INSIDE A GALLERY at a noted liberal arts college in a small southern Minnesota city, 20 identical shovels hang, evenly-spaced, along a beige wall. That may not seem impressive, until you read the story behind these tools.
These shovels were crafted from 1,527 guns surrendered in Culiacán, Mexico. Guns that were melted and made into 1,527 shovels used to plant 1,527 trees, including one at the corner of Union Street and Fourth Street East on the campus of Carleton College in Northfield.
Recently I stopped at this college campus to tour “Ahimsa,” an exhibition by Mexican artist Pedro Reyes in the galleries at The Perlman Teaching Museum inside the Weitz Center for Creativity. “Ahimsa” is a Sankritt word meaning “nonviolence.” That focuses this thought-provoking exhibit filling two gallery spaces.
With gun violence so prevalent in America, including right here in Minnesota with the political assassination of Minnesota House Speaker Emerita Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, in June and the deadly August mass shooting at Annunciation Catholic Church in south Minneapolis, I found Reyes’ exhibit profoundly relevant. I couldn’t help but think of the two Annunciation School children who were killed and the 27 other students and adults who were injured during morning Mass. Since then, voices have risen, loud and vocal, against gun violence. But thus far, nothing has changed, although discussion is ongoing with Minnesota Governor Tim Walz hosting town halls around the state on the topic.
The voice of this Mexican artist is among those rising. Upon entering the gallery, I read this: …Ahimsa reminds us that silence is complicity…
Reyes speaks out against more than gun violence in his exhibition. He also advocates for nuclear disarmament, another timely topic. And he does that in an artistically-mammoth way via a towering inflatable that overwhelms the high-ceilinged Braucher Gallery. Exactly the effect Reyes wants to make in his piece titled “Zero Nukes.”
I felt minimal, small, dwarfed by the mushroom cloud upon which ZERO NUCLEAR WEAPONS is printed in eight languages.
Nearby, a stockpile of inflatable nuclear warheads lies, another strong visual representing the nearly 14,000 nuclear warheads at the ready around the world. The statistics, cited as part of this display, are sobering, surprising (to me) and revealing.
Reyes, in his exhibit, shows us how art can be used to inform, educate, raise awareness, spark community conversation and action. He shows us via posters, buttons, sculptures, videos, inflatables and words how we can rise in protest against gun violence and nuclear weapons.
In the end we must ask ourselves the singular question posed in a poem on the protest poster wall: Where are you going? That’s in the event of nuclear war or similarly in the case of a mass shooting. I long ago stopped believing that the 1960s advice to duck and cover beneath a school desk would save me.
FYI: “Ahimsa” by Pedro Reyes is free and open to the public daily inside the Weitz Center for Creativity, 320 Third Street East, Northfield, until November 19. Hours vary. Click here for more information.
This exhibit was photographed with permission.
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
In which I protest, grieve & reflect June 19, 2025
Tags: America, assassination, commentary, government, grief, June 14, Minnesota, mural, news, NO KINGS protest, Northfield, protest, protest signs, reflections, Rep. Melissa Hortman, Sen. John Hoffman, thoughts, United States
I LEANED MY HEAD against Randy’s shoulder, my left hand gripping the rod of a protest sign and a small American flag. I felt such profound sadness in that moment. The moment when a pastor asked for a period of silence in honor of Minnesota State Representative/House Speaker Emerita Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, assassinated in their home during the early morning hours of June 14.
Flag Day. Nationwide NO KINGS protest day. A day of gathering turned tragic here in Minnesota.
I alternated between leaning into my husband and leaning my bowed head against the bottom of my NO MORE KINGS protest poster held high, the sign with the cursive words, “I value freedom,” scrawled on the back side. The wind blew, swept my hair across my face like a veil covering sadness. The heaviness felt palpable here, in Ames Park in Northfield, along the banks of the Cannon River. But so did the energy.
We were a group of hundreds—maybe even a thousand (I’m not good at estimating crowd size)—gathered to publicly express our concerns about leadership in this country, about decisions being made that negatively affect all of us, about the state of and future of our democracy… It was my first protest. Ever. I wanted, needed, to be here. To remain silent seems complicit.
I’d already arrived when a friend texted that Minnesotans had been advised by state law enforcement not to attend NO KINGS protests. That warning linked to the suspect in the shootings of the Hortmans and of State Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette. We would later learn that NO KINGS fliers were found in the vehicle of Vance Boelter, now accused in the double murders and attempted murders.
That explained why, on the way to the riverside protest, I overheard a woman telling a couple that her police officer son had advised her not to participate in the rally. She was going home. I was not. Nor were any of the others converging on Ames Park at noon. I wasn’t scared. Vested safety people, trained in conflict resolution and de-escalation, were in place. I felt safe in the masses, which, I suppose, is an unrealistic perspective. But I refuse to be silenced by fear, by the words and actions of those who attempt to suppress voices. And intimidate.
And there were those, including the drivers of a white pickup truck and of motorcycles which repeatedly roared past the rally site, spewing their opposition in noise and in political flags bannering messages I won’t repeat. But they, too, have a right to protest. Peacefully. Just as I do. And I wrote that on the back of a second sign: FREE to PROTEST. But, mostly, passing vehicles honked in strong support.
At this rally of people opposing the current administration and its policies and actions, I felt a unity of purpose and a deep, cohesive concern for the future of our country. I felt uplifted, embraced, empowered. Speakers spoke (although I couldn’t hear most). The pastor led us in prayer. We sang—”The Star Spangled Banner” and “We shall overcome.” We cheered. We chanted. We waved our posters and flags. And a group held an over-sized American flag, which I couldn’t see from my vantage point deep in the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.
We were mostly an older group. Baby Boomers. Grandparents. Even octogenarians. Perhaps some protested during the Vietnam War. Or served this country. We’ve lived a few years, enough decades to understand that we need to rise up against authoritarianism. Enough to understand what’s at stake. But there were some young people, too, like the dad behind me with his preschool daughter playing in the grass. He clearly cares, if not for himself, but then for his child.
The morning after the NO KINGS protest, I left for Madison, Wisconsin, to spend time with my 5-month-old grandson (and his parents). As I snuggled Everett, I thought, he (and my other two grandchildren) are part of the reason I chose to protest. Their lives stretch before them. I want them to live in a country where they are free. Free. I want them to live under a government based on a three-pronged system of checks and balances, not one ruled by a king or some version of a king or dictator. I want them to live in a kind, caring and compassionate country. Not a selfish, uncaring, divisive nation filled with hatred.
I returned to Minnesota yesterday and am catching up on laundry and writing. And, along with my fellow Minnesotans, I’m collectively grieving the assassination of an elected official and her husband. And I’m thinking, this is what it’s come to in Amercia…
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling