Nobody Knew She Wasn't a Citizen.

Amber - a European non-citizen immigrant who was privileged, brave, and sometimes oblivious.

What you are about to read is an excerpt from WOMN, the interior experience and emotional truths of the women of Minnesota during Operation Metro Surge, holding the grief, the rage, the tenderness, and the fierce love that women know so well.

If you see yourself in these pages,
Pass it to the woman next to you.

This is a scene from the chapter about OWLs (old white ladies) and how we embraced our white privilege as a super power during the surge. I hope you enjoy.

Amber

Is that the same guy who was here last week? Amber thinks to herself as she watches him walk towards her from his beat-up Ford Escort parked in the street. He’s got his hands shoved deep in the pockets of a Carhartt jacket.

He doesn’t have a reflective vest, and no one is greeting him. Amber makes a mental note.

“Ope,” he says, and Amber gets a funny tickle in her gut. “It’s a cold one today.”

Did he just actually pronounce the “p” in ope? She thinks.

“It’s actually not that cold. It’s above zero,” she says, her European accent revealing that she isn’t a native Minnesotan either, “but the windchill is minus ten, and this snowstorm is picking up. I think we’re supposed to get six inches.”

Amber is bundled like everyone else. The good wool socks, the puffy coat she’s grateful her daughter made her buy, and hand warmers in both her pockets and shoved into the lining of her Sorel boots.

“I’m fine,” he says, even though she didn’t ask. He shifts his weight and stomps his sneakered feet in the snow accumulating on the pavement.

“I’ve seen you all out here every day,” he says, smiling. “I want to help.”

Something about him felt off to Amber, but then he looked her in the eye and his smile was so warm. She slipped into social worker mode, overly helpful and uber friendly.

But before Amber can respond, one of the other observers whom Amber knows only as “PurpleOtter” from the Signal Chat handle, steps up next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, “That’s very kind of you, Sir. Do you know anyone on our team?”

“Uh, no,” he says, “But I’ve seen you out here every day, and I just, I just want to be involved.”

PurpleOtter takes a measured step angling her body in a subtle way to guide him back towards his car.

“We appreciate that, but for this operation, you have to find someone that trusts you and that you can trust,” she says, taking another half-step, just enough for him to step back and turn towards his car. She takes her hand off his shoulder, pressing ever so slightly before she does, to gently nudge him towards his car.

He hesitates, opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again.

“We are a really tight community here,” PurpleOtter says, looking at his eyebrows, making sure to not look him in the eye.

“I understand,” he says as PurpleOtter takes one more half-step, and he finally turns and walks away.

Once he is back in his car and driving away, PurpleOtter turns to Amber.

“No one in Minnesota would wear jeans, tennis shoes, and a Carhartt jacket to something like this.”

“Oh my God,” Amber says as her face flushes and her ears get hot. “You’re so right. Sometimes we’re out here for three hours. He doesn’t even have snow boots, or a parka. Dang, I was just being friendly! I was going to open my mouth and just tell him how to get in.”

“It’s okay, you’re learning,” PurpleOtter says. “This is why we work in teams.”

“But, I recognized him.” Amber says, “I think he was here last week too.”

“He very well could’ve been,” PurpleOtter says, “I saw in another Signal chat, they’ve had encounters with another guy who had the exact same story.”

“My God. Thank God I didn’t say anything!” Amber says, “Dang, they are getting sneaky, huh?”

“Yeah, they are trying to blend in,” PurpleOtter says, “The beater car and the friendly personality, but once you realize they have no clue how to be Minnesotan, they stand out like sore thumbs.”

“He didn’t even have a hat. Duh!” Amber says, “Even if he were legit, he wouldn’t last twenty minutes out here in this kind of weather.”

“Amber,” PurpleOtter turns to look Amber right in the eye, “Do you carry your green card on you?”

“Uh, No,” Amber said as her face flushes again, “Here I am with my accent, and I’m just chatting away, and I’m not really paying attention, but he wasn’t saying anything about it.”

“Aren’t you scared?” PurpleOtter asks.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been scared,” Amber says as she feels the residue of the interaction with the infiltrator bubble up in her gut. Even after that, she doesn’t feel scared. “What about you, are you scared?”

“Not really,” PurpleOtter says, “But I don’t have the risk that you do.”

“I don’t feel scared for some reason. I’m just angry!” She tells PurpleOtter and turns her body to where the man’s car was parked.

“How dare you?!” Amber screams at the empty parking spot before turning back to PurpleOtter. “Maybe that’s my white privilege. I have been really aware of my privilege. I could just stand here a whole afternoon and nobody will bother me even though I’m not even born in this country but probably most of the people who live in this mobile home park were born here and they’re citizens.”

She pauses and PurpleOtter waits with her, letting the empty space get still between them.

“And that’s just a really odd feeling,” Amber says with a distant look in her eye and tone in her voice.

PurpleOtter doesn’t say anything, again, letting the moment sit between them like the frost of their breath lingers in the winter air.

“I am aware that I’m white. And I think, what are they gonna do? Take me and take me to Whipple? I guess I don’t feel like I’m particularly at risk. Maybe I’m being oblivious. I don’t know. Maybe I should carry my papers with me,” she looks at PurpleOtter for reassurance.

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“Hey?” Amber says hesitantly, “What’s your real name?”

PurpleOtter doesn’t answer right away, taken aback as no one in the group has ever asked.

“Is that okay to ask?” PurpleOtter says, slapping her gloved palm over her mouth.

PurpleOtter smiles warmly, and Amber feels the warmth flood every part of her.

“I think we’ve earned first-name status.” PurpleOtter smiles, “It’s Elaine. ”

“I’m Amber.”

“It’s nice to know you Amber.” Elaine smiles again, and Amber feels that warmth move through her again.

“Do you ever think about going back to your homeland?” Elaine asks.

And Amber doesn’t answer right away.

“Is that okay to ask?” Elaine says.

“Yes, it’s okay to ask. Before all this, I was contemplating moving back, especially since my kids are grown. But now, after all this, I can’t imagine moving away.”

Elaine waits.

“If I went back now, I would feel alone with this experience. Nobody there lived through this,” she says, looking out at the mobile homes she’s protected for all these weeks.

“I would feel like I was abandoning people.”

“I get it, you almost can’t leave now,” Elaine says.

“You know what’s strange,” Amber says. “I have made more friends in the last two months than in the twenty years I’ve been here, and I don’t even know most of their names.”

Elaine chuckles before adding, “aftereighty, bingocard, twinkling mudrock.”

“Don’t forget sadphat!” Amber laughs before she continues, “Minnesota is more home now than anywhere I’ve ever been. It only took twenty years to feel this way.”

It’s a mutual aid effort — written by us, for us, moving hand to hand the way love does when it’s real. New excerpts will be released as I write them, every Tuesday, here on Fierce Love. When the manuscript is complete, I plan to release it the grassroots way. Self-published, and supported by grief at grounding community gathering events and independent bookstores.

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I love you fiercely,

TeriLeigh 💜