It was a beautiful, balmy day to drive to Minneapolis. We were on an “art blitz.”
We had tickets in hand for the special exhibit at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, “Royal Bronzes: Cambodian Art of the Divine,” with plans to head over to the Walker Art Center to see Dyani White Hawk’s “Love Language.”
We wandered through the MIA’s ancient bronzes, the history nurturing our winter-weary souls and enlightening us to the stunning sculpture and techniques employed by Cambodia’s Khmer Empire. We lingered in the lobby with a muffin and a tea latte.
We skated to our car on the refreeze and were welcomed into the Walker exhibit by this quote from White Hawk: “I believe that beauty is medicinal.” Little did we know that in a few minutes we would need that medicine. We walked in awe of the colors, the beading and the thoughtfulness behind the art. Our thinking challenged about what beading can be and what it can say.
We trudged to our car, lightened by the experience. Then we turned on the radio and were soon riveted, hearts pounding, as we listened to reports that a Minnesota citizen had been killed by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent. Driving away on Interstate 394, which will always be Hwy. 12 to me, we witnessed law enforcement vehicles rushing toward Minneapolis.
The accounts from our beloved city were gruesome, and the image of blood spattered on an airbag in the car — while a simple coffee sat in the cup holder and a book bag rested on the floor — will always be with me. I had commented as we drove into town that we needed to be on alert as ICE was known to be overactive in our city, which could lead to speeding or chaos.
My intuition proved correct, as an unnecessary, over-deployment of immigration enforcers led to a citizen being killed, bystanders forever traumatized by witnessing a killing, children without a parent, city officials (bravely) having to deal with yet another horrible event.
My heart aches and my stomach churns. I’ve never felt afraid of my government, but I am now and I’m hearing the same from others. I’m afraid of the reckless, unprofessional conduct of those in power. I’m afraid for my neighbors near and far who might encounter these “enforcement activities.” I’m afraid for the stability and overall health of our nation.
A wise woman once told me the best cure for anxiety is action. So today my pen is busy. I’ll advocate with elected officials. I’ll talk with my neighbors, both those who agree and those who may disagree with the direction things are going. Because what bullies want is for people to shrink back, stand back and enable the bullying to continue.
I’m glad I had that dose of art medicine yesterday. I may need to head back for another. I encourage those who are hurting to take a moment to spend time with art, wherever you can find it. Listen to music. Go to the theater. Read a book about something you don’t know about. And then take the anxiety and and put it to work for our neighbors, our cities, our immigrants and our country.
Kris Potter is a retired teacher, writer, vocalist and grandmother who lives in South Haven, Minn.
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