The contradictions of ‘Minnesota nice’

After Kamala Harris selected Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz as her running mate, much of the media coverage zeroed in on Walz’s Midwestern roots, with some pundits using the phrase “Minnesota nice” to describe his appeal.

In the popular imagination, Minnesota nice describes a culture of neighborliness and amicability that’s commonly seen as characteristic of the state. In policy terms, that might mean bigger investments in education, better public health, access to affordable housing and stronger worker rights – an extension of Walz’s achievements as Minnesota governor. Many Americans would probably like to see these values have primacy in the rest of the nation.

I think Minnesota nice, whether represented in policies or in being kind to neighbors, is a worthy ideal. But as someone who has studied the experiences of Vietnamese refugees in Minnesota, I’ve written about how the trope of Minnesota nice has a more complex history – especially when it comes to nonwhite people.

Rural origins

In her book “Creating Minnesota: A History from the Inside Out,” historian Annette Atkins suggests that the trope of Minnesota nice may have its roots in the state’s Scandinavian immigrants and the influence of the Lutheran church.

According to Atkins, Minnesota nice denotes “a polite friendliness, an aversion to confrontation, a tendency toward understatement … and emotional restraints.” These traits can be found in Scandinavian literature, film and art, as well as in 19th- and early 20th-century Lutheran values.

By the turn of the 20th century, 72% of Norwegian immigrants to Minnesota and 62% of Swedish immigrants to the state resided in rural areas. And one core element of Minnesota nice is the notion that residents are welcoming to strangers from other lands.

The arrival of Southeast Asian refugees

After the Vietnam War ended in April 1975, more than 120,000 Vietnamese refugees came to the U.S. Another wave followed in 1978. Their arrival was not universally welcomed by the American public.

To ease those concerns, government officials instituted a dispersal policy to spread out Southeast Asian refugees to ensure they wouldn’t be concentrated in any one region, town or city. They implemented this policy to reduce social and economic impacts on local communities – and also compel Southeast Asian refugees to assimilate into American culture.

In Minnesota, while many newcomers were given a helping hand, many of them also experienced isolation and rejection.

From 1979 to 1999, about 15,000 Vietnamese refugees arrived in Minnesota. My research shows that media outlets often ran articles highlighting the goodwill and generosity of locals, whether they were helping these refugees learn English, acquire job training, find work or secure housing.

The Minneapolis Tribune reported in 1975 that the state was able to avoid any major public reactions against refugees because they posed “no major job threat,” since they were spread out across the state.

Even as locals seemed largely supportive, the dispersal policy wasn’t ideal for many refugees. Many of them ended up in remote areas of Minnesota, far from a familiar ethnic community that could provide much-needed psychological and emotional support. Those in isolated areas often lacked access to social services and English language programs.

For refugees, a more complicated view of Minnesota nice emerges, one that I think depends on being not too visible and not too much of a threat to the existing order. Many refugees were certainly grateful for the state and local support they received. But gratitude also became an “unspoken condition” for acceptance, as Iranian refugee Dina Nayeri reports in her book “The Ungrateful Refugee: What Immigrants Never Tell You.”

In Minnesota, locals could seem largely unsympathetic to the complicated struggles of refugees trying to settle in a strange, new land. Rather than complain, they ought to be happy for the “small blessings” they received, as one local St. Cloud resident wrote to the Minneapolis Tribune in 1975.