"I may have been carrying stacks of paper. What people handed back to me was something far heavier and far more beautiful."
Carla Pardue is the outreach coordinator for the Hill & Lake Press. She lives in East Isles.
When I set out to deliver the February Hill & Lake Press with coverage of the ICE occupation last month, I thought I was simply dropping off newspapers. What I walked into instead was a city holding each other up.
All over Minneapolis, in coffee shops, on Eat Street, in the Wedge, the North Loop, Lyn-Lake and Lyndale, people welcomed the paper with a depth of feeling I did not expect. Baristas, shop owners and strangers thanked me again and again for documenting what was happening in our city. Some cried. Sometimes I cried with them.
I kept hearing the same thing. Everyone has a role in this resistance. Some protest. Some deliver food. Some watch out for children. Some hold vigil. Some document. I never once felt like what I was doing was small.
People told me the paper mattered, that having a physical record mattered, that being seen in print made this moment real.
I visited the Alex Pretti memorial several times while delivering. I found the same feeling there. Grief, yes, but also unity.
No one asked who anyone voted for or what neighborhood they lived in. We were people trying to take care of one another. I have lived here a long time, and I have never felt Minneapolis come together quite like this.
At every stop, the papers disappeared faster than I could replenish them. People took them home, shared them with friends and brought them to their own communities so others could understand what was happening here. Not one shop turned me away. Not one person dismissed the work.
"What stayed with me most was how often I heard one word: documentation."
What stayed with me most was how often I heard one word: documentation. People told me they were grateful that our community had something solid and lasting. Not a viral clip and not something that could be edited or distorted.
A printed record of witness and testimony. Something future neighbors can hold in their hands and say, “This is what we lived through. This is who we were.”
I may have been carrying stacks of paper. What people handed back to me was something far heavier and far more beautiful. Proof that in the middle of fear, Minneapolis found its way to each other.
