The Brooklyn Rail

On 1/17/26 I was documenting the rally of a white supremacist agitator in downtown Minneapolis, where this individual was about to be dragged out by the local residents. As I stood a few feet from the turmoil, I unexpectedly saw to the right of all the commotion a group of young folks who seemed to be either Latino or Native American. Fearless and completely exposed they wore striking colorful ski masks with a flower pattern, rising their fists to the air where water ballons were flying in the direction of the far rightwing buffoon. Daring, they stood valiantly staring into the crowd composed of white supremacist, photographers, journalists, protesters, counter protestors and a large long-haired gentleman with a big loudspeaker playing a piercing tune.

Later as I was processing the images of that day, I reflected about the colorful protesters and their thought process. What led them to the streets of Minneapolis? Whose idea was to show up with flower pattern masks? Who selected the fabric? Who designed them? Who decided to participate? Who encouraged them? Was it a fun idea or a solemn one? I don’t have answers to my hypothetical questions but I believe that this gesture was a clear political stance against the grey and black outfits that the rest of us decided to wear that day.

Weeks later some of my questions were answered while conducting a series of critiques for MFA students at the University of South Dakota. An indigenous student clarified that the Kookum scarf, a brightly colored, floral-patterned head covering originated from Ukraine and was traded in the 1890’s to indigenous women in Canada. Kookum means grandmother and it represents the strength of women in indigenous culture; in modern times the pattern is worn in honor of grandmothers and indigenous women. The passage of symbolism from one culture to another is not a coincidental display of resilience and solidarity.