ago, with General Drivers Local 574, a Minneapolis truck driver union, organizing the historic day in 1934. Devoured by the Great Depression, workers in Minnesota wanted to make their voices heard nationwide, and due to a spike in union membership and overall discontent, a strike was imminent. Striking of the truckers and other workers in solidarity began May 16, 1934. As tensions between the working class and the local police grew, the need for innovation bore its head.

Promptly, flying pickets—groups of striking union members who would drive around picket-sites to ensure peace and protect fellow strikers in need—formed. The Women’s Auxiliary formed as well—an organization of women who supported from the sidelines through picketing, caring for the injured, and feeding the masses.

The community created what it needed in 1934, and centuries later in 2026, we are doing the exact same thing. Today, legal observers, mutual aid groups, emergency text-lines, and websites tracking ICE activity are all filled by people akin to those in flying pickets and the Women’s Auxiliary.

Flash forward to Dec. 2000, the murder of Alfred “Abuka” Sanders by the Minneapolis Police Department (MPD) sparked a similar activation of the community.

On Oct. 22, 2000, when the core members of what would soon be known as Communities United Against Police Brutality (CUAPB), attended the annual National Day of Protest organized by the October 22 Coalition. They listened to a speech by Sanders, where he recounted his experience with the local police. Days later, Sanders was fatally shot 37 times in his own driveway by the same police.

Michelle Gross, director and founding member of CUAPB, was present that day in 2000. Since that harrowing day, Gross has been the spearhead of the organization for 26 years. By crafting new policies, hosting protests and trainings, and maintaining emergency hotlines, the organization has made huge strides for the community and helped reform local police forces.

Policy making is their main focus. Within Minnesota, CUAPB helped pass Travis’ Law in 2021, which requires mental health crisis teams to respond to mental health crises, rather than police. They also helped end no-knock warrants in Aug. 2023 in response to the fatal shooting of Amir Locke in 2022.

On a bigger scale, they played a role in the MPD Investigation of 2023, where the Minnesota Department of Human Rights found the MPD had actively been racially discriminating against the citizens they serve. CUAPB aided in the Consent Decree, leading to transformational changes to the department by pushing transparency, accountability, and further reform.

CUAPB is a great example of what the Minneapolis community can do and will continue to do when it experiences times of turmoil, like in 2000 with the loss of Sanders, in 2020 with the loss of George Floyd, and today and everywhere in between.

“Law enforcement and elected officials have failed us,” Gross said. “And the community has been stepping up.”

With people patrolling their streets, whistles around their necks, gas masks covering their noses and mouths, cardboard signs with demands scribbled onto them in their gloved hands—citizens have been showing up more and more in support of their community. Though citizen involvement in activism tends to only increase when concerns and needs are high, this isn’t unusual, it’s normal.

“The reality is that it's generational,” Gross said. “People will find what they are passionate about and they will join it and they will get involved.”

A maintained and consistent movement would surely be productive, but it is not entirely realistic. I’ve been grappling with the fact that activism ebbs and flows and have been attempting to find the fix, purely for my own conscience. However, the reality of these issues shows that there is no fix.

“We don’t want to put bandaids on things all day long,” Gross said. “Enough people do what they can when it is most needed.”

At the beloved community space of Queermunity in Uptown Minneapolis, artist and organizer Maslin Boten hosts something they call “Melt Mondays”: another example of the resilient Minneapolis community. Queermunity is a bright event venue with wide open spaces, smiling faces, and its own cafe. It is dedicated to serving the LGBTQ+ and BIPOC communities in the area.

Sprouting from a makers market Boten hosted in the same space coined “Lavender and Lights,” the name represents a sentiment of shining a light on queer artists. Boten decided to morph the market into a mutual aid project, putting a momentary pause on the art-side of things.

“Immediately after the murder of Renee, I was like, ‘we need to do something, and this space can do something,’” Boten said. “It was really weird being there but not officially addressing or taking action.”

Utilizing their space and their intentionality, Boten has hosted three successful “Melt Mondays” , a donation drive for food, hygiene, and other basic needs for people impacted by the federal occupation of Minneapolis.

Boten experiences the very ebbs and flows of activism that Gross of CUAPB and I aforementioned, observing how over mere weeks, the number of people and donations through their door has been unpredictable. One Monday they get 30 people and overflowing bags of donations through the door. The next they get half of that.

Combatting an inherent inconsistency in local activism is a whole other story, but remembering how far our community has come from 1934 to 2026—as long as we remember the names and intentions of those that came before us—we will continue to fight and win.

To get involved with Boten’s “Melt Mondays” and “Lavender and Lights” at Queermunity, check out their Instagram page @lavender.and.lights.

To hear more from Amro Hesmat and Students for Justice in Palestine check out @sjpumn, also on Instagram.

To volunteer or learn more about CUAPB, head to their website at cuapb.org.