Editor’s Note: All opinion section content reflects the views of the individual author only and does not represent a stance taken by The Collegian or its editorial board.

To witness love, I’ve always believed, is to witness the most honest form of human connection. It’s why Valentine’s Day is typically one of my favorite holidays; past the noise of capitalistic selling points and performative displays that most pretend to hate, it’s a day dedicated to honest intimacy and connection. We don’t have many of those moments anymore — not since President Donald Trump’s administration took office, and especially not since Operation Metro Surge began.

It was senseless, I had thought, several weeks before now, to write about love. Who was I to dote on the topic when all around the world, the country and my home state of Minnesota, hate has long held the winning hand? Who was I to encourage connection as our government deliberately rips apart families and murders people on the streets, screaming that they are “restoring America” in our faces all while jamming gunshots in our backs?

Over the past month, I watched from a distance in Colorado as Minneapolis rapidly escalated into a war zone. While my friends at the University of Minnesota campus Zoomed into syllabus week, located passports and rearranged schedules, JD Vance assured the nation that the numerous gunned-down bodies lining our streets with bloodstained snowflakes were a “tragedy” of the victims’ “own making.” 

The federal government will tell you it’s not a tragedy caused by the people who detained a five-year-old from Columbia Heights; it’s not a tragedy caused by the people who broke into several homes in St. Paul without needing judicial warrants; not by the people tear gassing, pepper spraying and arresting protesters, photographers, journalists and children alike across Minneapolis; and, according to them, it’s most certainly not caused by the people who murdered and shot Renee Good three times, Alex Pretti 10, Keith Porter Jr. while off-duty and Silverio Villegas Gonzalez at a traffic stop. These are only several victims from the dozens of 2025 and 2026 ICE killings.

What’s happening in Minnesota isn’t just a tragedy; it’s a deliberate terrorization and an attempted deterioration of our city and our people, regardless of citizenship status, due process, peaceful protest or any of the parameters that the federal government uses to justify who is “deserving” of their hate. Ultimately, citizenship doesn’t matter. Procedural kidnappings and killings are violent, abhorrent acts regardless of documentation or lack thereof. The point isn’t that citizens are being killed — the point is that anyone is being killed, deported or persecuted for simply existing. 

And this is only a new leg of a long-fought battle between our government and Black and Brown individuals. In many ways, ICE is now treating white people the same way police forces have treated people of color for centuries, which is a large reason why these crimes have gained such strong media traction.

I frequently think back to when the right to exist in Minnesota was still a given. It was at the end of December 2025, right at the precipice of the deployment of over 2,000 agents. I would look at the Minneapolis skyline and wish then to preserve our city, the people and the vibrant communities, all tucked beneath the skyline, like a snow globe — the air cold and still, the snow soft and white — just as it was then, moments untouched from federal interference. 

I’ve been grappling with what it means to be a Minnesotan ever since — to be persistently texting loved ones, glued to the news, holding our breaths one day and yelling in protest the next. From the outside, it appears as if our community has been entirely engulfed in blood, hate and fear. And, in almost every way, it has. Almost.

Lining the same streets littered with tinted cars and bullet casings, there are now love letters. Dozens of them, all scattered throughout parks across the city. Hannah, aged 4, wrote that the best part of Minneapolis is “that we have all kinds of people to see (and) love.” Oscar, aged 7, wrote that his favorite thing in Minneapolis is “the tall building downtown with the UFO lights on top.” Mira, aged 8, loves Minneapolis because of “our house and our neighbors.” Anna, aged 9, wrote that the best part of Minneapolis is that “everyone stands up when something goes wrong.”

“When the federal government invades my home to pry love away from its people, assuming we will give it up like it means nothing to us, what greater protest is there than to hold it even closer?”

This is only one effort out of hundreds upon hundreds around the city — efforts of donation, protests, sit-ins and walk-outs, food drives and grocery runs show that Minneapolis is not going to give up. It is a resistance formed not of seasoned protesters, not of activists or the mouth of any leader, but of neighbors. Of everyday people. Of communities.

I think that’s what it means to be a Minnesotan: Even while staring down the barrel of a gun, rubber bullets and tanks of tear gas, all while being surrounded by taunting agents and freezing from the blistering highs of -9 degrees, all Minnesotans can think about is being a damn good neighbor.

To celebrate this community is to celebrate love. When the federal government invades my home to pry love away from its people, assuming we will give it up like it means nothing to us, what greater protest is there than to hold it even closer? To love even harder? To embrace the very connection that has kept this community alive as the federal government persistently tries to shoot it down?

We are, as I have always believed, witnessing the most honest form of human connection through love. But this year, it’s just not about the holiday.

Places to donate or stay informed:

Immigrant Law Center of Minnesota

Women’s Foundation of Minnesota Immigrant Raid Response Fund

Community Aid Network in Minnesota

Minnesota Immigrant Rights Action Committee

Immigrant Defense Network

Browse here for a more comprehensive list of resources.

Reach Emma Souza at letters@collegian.com or on social media @RMCollegian.