North Star Journey

As a child in Georgia, Reatha Clark King picked cotton for $6 a day to help her family make ends meet. Then, buoyed on the hopes and expectations of her family and church, she blazed a trail from a one-room schoolhouse in the segregated South to college.  She pushed past gender and racial barriers as a Black woman to become a research chemist in the 1960s, contributing to NASA’s moon landing. She went on to become a college dean, university president and a philanthropist and a vice president of a major corporation.  Earlier this week, she was honored at the Humphrey School of Public Affairs at the University of Minnesota with a reception and celebration of her recent biography, “Find a Trail or Blaze One.”  MPR News host Angela Davis talks with Minnesota trailblazer Reatha Clark King about her life. Guest:  Reatha Clark King worked as a research chemist for the National Bureau of Standards in Washington, D.C. In the 1960s. She moved to Minnesota to become president of Metropolitan State University from 1977 to 1988. She was a vice president of General Mills Corporation and president and executive director of the General Mills Foundation until she retired in 2002. Her biography “Find a Trail or Blaze One” was published in 2021.  

In Korea, people often get together for kimjang, a gathering to make large batches of kimchi, the traditional spicy fermented cabbage delicacy. Recently, I joined about a dozen people gathered for kimjang at a house in south Minneapolis. Unlike traditional kimjang, most of the participants were complete strangers, albeit with a shared interest in kimchi. We rolled up our sleeves, pulled on gloves and got to work on the 14 cabbages at our disposal. The process is labor-intensive: we tore each cabbage in half and salted them all. Then we set them aside to let the salt draw the water out of the leaves.  Next, we chopped vegetables and mixed them into the seasonings. And, of course, the fun part is done by hand. I could feel the heat from the thick spicy paste seep through my gloves as I churned the aromatic mixture in  the bowl. To Koreans, kimjang represents the spirit to survive tough times. You make yourself resilient. Neighbors would make kimchi together then store it for  the long harsh winter ahead. Without this preserved food, they wouldn’t survive. Nowadays, kimjang is usually a family affair. Of course, Kimchi is available in Minnesota grocery stores. But it can get pricey. Our south Minneapolis kimjang host was Douglas Choi. He started making his own kimchi as an experiment during the COVID-19 years. Post-pandemic, he wanted to get to know his community. He decided to ask strangers via social media to come to his house and make kimchi together.Choi, 39, said newer generations are putting their own spin on some Korean traditions, including kimjang. “You get to form new contexts around that practice, and hold onto some of the things, but it just evolves,” he said. “I’m happy that had happened. And, I’m happy that we were able to kind of get that to work and I’m excited to sort of see where this goes.”While I make kimchi, I think of my family: Halmoni, my grandma, and Umma, my mom, made kimchi together in big metal bowls, just like the ones in this south Minneapolis home. They’d feed my brother and me pieces straight from the bowl. I find it comforting making this dish with complete strangers new to kimjang.  Everyone in the room has their own reasons for taking part. Vaughn Powell came with her friend, Alicia Jackson. Powell finds the communal act rejuvenating. “I was excited to see what it was like because I do a lot of cooking on my own, but I do it by myself as my own meditative process,” Powell, 32, said. “So, I was interested to see what it would be like to do that with other people. That’s not something that I’ve experienced before.”Standing by her side, Jackson, 36, said kimchi and other fermented foods sometimes get a bad rap. “But, I think that age does something really, really inspiring to food,” she said. “Transforming it from what it was to what it could be. And I’m a big, big fan of what that becomes.”Across the room, Tony Muras-Scherber, 32, helps another group make kimchi. He and his brother are Korean adoptees. Making kimchi, Muras-Scherber said, is an act of reconnection. Plus, he loves the taste. “It kind of brings us a little bit more close to our culture and our heritage,” he said. “Doing these types of things, making Korean food and trying different Korean dishes that we normally would not have here in Minnesota and the Midwest.”After a couple of hours the salted cabbage is limp and ready for seasoning. Powell washes every leaf under running water to remove the remaining salt. Then we coat each one with the spicy seasonings. Finally we squash the precious, multi-colored mush into the kimchi jars, and seal them.Everyone takes a moment to admire the swirling hues of red and orange in the freshly-made kimchi, with Choi comparing it to “the whole galaxy.”The next part of the process is to let it ferment in the fridge for a couple of weeks. I find out later that there may have been a mishap. We possibly put too much salt in the kimchi. But, I’m hoping that I can still use it for some dishes later this month. So, fingers crossed. Meanwhile, Choi is considering another kimjang in the future. 

As parents, we teach our children how to move through the world. But as our children grow older, we learn from them, too.That relationship can grow into a real partnership and friendship — and a positive support system pushing each other to be better and do better.Our next Power Pair is a good example of that transition: Mother-daughter duo Rose McGee and Roslyn Harmon. It’s part of our new series on the show about prominent Minnesotans you may know about individually, but who also have a close relationship. Guests:Rose McGee is President and Founder of the Sweet Potato Comfort Pie organization, which brings people together for hope, healing and dialogue around race. She’s also a facilitator, author and recent Bush Fellow.Roslyn Harmon is the mayor of Golden Valley — the first Black person to hold that position. She is also an educator, counselor and ordained pastor.

Cherise Ayers was president of the student council at Central High School in St. Paul in the late 1990s. Two years ago, the St. Paul native returned to Central in a very different leadership role: as principal.Central is the oldest high school in Minnesota, founded in 1866. Known for strong academics, it was one of the first schools in the state to offer an international baccalaureate diploma program. Its graduates, including Ayers’ classmate St. Paul Mayor Melvin Carter, have gone on to be prominent leaders in business, education, sports and politics.  MPR News host Angela Davis talks with Ayers about returning to lead her alma mater, her vision for the school and what it’s like to follow in the footsteps of longtime Central High School principal Mary Mackbee, who retired in 2019.Guest:  Cherise Ayers was named principal of Central High School in St. Paul in 2022. She graduated from Central in 1997 and holds a bachelor’s degree in English from Spelman College and a master’s degree in secondary education and teaching from Brown University. A lifelong educator, she’s worked as a middle and high school English teacher in Georgia and Minnesota, as dean of students for Richfield Public Schools, as an assistant principal in St. Paul Public Schools and as an equity supervisor and interim principal for the North St. Paul-Maplewood-Oakdale School District.Subscribe to the MPR News with Angela Davis podcast on: Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify or RSS.  Use the audio player above to listen to the full conversation.    

Ethnic studies will roll out to Minnesota K-12 classrooms in 2026. The content area was added to the state social studies standards this winter, joining history, geography, economics and government as major themes.The Minnesota Department of Education is still working on a final framework to guide curriculum. But some districts aren’t waiting.In 2022, both St. Paul and Minneapolis public schools added ethnic studies as a high school class required for graduation. Other districts have had ethnic studies style classes in place for even longer.On March 18, MPR News gathered teachers and students already participating in ethnic studies and asked them to share their experiences, with the goal of imaging the future as ethnic studies is incorporated into schools across the state.What does ethnic studies really mean? Is it a thinly veiled attempt to introduce critical race theory, as critics contend? How do students react to hard conversations about race and absent narratives? And could this be one way to close the education gap between white students and students of color?MPR News host Angela Davis hosts this special North Star Journey Live conversation, recorded live at Roseville Area High School.Guests: Kong Vang, teacher at Washington Technology High SchoolAlycia Monserrate, teacher at Exploration High SchoolNatalia Benjamin, director of Multilingual Learning at Rochester Public SchoolsMarlee Mfalingundi, teacher at Roseville Area High SchoolJames Dawolo, teacher at Roseville Area High SchoolAmy Westland, social studies department lead and teacher at Roseville Area High SchoolJaLayla McCoy, student at Exploration High SchoolJackie Le, student at Great River SchoolEthan Vue, PSEO student at Spring Lake Park High SchoolEvelyn Sagor, student at Roseville Area High SchoolMadisen Lo, student at Roseville Area High School

Summit Academy OIC, a job training center in north Minneapolis, bustled with activity on a sunny Tuesday. Inside, students sat in classrooms learning how to read blueprints and cut wood for special projects. Outside, aspiring carpenters built frames for homes in a large garage on campus, with electrical students wiring lights in a nearby building.Modern and compact, its unassuming exterior belies its power: it’s one of the most successful programs of its kind in the nation.“Summit has been a part of building just about all the stadiums in the Twin Cities,” said Leroy West, president and CEO of Summit Academy.There are several certification programs here, like a typical trade school. Summit offers courses for careers in construction, health care and IT, as well as a GED preparation program. A new financial services program launches on March 25.West said their focus is on training people who are unemployed and underemployed, and providing them with skills to make a living wage. Many students are living below the poverty line before they come to school: The average household income of enrolled students is under $21,000.“At Summit, our mantra, we believe the best social service program in the world is a career,” West said.West said Summit is responsive to the needs of its chosen community of low-income people. That means offering programs at no cost, and that last 20 weeks — not multiple years like many schools and colleges.“The students that are attending Summit just don't have two years or four years to wait. They need money today,” West said. “And employers need workers today.”Summit relies on a combination of grants, donations and financial aid to cover the cost of attendance for students.The debt-free learning promise and the shorter program length were major factors for Barbara Rankin, a St. Paul mother balancing homework and housework, as she sought to pivot away from exhausting and low-paying warehouse jobs.Rankin is studying to become a medical administrative assistant. She calls the shift “a game changer.”“I’m just looking forward to like graduate and get me a career, not a job. I want a career. Something that’s going to last,” she said.Origins in the Civil Rights MovementSummit Academy OIC was born out of the Civil Rights Movement.In 1958, Rev. Leon Howard Sullivan launched a “selective patronage” campaign in Philadelphia, encouraging African Americans to boycott businesses that wouldn’t hire them. The boycott helped open thousands of jobs for African Americans.To meet new demand, in 1964, Sullivan created a job training program to train these new workers, naming them Opportunity Industrialization Centers, or OICs.The OIC model was later replicated in other cities, including the Twin Cities in 1967.Louis King is president and CEO of the national network, OIC of America. He said at their most, there were 150 OICs across the nation. Today, 25 affiliates remain in existence – and Summit Academy is the largest.“Summit’s outcomes, high graduation rates, placement rates, and wages — the success speaks for itself,” said King. Prior to the role, he led Summit from 1995 to 2021.OICs expanded their mission beyond Black communities to serve poor people of all backgrounds, reflecting a changing America, according to King. In 2023, 78 percent of Summit Academy students were people of color.King said credits Summit’s success to strong relationships with donors and employers in the region, in addition to its public policy advocacy.With its HIRE Minnesota campaign, Summit pushed to eliminate racial disparities in the construction industry. Their coalition successfully lobbied the state to raise hiring goals for people of color on construction projects.“There’s a lot of talk about, how do we close these gaps? How do we make sure that access to workforce development and careers is more equitable? Summit Academy OIC just answers that question over and over and over again,” said Lt. Governor Peggy Flanagan. Flanagan pointed to the similar American Indian OIC, based in south Minneapolis, as another culturally specific program with high success.“Occupational instructional centers are just incredibly important … They’re an incredibly important part of our economy and our future workforce,” she said.By and for MinneapolisDaelen White knew he wanted to become an electrician straight out of high school, but math — a key skill — wasn’t his strong suit.Summit offered an opportunity to work towards his goal, a pre-apprenticeship certificate, while he worked on his math. There, he improved thanks to more support and individualized attention from instructors.“They encourage you even though sometimes you might be frustrated with the problem,” White said. “They actually care.”“This is the first actual school that I felt comfortable with,” said Darnell Williams, 21, a carpentry student. He moved from Chicago to attend Summit Academy OIC after a cousin told him it is a great program.“I feel like they got the open-door policy. That’s kind of new to me. Where you can just walk into someone’s room and if you have a problem with something or you need help with anything, you can ask that. That’s not really an option at other places,” Williams said.Another element that distinguishes an OIC from other trade schools is that it’s operated by the community it’s in. North Minneapolis is its DNA. A Best Buy Teen Tech Center in Summit’s main campus offers an after-school resource for area teens. Instructors rallied to help clear debris after a destructive tornado hit the area in 2011. 2015 Tightening labor market may open doors to Minnesotans of color It’s a different approach. It means representing students and caring about their whole well-being, according to school officials and instructors. Students come from a range of backgrounds — they may be pursuing a career change or impacted by the criminal-justice system.“The biggest thing that I have noticed is actually getting them acclimated with school, because some of them have been out of school for years, maybe decades, and just getting them acclimated with that, building confidence,” said Bernie Randle, an instructor at Summit.Randle said his job includes teaching students how to study or manage their lives outside of school.“It’s family oriented,” Randle said. “You’re worried about and your focus is on this person becoming a better person.”Serving 1,000 students a year Summit recently added a new virtual reality lab to its main campus, which sits along Olson Memorial Highway, just outside downtown Minneapolis and off I-94. The financial services program is housed in a satellite location about a mile north on Penn and Plymouth Avenues.The school has made headlines for adapting programming to address labor shortages. Last year, Summit launched job training in food manufacturing.“If there’s a demand out there in the future workforce, we want to be that catalyst to connect the community to those opportunities,” president West said. “That’s why we’re here.”People can sign up at any time, with sessions starting throughout the year. There are in person, hybrid, and online learning options. West said success is measured by job placement. Over 3,300 students have been placed in full-time work aligned with their studies in the last 10 years.He recalls when Summit had under 200 students a year — now there are more than 1,000 every year. His hope is to double the number of students served. He also wants to better track if people pursue further education opportunities.Sherling Yang had been interested in a career in IT but was unsure if it was a good fit. Summit offered an attainable way to transition from working in retail.“It’s hard because retail you really just live paycheck to paycheck,” she said. “And with everything cost-wise being on the rise, inflation, it’s time to chase stability.”In her last weeks of her program, Yang feels prepared for an entry-level job in the field, and looks forward to pursuing college after.“I wanted a low-cost to no-cost way to learn and get into that field,” Yang said. “And that’s what Summit offered.”

Amid shelves of aloe juice, edamame and pomelo fruit, shoppers and employees chat as ambient flute music plays overhead.Flags from around the world hanging above the aisles move slightly in the HVAC breeze — Kuwait dances with China, Singapore and Ethiopia overlook the produce aisle. It’s only fitting for the biggest international grocery store in both North and South Dakota: the Asian and American Supermarket. It’s celebrating just over one year at its new location.The Fargo, N.D., shop moved in January 2023, swapping out its small-but-longstanding warehouse for a high-ceilinged, expansive store — a 13,000-square-foot increase (imagine two Circle K convenience stores versus six.) Sure, the change has meant a 30 percent increase in customers and a new deli space, co-owner John Huynh said. But the A&A Supermarket’s success goes beyond the numbers. ‘Really, really, really important’ The area’s diverse community convenes at the market, located at 1425 Main Ave., about a mile and a half from the Red River on the city’s east side.“This place is not only a place for people to come to buy groceries. It means a lot to provide to the community, especially our culture,” said Huynh, who runs the supermarket with his sister Sarah. “We get a chance to see people, you know, from our community, meet new people from different cultures and then bring all of them together.” It hasn’t always been like this. Decades ago, Huynh lived in Pelican Rapids and more recently in Minneapolis. “Whenever we [came] to Fargo, we [didn’t] see a lot of people from a different culture at all,” he said, adding he moved to the Fargo-Moorhead area in 2016 to join his sister at the market. What he found surprised him. “I said, ‘Wow … Fargo-Moorhead [is] changing right now.’ We see a lot of people moving here,” Huynh said. Between 2000 and 2019, North Dakota and South Dakota both experienced a rapid increase in the Asian American population, said Minnesota State University Moorhead marketing professor Hyun Sang An. He said businesses such as A&A are integral to that change. “The international grocery stores, especially Asian grocery stores or African grocery stores … play a role to attract more ethnic minorities into this area,” An said.Economically speaking, An said having a major, growing international business can draw people to an isolated metro area such as Fargo-Moorhead. And it keeps residents shopping locally rather than traveling to Canada or the Twin Cities for grocery needs — and more. Just ask Fargo resident Shayna Karuman, who is Singaporean and Malaysian-American.“Having the ingredients and like, the supplies available to cook the same food as I want to my culture is really, really, really important,” she said. “That allows me to connect with my mom and my parents a lot deeper.” “Even though I am far away from where they live in California, I can still try and get close to my culture by replicating the recipes that their parents have taught them,” she said.Before the market expanded, Karuman said she would pack her bags full of food while visiting family on the West Coast or stock up with a seven hour round trip drive to Minneapolis. “That way I wouldn’t have to just eat some American food, which I enjoy but doesn’t necessarily reach my cultural needs,” Karuman said. “If something was purchased nearby [it] also allowed me to host potluck and welcome friends over, Asian-American people, and try new recipes.”At the store, supervisor Clara Madrangcher hums a little tune, interspersing the melody with the crinkle of chicken feet flavored Lays bags. Arranging the shelves, she said she feels at home.She pointed to her brother pushed a rack of products through the produce section. Madrangcher’s husband works there, too.“All three of us,” she said. “We love the store. We’re like family in the store.” From global to localA&A Supermarket manager Paul Tann, who is Huynh’s brother-in-law, said the market, along with a few smaller stores in the area such as Lotus Blossom International Market, has been an important hub for meeting global ingredient needs.What started as mostly Asian products has grown to countless more, he said: “We have the Korean products, we have Middle East, we have the Chinese, the Indian, Philippine,” he gestures widely to a swath of goodies. Tann, who has been with the market since its inception at its smaller store in 1996, laughed as he led a tour of the impressive tea, coffee and drink options from around the world: Vietnamese coffee, boba tea, sugar cane juice. “There’s so many different types,” he said. It’s something frequent customer Kim Palomero appreciates about A&A. The Fargoan shops there at least once a week. “It makes the transition and adaptation — especially the weather — of the newcomers easier,” said Palomero, who is Filipino-American. “This supermarket also brings in curiosity to the local community of the Fargo-Moorhead area to adventure and explore our gastronomic culture, which strengthens a better understanding towards our new Filipino-Americans and other communities in the area.” Holding a plastic grocery bag of okra and pastillas de ube at the market, Palomero said A&A is as close as he can get to Filipino restaurants. There are none in the Fargo-Moorhead area. So he cooks. In the market, he pulls up a video on his phone of his Fargo-Moorhead Filipino friends, congregating around food from A&A.  “I still long for my real home in Southeast Asia,” he said. “One way to relieve the homesickness is to have a hot meal coming from your home country.”  There really is no place like home, he said. Especially when it tastes like it.

Justis Brokenrope has collected vinyl by Native musicians for the past decade. Now he shares that music with the digital world. “You can listen to music nowadays without ever touching a CD, a record, or a tape,” said Brokenrope, who is Sicangu Lakota. “It’s just so digital and ubiquitous all the time. But to hold the physical thing and then to see yourself represented in that, and to see your community, your people, your family represented in that, I think that’s just so important for us.” A self-described shaggy-haired kid, Justis Brokenrope started collecting vinyl records near his hometown in rural Nebraska. As a young musician, he played in punk and metal bands touring the U.S. and Europe. He was in a record store in Providence, R.I., about ten years ago where he found a compilation record consisting of Indigenous North American music, and inspiration struck. “I’ve heard a lot of powwow music and ceremonial music. But then to know that there were these artists back then, pre-social media, internet, everything, obviously, just in their really, sometimes small and very isolated communities,” explained Brokenrope.“They got a guitar somewhere or traded something for a guitar, and then their music was documented by something like the [Canadian Broadcast Corporation]. And so those records exist. And then that was just like, mind blowing to me,” said Brokenrope. Now, an entire wall of Brokenrope’s Minneapolis apartment is dedicated to his record collection. Some of that music is being heard again for the first time. And he says he’s collecting for more than the sake of collecting. He wants to re-introduce the music he’s found back to Indigenous communities. “A lot of people obviously don’t have the time to go dig through a bunch of thrift stores in the Southwest,” said Brokenrope. When he finds those rare records, he posts them to social media. Curated music sets go to YouTube, and photos of album covers are posted to his Instagram page, Wathéča Records. For him, accessibility is a way to build community around music.  He estimates he has a collection of about 300 records by Indigenous artists from various genres— mostly country, folk, rock from the 1960s through the late 80s. “These records can have life again and reach the people that maybe forgot about them or lost their copy. Or those folks who made them have journeyed on, but their kids are still around and remember their dad or mom playing guitar and singing.” Brokenrope says for him artists like Buddy Red Bow, a Lakota country singer who was recording in the 1970s, is one example of the kind connection a person can make through listening. “As someone who works a lot with language to hear him speak or sing a song in Lakota and English and then to hear his dad on the recording as well singing in Lakota or speaking ... it’s just so moving and just a beautiful thing to experience.” Translating Analog to Digital Collecting vinyl brings Brokenrope into conversation with a lot of fellow record collectors. It’s an opportunity to build a network of people who share his passion. On a January evening, Brokenrope met with a fellow Indigenous collector, David McCloud, who is Anishinaabe from Minegoziibe First Nation in northern Manitoba. “When somebody asks me, ‘How do you collect Indigenous records?’” said McCloud to Brokenrope. “That’s years and years of building relationships.” The two compared notes during their virtual meeting about their shared passion. The conversation included their mutual appreciation for music and much more. Both described years spent digging for vinyl and multiple acts of converting analog music to digital as a method of translation between generations. They also talk about the ways Indigenous musicians have busted through the myths of Indigenous people as the vanishing American and the ways artists have subverted stereotypes and found self-expression. “Our people were supposed to disappear,” said McCloud. “If you look at the history of it, since the possibility of recording began, Indigenous people were there, right up until now.” McCloud motioned to his own collection of recordings and shared a piece of wisdom. “You never finish. You never know it all. You’re never gonna have it all,” McCloud said. Click here.https://youtube.com/shorts/pzhye1ZzsnM?si=Qx9suBpTUfoKRCfZDJing in the Dakota language On a Friday evening in early March, Brokenrope plays a set of deep cuts inside a St. Paul record store. DJing has become another way Brokenrope shares his love for vinyl.  Music lovers will recognize Link Wray and His Ray Men covering Dylan’s “Girl from The North Country.” Fellow collectors may know Karen Dalton’s bluesy “Something On Your Mind.” Lots of people will hum along to popular Redbone refrains. The powwow crowd will sing every single word of Keith Secola’s “NDN Kars.” And it’s the dollar bin gems — the stuff lots of people may have heard years ago or may have never heard before — where his collection shines. Brokenrope’s collection reflects years of digging for rare vinyl recordings. In his set, A. Paul Ortega’s powerful singing on “Chicago,” Arliene Nofchissey Williams & Carnes Burson performing the bridge on “Go My Son,” and Morris Belknap’s “On That Dusty Road To San Carlos,” give listeners a sense of the themes important to Native musicians over decades.  While connecting the tunes during his DJ sets, Brokenrope adds another act of translation. As an educator, Brokenrope has been a part of a growing language movement to revitalize the Dakota language.  He often DJs his sets in the Dakota language. Sharing music of from his collection in Dakota is an invitation to Indigenous people to be in conversation with one another in a digital world. “To be able to use my tribe’s language and be able to create more content in it,” he said. “And have that represented more, just felt really in line with the kind of music we’re playing.” 

Updated: 12:20 p.m.Zak Amin has worked as a liaison to Kurdish families, and as an English as a second language instructor at Moorhead Public Schools. This fall he started a new class for Kurdish students to learn about their language, culture and history. Amin not only teaches Kurdish language to these students, he teaches English as a second language to many of their parents. He saw a communication barrier that needed to be addressed.“Kids sometimes have needs they need to express, but the only way they can express it fully is in English, they cannot actually convey the message fully to their parents because their parents English is very limited,” said Amin.And parents get frustrated trying to rely on a mix of Kurdish and English to talk to their children. That communication struggle was the impetus for this class. “My main goal was to create a bridge and build a stronger relationship between the parents and the kids,” explained Amin.Amin came to the U.S. nine years ago. He previously taught school in Kurdistan before serving as a U.S. military translator for eight years. The class started as an after-school offering, through the Kurdish American Development Organization, which helps connect Kurdish people with community resources.This fall the Amin began offering the class at the high school.Represent yourselfDuring a recent session, eight high schools students listened intently as he discussed Kurdish cuisine. The students are all Kurdish from 9th through 12th grade and they’ve chosen to take this new elective class. “Who knows what Biryani is?” Amin asked. Senior Rayan Salih accurately described the dish as rice mixed with vegetables. Salih came to the U.S. a decade ago. This class is motivating him to embrace his own identity. “I feel like no matter what you are, where you’re from, you should always represent yourself because I feel like it’s just right,” he said. Improving his Kurdish language skills and learning about Kurdish culture and history is also about respecting his elders.“What your people did, it’s like they did a lot for you to be where you’re at right now,” Salih said. “That’s why I represent my culture and my ethnicity.”Like many of the students in this class, Salih comes from the Duhok area of Iraq. Amin said there are three primary languages and many dialects among Kurdish people. Most of the students speak Behdini.Kurdish is spoken in the homes of 239 families with students in Moorhead schools, according to district officials. It’s the most common language spoken at home in the district, after English.There are 17 students currently enrolled in this new Kurdish language and culture elective.Making connectionsAyaah Kakasaif is a ninth grader. She came to the U.S. as a very young child.Her parents speak Kurdish, but most of her friends speak English and she feels the need to be fluent in both. “A couple of months ago I went back to Kurdistan and they were all talking, their vocabulary was so well and mine wasn’t. I wanted to talk to them and I wanted to say stuff to them, but I didn’t really know how and I didn’t have the right words," said Kakasaif, explaining why she signed up for this class. “I wanted to be able to speak to my family more and understand them and feel like I’m actually with them,” she said.Kakasaif calls the class a gift for Kurdish students. Moorhead school officials say there are 56 different languages spoken in families with students in the district. Kurdish and Somali are the two most common after English. High School Principal Josh Haag said this class fits well with the district goal of connecting with an increasingly diverse student body. “Sometimes there’s that disconnect of ‘nothing that goes on here is what I see when I leave here,’” Haag said. “It’s the, ‘how is this going to affect me in my life, in my world,’” he said. “I think that’s what we’re trying to do.”Amin said Kurdish students and parents are excited about the class. He hopes to expand the Kurdish language offerings next year. And Amin thinks improving communication between parents and students can help him achieve a larger goal. “Trying to make them more engaged into American society,” he said. “The ultimate goal is to make the parents more adapted to American society and make the kids remember about their culture and identity.”Want more Fargo-Moorhead news? Check out our local FM page and sign up for our weekday text club:Sign up herehttps://app.groundsource.co/surveys/textsms/18445189770/fmlocal/?font=arial&button=000000What else is happening in the Fargo-Moorhead area? Let MPR News know at afelegy@mpr.org. Also, take our Fargo-Moorhead news survey.

A new documentary, “Hope in the Struggle,” tells the story of civil rights activist Josie Johnson, chief lobbyist for Minnesota’s fair housing law and the first Black member of the University of Minnesota Board of Regents. MPR News host Angela Davis talks with Johnson and Twin Cities PBS executive producer Daniel Bergin about her legacy.

The rhetoric is inflammatory, but there’s no disputing the data. The number of migrants who crossed the southern U.S. border is hitting historic highs. In December, the Department of Homeland Security reported more than 300,000 people crossed the border, either by applying for asylum at entry points or by trying to cross the border illegally. According a Pew survey, Americans across party lines say the government is doing a bad job handling the current surge. Congress is locked in a standoff. Earlier this month, it failed to pass a bipartisan bill to increase border security, after Republicans in the House said it was “dead on arrival.” Meanwhile, thousands of migrants — coming from a wide variety of countries like Venezuela, Ecuador, Russia and India — are stuck in makeshift camps at the border, waiting to be processed. The reality of this broken system is not a surprise to Minnesota’s immigrant communities. Many have fought their way through it or are still waiting for action. And all are watching for what happens next. Beyond the Border: The immigration crisis, up close To get some answers, MPR News, together with Sahan Journal, convened a panel of immigration experts on Feb. 8, at El Colegio High School in Minneapolis. Hosts Angela Davis and Sahan Journal immigration reporter Hibah Ansari asked them to share stories about Minnesotans caught in the system and how immigrants and refugees to Minnesota are viewing this election year. Don’t miss this special Sahan Community and North Star Journey Live discussion. Experts: Emilia Gonzalez is the executive director for Unidos MN.John Bruning is the supervising litigation attorney at The Advocates for Human Rights.Jenny Stohl Powell is the legal director at the Immigrant Law Center of Minnesota.Nasra Ismail is the the U.S. enterprise executive director of Alight. North Star Journey Live is a live event series and reoccurring topic on MPR News with Angela Davis centered around what Minnesota’s diverse communities need to thrive.Subscribe to the MPR News with Angela Davis podcast on: Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify or RSS.  

Jamar Hardy knows home equity is a key to building wealth. He also knows pathways to owning a home haven’t always been clear of obstacles for buyers of color.Hardy, a real estate agent and managing broker of an Edina Realty office in south Minneapolis, has high hopes that a new state program aimed at lifting up buyers in historically disadvantaged communities will change that.“This is unprecedented because it’s going to be over $30,000 somebody can potentially access and potentially layer with other programs to get into a home,” said Hardy, who leads Edina Realty’s diversity efforts and who has been in the industry for almost two decades.State leaders are putting the finishing touches on a pair of programs, which were approved and funded by last year’s Legislature. Sometime this spring, qualified buyers will be able to access money to help with down payments, which are often a barrier to purchasing.The $150 million will go toward assistance, including forgivable, zero-interest down payment loan money for what are considered first-generation home buyers and those who lost their home to foreclosure. The new funding is intended to help about 5,000 Minnesota home buyers.“We really wanted to have a greater opportunity for particularly for low-income folks but also for people of color to have an opportunity to become a homeowner in Minnesota,” said Rep. Esther Agbaje, DFL-Minneapolis, who helped create the program.There are two similarly named programs — the First-Generation Homebuyer Loan Program and the First-Generation Community Down Payment Assistance Fund. One is capped at $35,000. The other is capped at $32,000.  Those two cannot be combined.To qualify as a first-generation buyer, recipients and their parents must not have previously owned a home. Those who lost a home to foreclosure are also eligible.There are also income eligibility requirements.  Both loans are forgivable after corresponding terms are met.“Unfortunately, Minnesota ranks is one of the worst states for disparities between white homeowners and Black homeowners particularly, and then also even when you look at just BIPOC people — people of color as a whole — they have lower rates of home ownership than white Minnesotans,” Agbaje said.Minnesota’s Black homeownership rate peaked in 1950. Since then, the gap between Black and white homeownership has widened to nearly 50 percent — almost twice what it was.Chart on homeownershiphttps://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/BAH1k/4/Prospective first-generation home buyers can combine this assistance with other aid programs to make the prospect of getting a house even more attainable for eligible participants.Advocates hope the additional money will start flowing this spring, which is traditionally the busiest time for the housing market.“We absolutely think this will change lives,” said Geri Theis who sells real estate out of Redwood Falls, in southwestern Minnesota. She is also the president of Minnesota Realtors which represents more than 20,000 real estate agents.“It’s about reaching the people that don’t understand the benefit of owning a home.” Theis said. “That’s what this program was designed to do. We’re going to use this all over the state of Minnesota. It’s going to be a benefit to every community out there.”While there will be advertising promoting the first-generation home buyer program, Hardy thinks word of mouth will be a powerful way to spread the word.“If I have a success story that I can share with my community, more people are going to be curious, more people are going to be interested, more people are going to want to know well how did you do that? Right?” Hardy said. “That’s when you start sharing it and it starts spreading and you see more people come in the market.”Mary Grack, a home ownership adviser with the Southwest Minnesota Housing Partnership in Mankato, is working with two immigrant families to secure first-generation homeowner funding.She thinks the first-generation homeowner program will be popular in urban and rural areas. Although the funds are not yet accessible, Grack said there is plenty to do for many potential home buyers right now.“If anybody is hoping to use this, meeting with a home ownership counselor right now would be a great first step because there’s a lot of people who want to use the funds,” Grack said. “Maybe their credit score is not in the right place yet to be mortgage-ready,” she added. “They can do steps ahead of time to make sure that they would be ready to use the funds when they become available.”

Kimberly Caprini grew up on the north side of Minneapolis participating in activities at the Phyllis Wheatley Community Center. Like other young Black kids at the time, she spent many summers as a camper at its Camp Katharine Parsons. “I was always afraid of everything outdoors, bugs, birds, squirrels, grass,” she said.She visited the 106-acre campground on Oak Lake near Watertown as an adult recently as part of a group working to clear brush. Memories of her time at the camp first trickled then flooded her mind during her visit. She said she remembered the time when camp counselors introduced her to the night sky.“They had us close our eyes walking down out … where the lake is and then have us open our eyes,” Caprini said. “I screamed because I had never seen that many stars in the sky before. Never seen anything like it. Grew up in the city and didn’t do those kinds of things.”Providing kids the chance to explore the outdoors, listen to the sounds of nature and take a dip in a lake had been a high priority for Phyllis Wheatley. It began summer camp programs in 1932. The mission of “the Wheatley,” as many refer to the center, has always been service to the community. And this year, the Phyllis Wheatley Community Center is turning 100 years old and celebrating a century of its mission.The north Minneapolis center has shifted priorities over the years as society has evolved. The center was founded in October 1924 as the Phyllis Wheatley Settlement House. The building was established to help the growing African American community that was new to Minneapolis.  The history of the Phyllis Wheatley Househttps://cdn.knightlab.com/libs/timeline3/latest/embed/index.html?source=1BaCZBx8lItLYgQ72LDQGblu5LXsLFuTkmuePLjViU10&font=Default&lang=en&initial_zoom=2&height=350It had been spearheaded by the WCA — Woman’s Cooperative Alliance — a community organization that liaised with religious, political and racial groups. During the 1910s, young African American women migrated to Minneapolis to find jobs. There were services to help young, single white women, but none for Black women.The WCA and other partner social agencies soon realized that all African Americans living in Minneapolis were in need of services, according to the Minnesota Historical Society. The agencies then decided on a settlement house for the growing African American community.Not only did the Black population grow, so did the organization. It became a social and cultural center offering sports, camping, drum corps, child care, after-school activities and medical services.  And it became so much more.Theartrice “T” Williams was its executive director from 1965 to 1972. “It was a gathering place. It was a cultural center,” he explained. “It was a convening place for the public and community, and it has been an organizer in the community.”Williams said during segregation, Phyllis Wheatley was a welcoming and safe space for African Americans. The Wheatley, which changed its name to the Phyllis Wheatley Community Center in 1962, was included in the Green Book, a guide for African Americans traveling across the country.“When Duke Ellington and Cab Calloway and all those big name entertainers back in the ‘30s and ‘40s, would come to play at venues [in Minneapolis] they couldn't stay in the hotels down there,” Williams said.University of Minnesota students also stayed at the Wheatley, Williams said. The U of M barred Black students from living in its dormitories. One such student, Carl Stokes, went on to become the first African American elected mayor of a major city in 1967 when voters chose him to lead the city of Cleveland, Ohio. The center also has a distinguished role in Prince history. His parents John L. Nelson and Mattie Shaw met as musicians at Phyllis Wheatley. Nelson’s jazz group, the Prince Rogers Trio, performed there. He recruited Shaw to sing in the band. A camp official says a young Prince also attended Camp Parsons.In 1956, Katharine Parsons, a board member of the Phyllis Wheatley Settlement House, helped establish a campsite for the organization, according to a website that lays out the summer camp programs’ histories. Parsons, who was white, bought the land and transferred the property over to the Wheatley. She also funded the camp buildings and amenities early on.“There were adults that cared enough to bring these inner city kids out, to Never Never Land, basically, you know, the outdoors, who otherwise may not have been able to see it until they were older,” Caprini said. “And provided that experience, an opportunity to, to make a difference.”Parsons campers, none the wiser, simply enjoyed attending the day camp year after year. In 2001, the Wheatley closed it down due to financial challenges. But they still own the land.Five years ago, the center and the Minnesota Land Trust signed a conservation easement that preserves 83 acres of the 106-acre camp as natural habitat.This past spring, state lawmakers set aside $550,000 for the organization to restore the camp. It is unclear when it will reopen.Over the years, Phyllis Wheatley has expanded its mission to include a wide range of programs and services for children, families and the community as a whole.The center is expected to name a new executive director this week.

Historian Brenda J. Child stares at a buttery yellow sky framed by converging treelines reflected upon a lake. The scene is a painting by Duluth-based artist Jonathan Thunder and it’s called “On the Grave of the Giant.” Below the sky’s glow is a couple harvesting wild rice from a canoe. On the lake bottom are the skeletal remains of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox.The painting is on public view for the first time as part of the new exhibition “Dreaming Our Futures: Ojibwe and Očhéthi Šakówiŋ Artists and Knowledge Keepers” at the Katherine E. Nash Gallery at the University of Minnesota. Child is a Northrop Professor of American Studies and former chair of the Departments of American Studies and the Department of American Indian Studies, co-curated the exhibition with gallery director Howard Oransky. It features paintings by 29 mid-century and contemporary Ojibwe and Očhéthi Šakówiŋ (Dakota and Lakota) artists from, or connected to, the region. It is the inaugural exhibition of the George Morrison Center for Indigenous Arts, an “interdepartmental study center to support the creation, presentation and interpretation of Indigenous art in all its forms.” Child is the founder of the new center, which was sparked by the success of the 2016 Nash gallery exhibition that she curated, “Singing Our History: People and Places of the Red Lake Nation.” The center is named in honor of the internationally renowned abstract expressionist, a member of the Grand Portage Ojibwe from Minnesota, who died in 2000. Morrison also taught art at the University of Minnesota in the 1970s and 1980s.“We tend to think in Minnesota, ‘Oh, George Morrison. He’s like a local guy who’s done well in the art world,’” Child says. “But he’s a very important figure in American abstract expressionism.”Back in the gallery, Child is focused on that yellow sky. “What I really like about this work, and I wouldn’t have known this unless Jonathan had told me,” Child begins. She pauses and walks to the opposite gallery wall, which features a string of paintings by the famous mid-century painter Patrick DesJarlait. Like Child and Thunder, DesJarlait was from the Red Lake Nation in northern Minnesota. DesJarlait is one of their heroes, she says.In addition to paintings like “Red Lake Fisherman” (also on view), DesJarlait is also famous for his 1950s redesign of the Land O’Lakes maiden, adding an Ojibwe floral pattern to her attire. “So Jonathan’s nod to Patrick is the bright butter yellow that he used in this painting,” Child says. Over the phone from his Duluth studio, Thunder says Land O’Lakes discontinued DesJarlait’s design, and the maiden, in 2020, soon before he began working on the painting in 2021.“With the yellow sky in that painting and the two points of land that come together, that’s obviously a nod to the Land O’Lakes butter box,” Thunder says. “From what I understand, the two points of land that come together, they can be seen in Red Lake where the upper and lower Red Lake kind of join.”That year, Thunder had gone to see the Red Lake vista.“It was like seeing a cartoon come to life or something,” Thunder says. “It’s very much a tribally significant image with or without the butter maiden.”Thunder says the painting was also inspired by the time when he and his wife decided to learn how to harvest wild rice around Walker, Minn. In the painting, a pipeline takes the shape of a tentacle reaching into the canoe above the watery grave of Bunyan and Babe.“At the time, the Line Three protests were happening across Minnesota and I was starting to see some of the division it was creating in the communities there,” Thunder explains. ”You see statues of Paul Bunyan kind of littered throughout the landscape, which is significant of a time when they were coming through clearing forests. Paul Bunyan was the noble face of that cause. In the wake of all that, it’s nice to see that people can still go out and rice and practice those traditional ways.”Thunder says he’s excited to be placed in the gallery next to DesJarlait, an artist “I’ve seen my whole life.” He adds that, when he was growing up in the Twin Cities, he used to play basketball at the Minneapolis American Indian Center. It was there he discovered the 94-foot-long wood mural “Turning the Feather Around” that Morrison created in 1974 (and which was recently restored and reinstalled).“That’s a huge development for the campus,” Thunder says of the new center.“Dreaming Our Futures” is a web of these overt and covert dialogues and relationships between artworks, artists and generations.On view, of course, are the abstracted rainbow-colored canvases of Morrison himself, as well as the paintings of other blue chip artists such as Dyani White Hawk, Frank Big Bear, Jim Denomie, Oscar Howe and Andrea Carlson.“This exhibit shows the history of American Indian art, fine art, in the United States and where it’s been in the last half-century, especially with Howe, Morrison and DesJarlait,” Child explains.“Dreaming Our Futures” acts as an important marker in time, too: Fifty years ago, Morrison, DesJarlait and Howe participated in an exhibition of contemporary Indian painting in Washington, D.C.Child says that “Dreaming Our Futures” also shows how contemporary artists “have been very influenced by those foundational figures.”These include artists like Thunder and Dakota artist Holly Young, of Bismarck, N.D. Young uses the mediums of beadwork, quillwork, and ledger art, an art form that originated in cave and hide painting that has evolved to also use parchment and actual historical “ledger” documents as a canvas. Young also created the illustration for the cover of “The Seed Keeper,” the 2021 novel by Minnesota Native writer Diane Wilson, the wife of Denomie. Denomie died in 2022. Wilson wrote an essay, “Jim Denomie at Home,” for the exhibition catalog.Four of Young’s ledger-style watercolor paintings are on view, featuring Native women dressed in a combination of historical regalia and contemporary attire.“A lot of what I draw is kind of based off of real life,” Young says. “I enjoy the look of the old things, but I’m also living in today’s world as a contemporary artist.”Young is self-taught. Many of her artist influences — White Hawk, Bobby Wilson, Francis J. Yellow, Thomasina TopBear — have work on display in the same room. The ledger art of Yellow, a Minneapolis-based Lakota artist who died in August, hangs right next to Young’s.“He was also somebody that I looked up to as a ledger artist. His work was very emotional,” Young says. “I always wanted to meet him, and I’ve been in the Minnesota area over the years, but we never crossed paths.”Flanking the other side of her paintings is a large spray-painted canvas by TopBear. In 2022, Young and TopBear painted a mural together in Young’s hometown of Fort Yates, S.D.“I really gravitate towards Thomasina’s work,” Young says. “She does a lot of nature-inspired work: Flowers, the prairie and the plant helpers, as I call them, like insects and bugs, things that I really enjoy myself.”In another room, three paintings by St. Paul figurative painter and muralist Steven Premo, of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe, hang facing three surrealist and spiritual paintings by fellow Ojibwe artist Joe Geshick, who died in 2009. Premo is the husband of Child, and was a good friend of Geshick, she says. Premo inherited Geshick’s easel, which Child says will be on display with a list of artists who have died in recent years. Another Minnesota Native author, Louise Erdrich, will be speaking about Geshick’s art at the gallery on Feb. 4.“Each of these individuals takes their place in a lineage of Indigenous painters that stretches back centuries,” Oransky, the gallery director and curator writes in his essay, “A Vast Field of Feathers,” for the exhibition catalog. He also points to the Jeffers Petroglyphs, the 7,000-year-old sacred rock carvings Native people made in southwestern Minnesota.“This exhibition of paintings, like all the exhibitions that came before it and will come after it, beautifully and forcefully demonstrates that the need for drawn and painted images is a universal need,” Oransky writes.At the end of a gallery tour, Child pauses again, pondering the timing of the exhibition. The pandemic set back its original opening date years.“We need to show American Indian art every year and all the time,” Child says. ”But thinking as I do, as a historian, I’ve been thinking about the anniversary of American Indian citizenship in the United States 100 years ago.”President Calvin Coolidge signed the Indian Citizenship Act on June 2, 1924. Morrison, Howe and DesJarlait were all born years before they were legal citizens of the U.S.They were working in a different era, Child says. “And that’s why I particularly wanted to include these figures like Oscar Howe, Patrick Desjarlait and George Morrison in the exhibit.” There will be “Dreaming Our Futures: Art and American Indian Citizenship, 1924 – 2024” panel discussions Feb. 2 at the Regis Center for Art.“Dreaming Our Futures” runs through March 16. The opening reception is Feb. 3 at the Regis Center for Art. Speakers include Child, Erdrich, Wilson, Minnesota Museum of Art executive director Kate Beane and Harvard professor Christopher Pexa.On Feb. 15, Patricia Marroquin Norby, the inaugural associate curator of Native American art at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art, will read her catalog essay “Painting Medicine: George Morrison’s Big Water Magic.”On March 14, artist Fern Cloud will present “The Spirit of My People: Traditional Dakota Hide Painting.”

In the coming weeks Electric Nation will deliver 10 Ford F-150 Lightning pickup trucks, and a Ford Mustang Mach E, all EVs, to six tribal fleets across the Red Lake Nation in Minnesota and the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe in North Dakota. Five other EVs will be delivered later. The project’s total value is $13.4 million. It’s the brainchild of Native Sun Community Power Development Executive Director Robert Blake. The idea, he said, was born out of the Line 3 pipeline protests. “I thought there’s got to be an easier way. And I said to myself, ‘Hey, electric vehicles are going to become something someday. These electric vehicles are going to become a part of the transition,’” Blake said. “Then I thought to myself, ‘What if Native people could lead the charge against the fossil-fuel companies with an alternative of electric vehicles?’”Blake saw the program as a way to resist what he calls “the fossil-fuel infrastructure.” He said he also wants to create his own pipeline: a vehicle-charging network from Red Lake to Standing Rock with plans to expand into other tribal nations across the U.S. Electric Nation came about when Blake teamed with Joe McNeil, CEO of Sage Development Authority in Fort Yates, North Dakota. McNeil develops and manages renewable energy sources in his area. He says the program will help place tribes at the forefront of adapting to new modes of transportation. He said it also addresses “barriers for historically under-resourced and underserved rural tribal communities with limited access to EVs.”  “It’s really building a foundation of access and awareness and education. So that it’s not a foreign technology. I don’t think that economics should dictate a person's access to technology,” McNeil said. “Unfortunately, that’s what happens in a country of capitalists. If you can afford to be in the technology, then you have access to it. And if you can’t, then you’re out. So, I think this was a good way to get our foot in the door.”McNeil said much as tribal nations banded together to answer Standing Rock’s call to action in protest of the Dakota Access Pipeline, he’s hopeful those same channels can carry those same groups into becoming leaders in renewable energy.   “We’re starting off with a relationship with Red Lake to connect tribal nations between Minnesota, North Dakota and South Dakota as a start. And we hope that it spreads,” McNeil said. “For us, it’s a way of giving back. I think the expertise and the capacity that’s built into our relationships to help other tribal nations if they want to have access to electric vehicle charging stations and electric vehicles, to introduce themselves at their own pace. No one’s forcing anybody to do this.” The vehicles will be used by the Standing Rock Renewable Energy Power Authority, Red Lake Fisheries, Red Lake Agriculture Department, Grand River and Prairie Knights casinos.  Native Sun Community Power Development will also receive an electric SUV.  The purchases were made possible through a federal cost-sharing program with Electric Nation’s partners: Minnesota Pollution Control Agency, Minnesota Power, Otter Tail Power, Xcel Energy and ZEF Energy.   Native Sun’s Program Director Lisa Daniels said all the vehicles are outfitted with a data-tracking system. “We’ll be able to see how far and fast they go, how long their journeys are,” Daniels said. “And with some interviews and some surveys, we’ll be able to help determine if these vehicles are meeting the needs that that the fleet organizations have for their requirements.”     Electric Nation plans to expand the program into other tribal communities. Once complete Blake says the EV infrastructure will create a Route 66 type travel system through Indian Country.   “I firmly believe that healing is in the environment. And once we start being right with the environment, I think we’re going to start being right with ourselves and with each other,” Blake said.  

Once again, public officials in Minnesota are considering changing the name of a lake which includes a derogatory term used to describe Native Americans.The Ramsey County Board of Commissioners will hold a public hearing on Tuesday morning on the proposal to rename Savage Lake in Little Canada. The lake is two bodies of water, split by I-35E as it runs between St. Paul and I-694.The Little Canada Historical Society submitted the petition last year to rename the lake Lake Metis. Metis means “mixed” in French. The proposed new name reflects the area’s history. Curt Loschy, head of the society, said back in the 1830s French Canadian fur traders and Native Americans set up their summer camp on the east side of Savage Lake.Initially, it was known as “Lac au Sauvages” which means “wild lake” in French. In the late 1800s, when English became the dominant language, the body of water was known as Savage Lake.“I’ve never liked the name of savage,” said Rockne Waite, a member of the Little Canada Historical Society. He has been spearheading the effort since he made his first phone call to the public works department in 2010 to find out how the name could be changed. 2020 Minnesota’s 'Redskin Lake' could see name change 2022 New map restores Native names to northern Minnesota 2023 With new name in Dakota, St. Paul nonprofit pushes Indigenous renaming forward Waite says he attended city council meetings trying to get the lake changed. “And nobody knew how to change the lake names at the time,” he said. Waite, who is of Choctaw and Chickasaw ancestry and originally from San Bernardino, Calif., has lived in Little Canada since 1974. Waite eventually connected with Pete Boulay, a climatologist with the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. Boulay also works in the geographic names section of the DNR.  The process to change a geographical feature like a lake, creek, island or mountain begins with a petition. It must have signatures from at least 15 registered voters in the county where the name change is to take place. Boulay recommends getting 25 signatures, just in case any are ruled out.From beginning to end, the name change paperwork has to go back and forth a couple of times from county to state and finally to the U.S. Board on Geographical Names. If the U.S. board votes to approve the name change, then the name change process is complete.If that sounds like bureaucracy on steroids, Boulay said there’s a good reason for it.He said he wants the name to “stick” and not have to be revisited again. “And I also want to build a good enough case where the U.S. Board on Geographic Names would accept the name,” he said.Only one name has been rejected by the board and that was in 1994, before Boulay began in his position.   Loschy said this is not the first request for a lake name change in Minnesota. “The reality is, this whole name change thing, there’s been a lot of name changes to Minnesota lakes that have been insulting to the Native Americans.”  2015 Calhoun not the first lake with a controversial name 2019 DNR taking Bde Maka Ska name fight to MN Supreme Court According to the DNR there have been 121 name changes to geographical features in the state since 1991. Seventy-one of them have been lake changes. Twenty geographical features originally named after a slur used against Native American women have had their names changed. Eight of them were lakes. One lake in Washington County was changed from Halfbreed to Lake Keewahtin.    A high-profile name change in Minneapolis led to a lawsuit against the DNR. The agency approved the name change of Lake Calhoun to Bde Maka Ska in 2018.If Lake Metis is approved, Boulay says it will not only be the first Lake Metis in Minnesota, but it will also be the first in the nation.

Martin Luther King Jr. spoke during three known visits to Minnesota. King touched on topics ranging from colonialism to the war in Vietnam. The first of King’s speeches in the state happened more than 70 years ago, but the messages still resonate in the places he visited.A sermon to pastors in St. Paul Martin Luther King Jr. first came to Minnesota on Jan. 22, 1951, at the request of Clifford Ansgar Nelson, who was serving as head pastor of Gloria Dei Lutheran Church in St. Paul.  The current pastor, Bradley Schmeling, says he imagines it was a tight fit when 1,400 people came to see the civil rights activist.“We have a picture of his presence here that hangs right outside of our sanctuary,” Schmeling said. “Knowing our sanctuary, I can’t imagine how that many people crammed into that room to hear him speak at the time.” The impact of King’s 1951 sermon, delivered to a crowd attending the Minnesota Pastors Conference, still resonates.“Lutheranism is the whitest denomination in the country,” Schmeling said. “White supremacy still shaped so much of our experience here in Minnesota.” While the congregation is still majority white, Schmeling says King’s legacy has informed the Church’s work in social justice, especially when it comes to reconciliation work with Native communities. “If the church isn’t working on this, speaking about it, it’s hard to say that we would be preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ.”A full schedule in Mankato King’s next visit to Minnesota was on Nov. 12, 1961, when he delivered multiple speeches in Mankato.King delivered two sermons at Centenary United Methodist Church, as well as a speech at Mankato West High, focusing on the need to end the notion of superior or inferior races, calling out those using the Christian Bible as justification.“It’s a strange thing how men often believe things that are evil in context,” King said, according to a transcript from his speech at Mankato West High School. “They go to find some religious and biblical justification for it. And so, they lift things out of context and try to argue or to justify a particular belief that they have.”MNSU Mankato professor Jameel Haque was involved in a documentary about King’s 1961 visit.  “A delegation of pastors from Mankato were at a national conference where they met Martin Luther King Jr,” Haque explained. “They were very impressed by him, and they really wanted somebody to come to Mankato to bring a different kind of message.” Haque added King’s speech in Mankato came at a time when the Civil Rights Movement was picking up steam.  “Having this legacy here in town,” Haque said. “It’s a big deal.” A lovely April day in St. Paul The last known time King visited Minnesota was in 1967. The civil rights leader spoke at the University of Minnesota about his opposition to the Vietnam War. It was a year before he was assassinated.“As he moved further through the movement, he really did become more radical,” said G. Phillip Shoultz III, who is the Associate Artistic Director of “Vocal Essence” choral group. “Maybe radical is not even the right word — more pointed and direct in expressing opposition to things that he thought were fundamentally wrong.”Shoultz has curated the University of Minnesota’s Martin Luther King Jr. Day commemoration program for six years, and the university’s celebration of the 60th anniversary of the March on Washington.Shoultz says he takes this time of year to revisit the teachings of King, which he believes are especially important today. Shoultz points to King’s theological belief of the “Beloved Community”.It is a “world where I can see you and you can see me and we don't have to agree on all issues, but I can hear you, you can hear me,” Shoultz said. “But at the heart, we both want what’s best for each other.” Shoultz wonders what role King might have played in current national conversations and in moments of divisiveness.“I think he would find a way to bridge that gap with his words,” Shoultz said. “Inviting everyone to come in and listen and to consider how we are all complicit in some of the problems that we face.”

It’s so important for kids to feel like they fit in, whether that’s at home, at school or in their communities. Ideally they’d feel like they belong in all these spaces, but that can be tough if you don’t fully understand yourself or your family history. MPR News host Angela Davis revisits a conversation from last year she had with two Minnesotans of color about their paths to knowing and loving themselves and how to teach that to children. They’ve both written children’s books to help kids feel like they belong and have a voice. Guests:Thuba Nguyen has been an early childhood educator for more than a decade. Her expertise is in anti-bias and anti-racist pedagogy. They’re the author of the children’s book, “My Daddy Tells Me.” She’s now working as the communications specialist for the Minnesota House of Representatives People of Color and Indigenous Caucus and Queer Caucus.Anthony Walsh is the author of the “Hockey Is for Everybody” children's book series. He graduated last year with a law degree from Mitchell Hamline School of Law and works as an engagement specialist with Hennepin County. As an adoptee, he is passionate about expanding rights for adopted people. He is also on the board of directors for Mosaic Hockey Collective and coaches youth hockey.Subscribe to the MPR News with Angela Davis podcast on: Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify or RSS.

The Twin Cities are at the epicenter of a dynamic shift in the world of land stewardship and restoration work. Leading the charge are two nonprofit environmental organizations — Wakan Tipi Awanyankapi and Owámniyomni Okhódayapi.  In the past they were predominantly led by white men. Today, they are being overseen by two Native American women.  For now, Wakan Tipi Awanyankapi is headquartered on the 15th floor of the First National Bank building in downtown St. Paul overlooking the Mississippi River. That will all change once planning and development is complete at a welcoming center to be located near the entrance of the Bruce Vento Nature Sanctuary. Maggie Lorenz is executive director of Wakan Tipi Awanyankapi. In Dakota the name means “those who care for the dwelling place of the sacred.”The organization used to be known as the Phalen Creek Project. Lorenz has headed the organization since 2019. “Our mission is to engage people to honor and care for our natural places and the sacred sites and cultural value within them,” Lorenz said. “Our programs and our restoration and stewardship programs are really coming from a place of our traditional ecological knowledge and viewing the land and the water as a relative. So, we do a number of things differently than I would say a traditional or mainstream environmental organization might do.” Lorenz is an enrolled member of the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa and is also from Spirit Lake Nation in North Dakota.Joining her in reshaping the leadership landscape is Shelley Buck. She’s a citizen and former president of the Prairie Island Indian Community southeast of the metro.  For the last year Buck has been working two jobs. One as vice president of Prairie Island and the other as president of Owámniyomni Okhódayapi — Dakota for "friends of the falls" — the organization's original name in English. The organization focuses on protecting and honoring the stretch of the Mississippi in downtown Minneapolis. It’s had different names over the years too: Owamni, St. Anthony Falls, and now may be best known as the site of the Stone Arch Bridge. Buck joked, “I have no life. Work is life.” Buck and Lorenz have known each other for years. And are two of each other’s biggest supporters.  “When she [Lorenz] asked me if she should take the position she’s in I’m like, ‘Heck yeah, go for it. I think it’ll be great. If they have the faith in you do it,’” Buck recalled.  Buck says both organizations shifting toward Native-women led is a redefining moment. “Having Indigenous women leading groups like this is really important because for us as Dakota people we’re a matriarch society. Women are the keepers of the family. We’re the life-givers,” Buck said. “And I think I’m a little different than a lot of Dakota women. I have that compassionate side. But I also don’t have a problem bringing out the stronger side”Lorenz agrees. “Both of our organizations prior to having Native leadership had tried to do some tribal engagement. And there were missteps that happened and potential for mistrust to start building because of the different approaches that were taken,” Lorenz said. “For both Wakan Tipi and Owámniyomni Okhódayapi, the transfer of leadership to Native people, and in my opinion to Native women in particular, really ensured that the projects were going to get the engagement that was needed — make sure that the people whose voices needed to be included, were included.” Dana Thompson is an Owámniyomni Okhódayapi board member who is a lineal descendant of the Mdewakanton Dakota. She’s also the co-founder and former co-owner of Owamni restaurant which sits just yards from the falls in Minneapolis. She sees the change in leadership for both organizations as an important social shift.  “It’s been extraordinary to watch the transition. And I believe that we’re in a renaissance in our culture right now,” Thompson said. “And people are realizing that more women in leadership is better for so many reasons. You know, empathic leadership, compassion, vulnerability, understanding of sustainability and how all of our actions impact our past and future ancestors.”Thompson said when Buck agreed to take the position, she was ecstatic. “Her leadership experience is so vast and extensive and understanding of tribal politics and national politics and all of the challenges that it takes to navigate through all of these different stakeholders, whether it's the park board, or the city, or the Army Corps of Engineers, or all of the funders that we'll need to get this up and running. She was the right person,” Thompson said. “And so, when she actually took the job, I literally did a dance."     When asked how the last year has gone Buck’s eyes lit up. “This year has been one of the best years and we’ve been so successful. And it has been so surprising to see the outside community really support our idea and what we’re doing,” Buck said. “It’s like Dana said, it’s almost like a renaissance. You see this total change in people’s minds. And it’s great.” Buck said the change in leaderships has been a catalyst for inclusiveness.  “I do think it’s because people like Maggie and I taking over these kinds of organizations — helping to show them a different way,” Buck said. “And making sure we get the right people at the table to tell the correct story.”Lorenz said this new-found inclusiveness will be a driving force for years to come. "We have a different worldview and a whole different background of experiences and knowledge and expertise that hasn't been tapped into in a real way,” she said. “And I think that because our climate and our planet is in crisis right now. It is irresponsible to not tap into that kind of really specific knowledge about place and land and water and how we can all better protect these resources and relatives for our future generations.” Construction on Wakan Tipi Awanyankapi's 9,000-square-foot interpretive center will begin in 2024 with a public opening planned in 2025. 

Part of the ceiling is missing and wires sit on the floor next to a ladder. Jannie Seibure stood in the center of the mostly empty space and smiled at what the outdated mall will soon become.“At the front of the store, we're going to have a showcase of travel accessories… your luggages, your backpacks, your pillows, you name it, we're going to have a lot of good stuff to meet your travel needs,” she said. Seibure, who is Liberian, has been operating her travel agency Cavalla Travel & Tours out of a tall office building in Brooklyn Center. She says for the first time, she’ll have her own store front at Shingle Creek Center where people can easily access her services and products. Seibure says after many years, her business will finally be visible to anyone walking by. With the help of the state, various investors and support from city council leaders, the strip mall will provide incubator space that is affordable and appropriate for small and micro businesses. It’s a breakthrough move for women working to open up opportunities in the Minneapolis suburb.Seibure, who is also part of the Ignite Business Women Investment Group, recalls the many setbacks and challenges she faced while navigating an often complicated and unforgiving system that felt discriminatory. “Most of the retail spaces, people don't want to rent to us. Even though it's out in our own city. We are business owners, we're going to pay our rent. But we found out that people probably don't want us to grow as business owners,” Seibure said. “We had the power to do it as business leaders, we just had to stand firm and see what we can do. So the group of ladies, we came together.”Nelima Sitati Munene, who is originally from Nairobi, Kenya, is the executive director of African Career, Education and Resources, or ACER. The organization will soon be headquartered in the strip mall.  She, along with the Ignite Business Women Investment Group, purchased the Brooklyn Center strip mall to transform it into what they say will be a model of economic inclusion and innovation. Munene said the $5.2 million purchase of the strip mall was inspired by the growth of businesses run by African immigrants in the western Twin Cities suburbs. The strip mall is currently about 60 percent occupied. According to ACER, the businesses currently operating in the strip mall will remain. New businesses are set to open in the spring.She said the development will allow her and others to continue pushing for policies that uproot economic exclusion and create generational wealth in African diaspora communities.“We discovered that we have a lot of micro-business owners in our communities. And then we began to look at the spaces in which they operate,” Munene said, noting the businesses were spread out in office buildings, adding to their disconnection from others in the community.“We made it our mission because we had engaged our communities and had clearly articulated what their dreams and aspirations were around this development, we really wanted to make it a reality for them,” she said.That reality came into focus when Munene and local entrepreneurs discovered just how critical African immigrants were to the economic life of suburbs, including Brooklyn Center and Brooklyn Park. “And when we began to ask people ‘how did they get into business?’ Everybody had very interesting stories — I refinanced my home, I borrowed from my family, my son, you know, cashed out his 401(k) to support me. And so we discovered our businesses were not getting resources.”Since the early 2000s, the number of African immigrants in Minnesota has increased from almost 35,000 to close to 90,000, according to data from the U.S. Census Bureau. The state’s Department of Employment and Economic Development reports the largest number of African immigrants in Minnesota are from eastern Africa, most notably Somalia and Ethiopia; followed by western Africa with 32,500 residents, with the largest numbers from Liberia and Nigeria.An estimated 4,500 African immigrants from Somalia, Liberia and Nigeria live in the northwest suburbs.Munene and Seibure say the Brooklyn Center strip mall will be a place for the business owners, by the business owners. “The world will be able to see us more, not by the color of our skin, to know that we are business leaders, strong business women with a lot of energy, who really want to do more. So, it's kind of exciting for us,” Seibure said.