It was one degree outside during the Students for a Democratic Society walkout on Jan. 26. I stopped by, outskirting the chanting crowd at Northrop. It was two days after the killing of Alex Pretti, three days after Minneapolis marched in minus-20-degree weather. People were angry and grieving — are angry and grieving.
I only stayed for a few minutes, but it was long enough to notice someone walk up to the edge of the plaza and place two hand warmers on a ledge, the disposable kind you crack and shake and last up to eight hours. They paused to straighten them out, their fingers lingering a moment on the packaging, like a little prayer for a stranger’s warmth. Then they left.
So much reporting lately has centred around communities caring for each other. The free hot tea and samosas at protests. People biking around the world in honor of Pretti and the lives lost in detention facilities. The Minnesota Star Tribune said their out-of-state donations came from 45 other states so far, and more than 40% of their new subscribers are from other states.
The vignettes in this Substack post are just small samples of the moments of care happening in Minneapolis. Among them is the Minnesota National Guard handing out coffee, doughnuts and hot chocolate to protesters the day after Pretti’s death.
Here at the University of Minnesota, there are many examples of how we are caring for each other, even as many show disappointment at the administration’s response.
In a provocative assertion of care on Feb. 6, four people chained themselves to Morrill Hall, the building that houses University President Rebecca Cunningham’s office. Each wore a black hoodie with bold, bright yellow words: “SANCTUARY CAMPUS NOW.” A construction-yellow “ICE OFF CAMPUS” sign was held between two other protesters, also in black sweatshirts. Through megaphones and chants, the demonstrators demanded the administration refuse federal agents on campus so that students and teachers would feel safe.
“I felt motivated to push our institution to do better for undocumented and international students,” said Erin West, a graduate student who spoke in front of the crowd gathered at Morrill Hall. “[A sanctuary campus] is to make students feel safer, and make them feel like the University has their back.”
As I observed, I wondered if they would be warm enough, and who would feed them. I left before the police arrived, arresting three of the four students.
Care can be loud and demonstrative, but care can also be quiet.
Across from Morrill Hall, there are benches on the first floor of Johnston Hall that seat cans and dried goods: oatmeal, all-purpose flour, packaged ramen, rice, pasta and beans. The hallway was empty when I was there, still and peaceful among the advising offices. This is the Little Needs Shelf, hosted by the College of Liberal Arts Student Board. There’s a bench of toiletries, too. Anyone can donate or come to scoop something up, no barriers and no questions asked.
I went to Boynton Health’s Nutritious U Food Pantry on Thursday, Feb. 5, which opened a new operation in the basement of Coffman Union next to the Whole Music Club. This larger space, which required more volunteers and even more food to fill, was in response to higher food insecurity.
“We know that 1 in 4 students are dealing with food insecurity on campus, and Nutritious U had outgrown the previous pantry space,” Boynton said in an email to the Minnesota Daily.
I asked to observe, just for a bit, and was even invited to shop. Anyone — you don’t even have to be a student, and you can also shop for someone else — was allowed to collect 12 items total, one of which could be from the fridge and frozen section. There are plenty of pantry items, too.
Nutritious U is partnered with Second Harvest Heartland, and the two organizations have created a short-term Home Delivery service, delivering a pre-packaged, non-perishable box of food to someone’s residence.
Upstairs, on Coffman’s first floor, volunteers gathered emergency food boxes in what used to be Nutritious U’s small, compact room. It’s hard to imagine how this space could have housed all the people and goods now in the basement.
Right across the hall, Swipe Out Hunger was handing out free meals of turkey sausage stew and vegetarian options with beans and rice.
And in the theatre across from the free meals, a panel gathered on Wednesday for a discussion titled “What the World Needs Now: Care as a Vision, Resistance, and Hope.” The experts, as an act of care, went by their first names as a way to move away from the hierarchy that comes with titles.
Robbin Frazier, associate director of Equity and Community Engagement in the School of Public Health’s Center for Healthy Aging and Innovation, said she woke up at 3 a.m. that morning. She said she wanted to focus her perspective on communal care as something that stems from internal work.
“What I want you to do is just take some time this weekend, get a mirror,” Frazier said. “Just be honest with yourself and just ask about and think about your world and who you’re caring for.”
Part of care is envisioning the world we want to create, and part of that, Frazier said, is to understand our personal strengths and passions.
“Where can I invest my time, my talents, and my treasures?” Frazier said. “Who do I show up for? And speak out for? Why do I take action?”
Care can be keeping a whistle in your coat pocket, just in case. But it can also be your teacher’s struggle to navigate an improvised hybrid modality.
It can be checking in on a friend’s mental health or even taking yourself to one of Boynton’s drop-in consultations.
“We also have to take care of ourselves,” Frazier said.
Each moment counts toward a culture of care. It can be reading local news or looking up volunteer opportunities.
Care can be as simple as smiling.
