This is what was promised
In his campaign Donald Trump made perfectly clear that he wanted trade wars, that there would be mass deportations and mass firings, and that people like Elon Musk would run the country. Now we have innocent people delivered to foreign prisons, political expulsions, books removed from libraries, help for the hungry in other countries axed, government agencies crashing, allies turned into adversaries – chaos, cruelty, and corruption. But this is exactly what was promised. This, evidently, is what most Americans want. This is who we are.
Paul Nelson, St. Paul
Regarding the mistaken deportation
Several points regarding Donald Trump’s refusal to demand the return of Abrego Garcia who was mistakenly deported to El Salvador (and which the administration admits was a mistake) and the resulting flap:
— Judge Xinis is correct in ordering Garcia’s return and claiming that despite Trump’s claim to the contrary he can easily do so. If Trump is threatening to invade Greenland if he doesn’t get his way he can surely threaten to invade El Salvador if they don’t return him. He just doesn’t want to do it. Not right.
— DOJ attorney Reuveni is justified in feeling exasperated in Trump’s refusal to right a wrong, though perhaps it was poor judgment to publicly say so.
— Attorney General Pam Bondi cannot be faulted in suspending Reuveni. Short of breaking the law and possibly being unethical, attorneys have an obligation to support their clients no matter what. For better or worse that’s how our justice system works.
Sandy Beitsch, St. Paul
A step backward
Gov. Walz’ “return to office” order to teleworking state employees is a waste of taxpayer dollars.
1. Over the past five years when state employees were ordered to telework, the advantages and cost-savings of mobile technology have contributed to agency decisions to permanently reduce footprints and move out of leased space. Therefore many teleworking state employees no longer have an office to return to.
2. During those same five years, a significant number of high-skill new state employees were hired as permanent teleworkers. They have never had an office, and their retention is now in jeopardy.
3. To implement the governor’s order, state agencies are scrambling to spend additional taxpayer resources leasing and furnishing office space so teleworking employees can commute and telework from rented cubicles instead of working from their home offices. These employees have been successfully teleworking for five years and there is no business need to commute to a rented cubicle, waste time in traffic twice a day, add to pollution, and pay for expensive downtown parking, other than evident nostalgia for an old workstyle.
The governor’s order appears to have been made with zero advance planning by agency heads or any consultation with employee unions. It is a step backward for the State of Minnesota as a cutting-edge 21st century employer.
David Bornus, Shoreview
Erasing history
The works of Maya Angelou have been removed from the Naval Academy by order of the current regime controlling the White House. Ms. Angelou is a literary icon around the world and spoke for many people in her books and poems, not just women of color. As a reminder, in Germany the extinction of Jews was not the only agenda; non-heterosexual and non-white people were also on the list of elimination. Their history has been lost.
Nancy Lanthier Carroll, Roseville
They’re not deranged
This past Saturday, an estimated 25,000 Minnesotans came together at the Capitol in St. Paul, and thousands more gathered in cities of all sizes across the state, to protest the Trump administration’s draconian cuts to the systems and institutions that we all rely on. The message was “Hands Off”: hands off our Social Security, hands off our Medicaid and Medicare, hands off our public education system, our rights to due process and self-determination, our libraries, our postal system, our scientific research, our veterans health care, and much more.
And while some writers in these opinion pages have referred to folks with these concerns as being addled by “Trump derangement syndrome,” I will tell you that these protestors were not deranged.
They were thoroughly, extremely, maybe boringly … normal.
They are your neighbors and your kids’ teachers and your pastors. They are rational, compassionate people who are worried about the future and are making their voices heard.
And if you don’t share their concerns right now, then I would urge you to look closer in the coming weeks and months. Pay attention. As the cuts this administration has made go into effect, you will notice changes in the services that you rely on, wherever you live. Ask yourself if those changes get you closer to the life that you want for yourself, or your kids. Also ask yourself if your elected representatives are actually responding to your concerns, or just repeating things you’ve heard someone else say a million times.
Finally, I would urge you to ask yourself if your engagement in politics — in the conversations you have, in the news you consume — provides you with stronger connections to other people, or if it leaves you feeling more isolated. The protest on Saturday was a celebration of connecting with others, of the empowerment of raising our voices together and supporting each other. If that’s something you need more of in your life, there is plenty of room for you too.
Amanda Davis, West St. Paul
Yup, that’s what I would do
If I were a leader of a nation that was an adversary of the United States and had compromising information on a president, hypothetically, I would direct he do the following:
1). Alienate our neighbors and best trading partners;
2). Weaken military alliances by withdrawing support;
3). Fire any military, diplomatic or department leader whose loyalty would be to the Constitution and the American People, and replace with dogmatic loyalists;
4). Undermine our intelligence-gathering network by massive dismissals in the FBI and CIA;
5). Weaken our economy under the guise of protectionism;
6). Massively reduce foreign aid that would allow other nations inroads to influence and access resources;
7). Sow the seeds of civil unrest by promoting a thinly veiled white supremacist philosophy;
8). Increase the national debt to diminish our ability to respond to international crises.
Yup, that’s what I would do.
Andy Lynn, Mendota Heights
Not that sermon
As the world teeters on financial collapse and our retirement accounts were being wiped out by our King’s reckless tariffs, he was riding in the back of a limousine to a golf tournament tweeting what he really believes in his cruel and addled brain. In all caps he wrote “ONLY THE WEAK WILL FAIL.” Coming from a person who mocked a handicapped person in front of the world and called soldiers who died in combat suckers and losers, Trump’s statement shouldn’t surprise anyone. I guess that’s the version of Mathew 5:5 from his Lee Greenwood (made in China) God Bless the USA Bible where from the Sermon on the Mount Jesus says: “Blessed are those who aggressively seek money and power for they shall inherit the earth and those that are humble, gentle, patient, and I guess weak, shall fail.” Tired of winning yet?
Greg Kvaal, Mendota Heights
Jim Brandenburg — a requiem
Jim was the kind of man you thought would live forever—perhaps because he so often stood in places where time itself seemed to stop. My wife and our children were lucky to have known him, and luckier still to have called him a friend.
Our adventure with Jim and Judy Brandenburg began more than 50 years ago, back when youth was abundant, and the future seemed like something we had all the time in the world to figure out. We played in the same rock and roll band, though never at the same time. A small, local band, known only in the dusty corners of southwestern Minnesota. But Jim never forgot it, never failed to mention it — even in interviews that reached across the world. That was Jim, always tying the grand to the humble, always finding the thread that connected it all.
Jim and Judy lived on a little farmstead on Lake Ocheda when he got his first contract with National Geographic. It was a project to capture the nesting habits of a Great Horned Owl, an assignment that, like so many others, would take him deep into the quiet places where he always seemed most at home. We watched as his reputation grew, as his work carried him across continents, as his images spoke in ways that words never could. The world took notice. Outdoor Photography Magazine named him one of the 40 most influential nature photographers in the world. Camera companies clamored for his endorsement. Nikon, Canon, Hasselblad—they all wanted his name beside theirs. But Jim was never one for pomp. He was more interested in the work, in the stillness, in the magic.
That’s what he called it — magic. When asked how he managed to capture such extraordinary moments, he’d shrug and say, “My job is to look for the magic. I just look for the magic.” And look he did. Not in a hurried way, not with the frantic clicking of a shutter, but with patience. With reverence. He understood something that many forgot as the digital age came crashing in — sometimes, the more you take, the less you have. His book “Chased by the Light” was his answer to that. One photo a day, and only one. No second chances. No retakes. A meditation on restraint, on seeing the world as it is and accepting that some moments, no matter how beautiful, are meant to pass by untouched.
Jim’s work took him far. His photographs won awards in the grand halls of London (Natural History Museum), where contests drew tens of thousands of entries, and his name became known around the world (The World Wildlife Photography Competition). But he never changed. He never let the noise drown out the quiet. His photographic craft stood so high above other photographers Jim was asked to oversee the judging of this competition, a worldwide competition that had received 24,000 submissions. The people in charge looked at him and saw not just a photographer, but someone who understood something deeper — how to see. How to feel. How to find the heart of an image.
We saw less of Jim as the years went on, as he traveled from one far-off place to another. But when we did see him, we always found time to reflect — to remember the little things, like playing music in a small-town band, or hiking the Blue Mounds, or paddling the Kanaranzi Creek when the oak leaves were no bigger than a squirrel’s ear. He helped protect the prairie, bringing together government agencies, conservationists, and private landowners to create something lasting — Touch the Sky Prairie, a legacy written not in words but in land and open sky.
There are stories — so many stories. There’s the one about James Taylor using Jim’s Peeking Wolf image as an album cover, turning it into one of the best-selling nature photographs in North America. There’s the time he sat down for supper with David Attenborough, two giants of their craft, sharing a meal and, no doubt, the quiet satisfaction of men who had seen wonders most never would. There’s the tale of the stone alignment at Blue Mounds, fearing we were going to be late for the cold morning sunrise … where, our lungs burning from the climb, Jim captured the first known photograph of an ancient phenomenon — the sun rising in perfect alignment on the spring equinox.
But for all the accolades, for all the recognition, Jim remained what he always was — a quiet, kind man, drawn to the hushed beauty of the world. He knew, better than most, that photography was not glamorous. It was cold mornings before dawn. It was standing in the shadows long enough to see how the light changed. It was patience and solitude and an endless pursuit of something fleeting and fragile.
When it came time to say goodbye, Jim’s hugs always lasted just a little longer than most. Not by much — just a second or so — but enough that you noticed. It was his quiet way of showing that your connection meant something to him. No big words, no grand gestures — just that extra moment, a small sign of meaningful friendship that stuck with you long after.
And now, he is gone. But I can still hear his voice, that calm, measured tone that always carried a quiet wisdom. He once said that his job was to look for the magic. But now, looking back, I see the truth of it.
He did not just look for the magic. He was the magic.
Bill Keitel, Worthington
