By MARIAN HASSAN
Editor’s note: Permission for reprinting comes from Minnesota Women’s Press. You can find more stories at womenspress.org.
I am Somali. I am a woman, a mother, a teacher, and a writer. I am Muslim. I am a proud Minnesotan. These identities do not exist separately. They shape how I see this moment and bear witness to what happens around us.
Like many Somalis in Minnesota, I am trying to understand how fear has entered ordinary spaces: schools, stores, gas stations, and the streets we have walked for years. I think about what this fear means for our children, our elders, and our sense of belonging.
What I see unsettles me. How did we get here? When did this become normal? Many of us waited years to arrive in a country we believed would offer safety and protection under the law. The distance between that promise and the reality we face now feels impossible to ignore. This is not an abstract fear. It follows us home.
The Somali community felt the shift quickly. Conversations that once centered on work, school, and family began to carry quiet warnings: avoid crowds, take different routes, stay alert, or stay home if possible. Fear replaced ease. Elders prayed more often, asking God not to place us in the hands of those who will not care for our wellbeing.
Most Somalis in Minnesota were born here. Today, there are two generations of Somali Americans who were born and raised here, including my own children.
According to the U.S. Census Bureau, 87 percent of those who arrived as refugees are now naturalized citizens. Combined with the 60 percent of people with Somali roots who were born here, that means 95 percent of Somali Minnesotans are U.S. citizens.
Refugees spend years navigating the immigration process. They complete interviews, health screenings, and biometrics long before resettlement. Targeting us now does not erase the effort it took to come to this country. Some members of our community feel insulted when people frame deportation to Somalia as a threat. Somalia carries hardship shaped by years of conflict, but it also held us first. Our ancestors rest there. It stores our memories and our sense of belonging.
I have watched the hardship of starting over in a new country. Immigrants must adapt without knowing the language and must learn to navigate every aspect of life. They often take two jobs to make ends meet while caring for children and elders. They persist because they believe their labor will bring stability, safety, and better lives for their children. After such a long journey over decades, the community has proven it is in Minnesota to stay.
The recent hateful narratives shaped by those in power have reduced Somali lives to danger or disorder, reflecting political agenda rather than truth. The central issue in this narrative revolves around the purported “Somali Fraud,” which involves certain individuals committing fraud with assistance from someone in a position of authority who is not Somali. Those responsible are already facing legal consequences.
It is unjust to hold the entire Somali community accountable for the actions of a few individuals. Unfortunately, some people trust these voices and show disapproval that we are neighbors. This can be exhausting.
Yet the broader Minnesota has shown that solidarity matters. Thousands march, speak out, and demand accountability. Teachers, neighbors, faith leaders, and advocates make it clear that the way some people with immigrant roots are being treated is unacceptable. This reminds Somali families that even when others target us, we do not stand alone.
Somali culture teaches resilience early. Our grandmothers hold memories and offer wisdom. Through my oral history work, I have collected lullabies and oral stories from elders. These songs serve as prayers and instructions. They teach courage, service, and responsibility. Strength grows quietly and early. These traditions raise children who know they belong and who expect dignity. In Somali culture, everyone has a place and no one stands above another. That is why Somalis take part in anything from politics to health care, teaching, and front-line assembly jobs.
The relatively small number of Somalis in Minnesota now sit at the center of a national debate. That attention reflects this country’s fears more than it reflects us. Minnesota is home. We live here. We raise our children here. Our presence is not a question — it is a fact. We serve this state with care.
