From Amy:

You likely know that Renee Nicole Good was killed by an ICE agent in Minneapolis, Minnesota two Wednesdays ago. ICE is occupying our state because the Supreme Court said that they could. Specifically, Brett Kavanaugh—who gave me flashbacks to a Third Reich judge* in his confirmation hearings—wrote in September that speaking Spanish was probable cause for detention.

*Google the White Rose to see for yourself.

And now, here we are.

ICE was always going to come to Minnesota. Once again, our home state, specifically Minneapolis extending outward, is the focus of Trump’s White House. But he doesn’t own us. He’s never won here. Our Governor Tim Walz ran against his ticket and called him weird. That’s why Trump is so fixated on us, and what makes him want to control us so badly.

When I say we, I mean Minnesota. I mean all of the kinds of people who love our home state and our neighbors. It's incredibly cold and beautiful here in the winter.

We're here because we've chosen to be here.

Hours after a friend texted me the shocking news of Renee’s death, I recorded a podcast episode with my friend and colleague Terry Newby. Terry’s a Twin Cities novelist, playwright, and lawyer who writes about Black history, which is American history. He'd prepared good questions on a related topic, so we carried on and acknowledged the death without sharing details we didn’t yet know.

We wanted to bear witness with the information we did have.

Here’s another thing I already knew: Being a white woman (like Renee Nicole Good) in America is not always safe, but it’s not immigrants and people of color and queer folks and native people who endanger our freedoms. For many years, I've driven into Minneapolis several times a week and felt incredibly safe there.

Paul Wellstone, our beloved late senator, famously said that we all do better when we all do better. Renee Good’s final words wouldn’t be widely heard until the following day, from the shooter’s own phone: "That’s fine, dude, I’m not mad at you." In return, after he filmed himself shooting her, the coward in a mask called her a f’ing bitch. Then he ran away, went into hiding, and feigned an injury; meanwhile his ICE buddies prevented medical treatment as Renee died. He's still out there.

All of this is fact. You can witness it for yourself.

As you can tell, I am still angry, and I am not sorry for being angry. The occupation of Minnesota continues in real time. Meanwhile, I’ve let myself be a witness, making relevant notes to self. Because I know that my books have revealed themselves in good time. Tiny Altars, published in 2023, provides relevant prologue to what's happening right now.

Ten years ago, on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I walked away from my teaching career, and I’m grateful I walked away when I did. I’ve been present to pay attention to what’s happening in Minnesota and forge connections far beyond her borders.

This moment will add up to so much more.

My own experience tells me so. Both of my memoirs document everyday intersections with historical moments. In 1987, as an exchange student to West Germany with minimal German fluency, I lived on a street named after two heroes of the German resistance, siblings Sophie and Hans Scholl from the White Rose. They grew up in the Black Forest where my host family lived. I stood on both sides of the notorious Berlin Wall, built in the aftermath of World War II, and I first learned their history further in a West Berlin museum. My comprehensive journal of daily rambling notes to self from those three months helped me to write and publish German Awakening three decades after I returned home from West Germany, a country that no longer exists.

Once the Berlin Wall fell in 1989 and reunified a divided people, my German literature major no longer made logical sense. Yet my path through language education was the most relevant training I can imagine to meet this moment in American history, as ICE comes down on us all.

I haven’t been outside much in this cold snap, unlike many brave neighbors in Minneapolis. But I know what it is to live and learn and connect using a non-native-to-me language. That’s worth a lot in this moment. I'll find the work I'm called to do. I call myself a Courageous Wordsmith, along with my collaborators. We're in this together.

What’s the work you’re called to do? How are you courageous?

I am asking you to not look away from Minneapolis or Greater Minnesota. I wonder, what can you offer to center humanity in this moment? How can you raise awareness so that all of US, everywhere, can do better? You don’t have to know the end at the outset.

You don’t have to be a martyr for the cause. But we all need you. Nothing is wasted.

We start wherever we are.

All the path of a real-life witness requires is that we’re aware: We’re willing to ask questions, listen, keep taking notes, and do something Good.

Terrance C. Newby is an attorney, novelist, and playwright based in Roseville, Minnesota. His plays The Cage, The Body Politic, Reunion Forever, The Piano Teacher, Little Rock 1942 and Our Dearest Friends have been professionally staged in Twin Cities theaters. Terry’s novel Dangerfield’s Promise was published in April 2022, and has received five-star reviews from the Seattle Book Review, Manhattan Book Review, Chicago Book Review, and the Midwest Book Review, among others. The book and customer reviews are available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Terry is currently working on a sequel to Dangerfield’s Promise. More information about Terry’s work can be found on his website.

https://www.terrancenewby.com/

Amy Hallberg is the author of Tiny Altars: A Midlife Revival and German Awakening: Tales from an American Life. She is the host of Courageous Wordsmith Podcast and founder of Courageous Wordsmith Circle for Real-Life Writers. As an editor and writing mentor, Amy guides writers through their narrative journeys—from inklings to beautiful works, specifically podcasts and books. A lifelong Minnesotan and mother of grown twins, Amy lives in the Twin Cities with her husband and two cats.

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