Occupied Minnesota | The Nation

Having spent a lot of time in the Palestinian West Bank, I know an occupation when I see one – and what is happening now in Minnesota is an occupation.

I came to Minneapolis to join the Twin Cities Multifaith Antiracism, Change & Healing (MARCH) group to protest the atrocities committed by ICE against the people of their state.

After a few days of nonviolent training, trust building, gathering, marching, and direct action, on Sunday, a day after the horrific murder of Alex Pretti, we learned that our help was needed at one of the bilingual (English and Spanish) churches in the community. My responsibility was to ensure that parishioners, who were often too afraid to leave their homes, could pray together in relative safety.

With liturgical vestments – for me, a tallit (Jewish prayer shawl) – draped over our many layers of winter clothing, plastic whistles around our necks and gas masks on hand, just in case, we grouped together for safety and stationed ourselves on various street corners around the church.

We hoped that our presence as white religious leaders might deter ICE from showing up that day — or that we might at least be able to warn parishioners if we saw ICE vehicles approaching the church. At the end of services, we walked people to their cars or nearby homes so that if, God forbid, they were kidnapped, their families could be immediately notified, volunteer attorneys activated, and video documentation of the kidnapping uploaded to the site created by Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison’s office.

It wasn’t the first time I had done this kind of “protective presence”. Staying a month or two at a time in the West Bank city of Hebron, I spent every weekday morning and afternoon escorting children to and from schools to protect them from Israeli soldiers. Just like in Minnesota – where five-year-old Luis Ramos was snatched from his father’s car in the driveway of their home last week – the threat the occupation army posed to Palestinian children was all too real.

On Sunday, outside the church in Minneapolis, I was accompanied by a local pastor who regularly provided a protective presence in the city. As we shuffled our feet to stay warm in subzero temperatures, he recounted a conversation he had the day before with his 5-year-old son.

They were in the car when the news of Alex Pretti’s death came on the radio. His son, in a seemingly indifferent tone, said, “They just killed another one, Dad. » It was tragic that the little one had come to view violence as normal. My heart sank as I thought about my experiences with Palestinian children who had come to view the presence and actions of the Israeli army as a normal part of their lives.

In 2017, while in the West Bank with a delegation of American veterans, I participated in a nonviolent protest led by renowned Palestinian human rights advocate Issa Amro. His plan was for us to create a pop-up produce market on Shuhadah Street in Hebron, which was the city’s main thoroughfare until 1994, when Israeli troops sealed off the shops and permanently closed all business. “Come buy some vegetables! Cauliflower for a shekel,” Issa’s voice rang out.

The army quickly fell back and the soldiers jumped out with their guns cocked. Issa, with an instinct that I, as a white Jewish woman, never needed to have, recognized a particularly dangerous look in the soldiers’ eyes, immediately dropped to his knees and bowed his head.