The air in the Somali community is thick with uncertainty about how to address violence among young people and layered with fear of vigilantes emboldened by the disproportionate and relentless news coverage telling suburban families their way of life is under threat.
Negative stories about Somalis immediately become salacious because they tap into fear of Muslims, Black people and immigrants. They gain national momentum that feels disproportionate to the scale of a particular issue.
Violence happens across the country. According to the Gun Violence Archive, there were five mass shootings in the U.S. in the first five days of October alone, none of which occurred in Minnesota. But there’s something different about the energy and vitriol when Somalis are involved. Our media organizations must reckon with how to responsibly report on these topics without pumping out narratives that incite violence.
Minnesota is home to nearly 112,000 Somalis, according to Minnesota Compass. Right now, there’s a lot of misinformation swirling about our community, our families and our young people. To me, quantitative data and the stories of people with lived experience are key to understanding any issue. Too often, stories about Somalis lack curiosity and nuance.
In this latest news cycle, there’s an underlying sentiment that Somalis are doing well economically, yet also causing a lot of problems. What I see is a young diaspora community that has embraced Minnesota, contributed to its vitality, and is navigating growing pains and deep inequalities, much like other brown and Black communities in our state. When I hear young Somalis described through the caricature of “Malibu’s Most Wanted,” I hear a message that there’s nothing to understand or address beyond escalating punishment. That is a disservice to everyone.
The data tells a fuller story. The median Somali household income is $49,600, and nearly 31% of Somali Minnesotans live below the poverty line (Minnesota Compass). Nearly 19% of households are led by single women, compared to the statewide average of 3.9% (Minnesota Compass). When it comes to homeownership, Somalis represent the lowest rate among major cultural groups at 12% (Minnesota State Demographic Center), and the overwhelming majority of Somali-headed households are renters.
These numbers don’t excuse violence or explain why someone commits it, but they help us understand the broader context around it. I share them as an invitation to honor what the data tells us and to use it to shape better solutions in homeownership, family support and opportunities for young people. Solving community problems and creating a region that works for all people requires us to stay curious and learn, question information rooted in bias or partisan agenda, and to make informed decisions. It’s a discipline to reach for understanding when fear invites us to turn away from one another.
As a Somali-Minnesotan, I know that we’re neither alone nor exceptional in our pain. African-American, Hmong and Latino community members have endured cycles of the double grief associated with losing young people to violence and dealing with the burden of being collectively judged for the actions of a few. I believe we can interrupt violence without allowing it to define a whole community.
The Twin Cities have a powerful tradition of community and restorative justice practices in response to violence. I think of the Circle of Peace Movement, founded by Russel and Sarah Balenger in the Rondo neighborhood ,who in response to increasing violence brought affected families together to talk with one another.
Young people commit crimes for a wide range of reasons. Understanding those reasons matters if we want to prevent further harm. This moment calls for us to draw on community wisdom, experience and evidence about what works in conflict resolution and violence interruption.
It also calls for curiosity to listen across differences and the courage to disrupt what john a. powell calls “breaking,” or treating people as threats and pushing them outside the circle of belonging. We can be tenacious in solving community problems without dehumanizing young people or casting an entire community as a threat.
A community that tells the whole truth, confronts its problems and stays committed to its neighbors is equipped to weather any storm. I hope we turn toward each other.
Ramla Bile is a Somali-Minnesotan, Twin Cities resident and mom.
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