Tolkkinen: Requiem for Minnesota innocence

A bit of Minnesota died Saturday.

A myth, a belief in ourselves, a belief about ourselves.

We believed we were better than this.

That despite our differences, the growing political anger, the rising tendency to see each other as the other, we were still, fundamentally, Minnesotans. We would get through this because Minnesotans are good people. We try to do the right thing. We have that corny Midwest goofiness and we bring kids fishing and we say “ope” and “uff da” and eat too many Pronto Pups at the State Fair.

We thought things like the Great Minnesota Get-Together would really bring us together, that all these touchstones would remind us that no matter what, we are one people. We endure drought together and help each other stack sandbags in times of flood and hold fundraising dinners when neighboring families suffer loss or illness.

Yet around us, mutual trust has been steadily eroding. Parents are pulling their children out of public school because they think they’ll be indoctrinated into believing that they’re girls when they’re really boys, or into using a litter box instead of a toilet.

Statewide high-speed internet access has delivered a double-edged sword, creating opportunities in rural areas, but also turning us against our neighbors by stoking suspicion and hatred.

There are Minnesota pastors who fancy themselves members of the Black Robe Regiment because apparently preaching the word of God isn’t enough. They want to turn Christianity into a religious dictatorship, as if Christ didn’t really mean it when he said his kingdom is not of this world.

We saw U.S. Rep. Pete Stauber of Minnesota berating Gov. Tim Walz during a U.S. House oversight panel on sanctuary states (which Minnesota is not), and it was sad to witness the loathing of one Minnesotan for another. Maybe that’s the way things are done in Washington, but it seemed a metaphor for how far civility has deteriorated at home.

Still, there was reason to hope. So many people are working for the betterment of our state. The Braver Angels holding bipartisan meetings around Minnesota, teaching us how to talk about thorny issues with people with different opinions; the evenly divided Minnesota House figuring out how to work together after a rough start; the many ways rural and urban people have reached out to each other.

But now we’ve had an assassination, and a howl of anguish is building up inside me, because I don’t know what’s next. Is the killing of state Rep. Melissa Hortman and her husband and the attempted killing of state Sen. John Hoffman and his wife the culmination of all this boiling internecine rage? Will this bloodshed shock us all back into reality, and make us realize how close we are coming to utter destruction? Will it force us to acknowledge our own flaws as well as judging those of others? Or is it simply the prelude to the next stage of violence and hatred in our state?

We stand at a precipice.

Some are trying to seize the narrative, to twist public opinion for their own purposes. They lay the risk of violence completely on the opposing party, but both sides harbor people capable of violence. There have been attacks and threats against both sides and by both sides around the country. Trump himself escaped two assassination attempts in 2024.

Minnesota has enjoyed relative peace for generations. But in recent years, political differences have divided families, and when families split, society can’t be far behind. It is widely acknowledged that the capacity for political violence has ratcheted up everywhere.

I was happy to see that one Facebook page I follow, Rocks and Cows of Minnesota, which keeps its followers in a perpetual state of anti-DFL fervor, fell silent for a time on Saturday, and when it began posting again, they dismissed the suspected gunman as a “whackjob” and added they were glad to hear that the Hoffmans are in recovery.

This is the type of solidarity we need, not just now but permanently. Attack policy, not people. Instead of blaming the other party for this assassination, which appears to be the work of one person, let’s demonstrate caring and concern for each other despite our differences.

We can counter violence by taking sober-minded, positive action. On Saturday, my husband and I planted native plants on the edge of our hayfield, the first step of a project we hope will help sustain our region’s vanishing insects and plants. It felt great. Hopeful. Strong.

We can’t control what other people do, but we are not helpless. Each of us can contribute our own bit of goodness to this place we call Minnesota.