Having lived in southern Minnesota for most of my life I cherished the opportunity last week to drive through the countryside. I took in the sight of corn and soybean fields stretching out under a vibrant sky, and rivers and waterways, beautiful but swollen and destructive, reminders of the challenges some local communities have faced in recent weeks. The landscape was lush, green, and awe-inspiring. It was my daughter’s birthday, and as we drove, my heart swelled with gratitude. Passing through small towns brought back memories of my time teaching in one such community, and I found myself reflecting on the unique character and inherent value of each place, all interconnected by the common good.
Then I saw it.
The Confederate flag.
It was draped proudly from an unremarkable house in a tiny town of about 500 people. I was stunned. In all my years in southern Minnesota, I had never seen a Confederate flag flown on a house. My immediate thought was, Who would do this? And then I asked, Why?
It didn’t take long to learn that two African American children live just down the street from this house.
My heart sank. I’m sure yours does too. This was hate, blatant and shameless, waving in the breeze for all to see. I thought, Someone should do something!
But then came a harder question: How did we get here? While this was the first time I had seen a Confederate flag flown so openly in my region, it wasn’t the first time I had encountered the undercurrent of racism—implied, whispered, joked about, or spoken plainly—in southern Minnesota. Too often, I have stayed silent, unwilling to make others uncomfortable or confront my own discomfort.
The flag’s presence is a stark sign of eroding social norms, a reminder that hateful acts are being performed more openly and without shame. We cannot accept this, and we cannot stay silent. But we must also ask ourselves why this is happening. Could it be that, for too long, we have allowed the quiet, insidious forms of racism to go unchallenged? Have we normalized the “not so obvious” moments—the subtle remarks, the hidden biases, the casual laughter—until they have emboldened people to express hate openly? Is this flag the natural outcome of too many of us doing too little, too often?
Some lament the state of the world and feel disheartened by our youth, our public discourse, and our institutions. I urge you: don’t give up hope. Now is the time to act—to create the world we want for our children and grandchildren. We need ordinary leaders: neighbors, parents, coaches, pastors—people willing to confront hatred, bigotry, and racism wherever it appears. We need to foster safe, inclusive communities for all.
This work will be uncomfortable. It demands courage and a willingness to set aside the comfort of silence for the sake of justice. But we can do this. We must do this. Let us be brave and speak out. Together, we can create a better world.
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