Mitra Jalali - Pink to the People!

Image of Mitra by St. Paul Pioneer Press

If Mitra Jalali were writing a love letter to St. Paul, it would be effusive, inclusive, and probably written in bold, hot-pink letters.

As an elected St. Paul City Council Member, Mitra is a notable voice for civil rights and protections for her constituents, some of whom are vulnerable, many who have been under-served by city government, economic gains, and societal power. She celebrates the stories and achievements of those she represents, and she channels a fulsome pride in the ward’s personality: “Our community is a cultural treasure,” says Mitra. “Ward 4 is like a small city, a second downtown.”

Located in the northwest corner of St. Paul, the ward is diverse and physically far from City Hall. Ward 4 includes all or parts of 5 neighborhoods spanning from leafy green and residential to flinty and commercial (St. Anthony Park, Como, Mac-Groveland, Merriam Park, and Midway-Hamline), with University Avenue and the Green Line at its spine. Ward 4 hosts tattoo joints and senior living; Ethiopian, Greek, Hmong, Irish, Mexican and Vietnamese eateries; the Towerside Innovation District and Creative Enterprise Zone; a place to buy cat furniture (Purrniture) and a place to buy snakes (Twin Cities Reptiles); Ax Man Surplus (specializing in “failed consumer products” and “the bizarre, weird, and wonderful”) and Burning Brothers Brewing (specializing in gluten-free beer); an arcade in refurbished can factory (Can Can Wonderland); a basement hangout called The Clown Lounge (Turf Club); and the Smallest Museum in St. Paul (housed in a vintage fire hose cabinet outside Workhorse Coffee). And it abuts the massive re-development spurred by professional soccer’s Alliance Field. “It’s a dynamic ward to represent,” says Mitra, with “lots of history and lots of civic energy.”

Cey Adams LOVE Mural in CEZ for Mitra.jpg

construction on university by light rail.jpg

smallest museum in st paul from workhorse coffee facebook page.jpeg

That civic energy, and cultural variety, is what drew Mitra to policy making and politics in the first place. Her professional career began in 2008 in a public school classroom in New Orleans. It was just 3 years after Hurricane Katrina ripped through the city and laid bare the economic and class differences that let some citizens flourish and left others “hung out to dry.” “Thinking back,” Mitra offers, “it was such a huge catastrophe. My younger self was living through it. Students were relocated to Houston, houses demolished. There continued a pattern of over-policing, neighborhood disinvestment, educational inequity.” Mitra says it was her job to “come to school every day and create a supportive, welcoming, trauma-informed environment that was academically rigorous.” The lesson she learned: Teaching wasn’t enough.

Mitra saw how society’s largest systems impacted – and failed - students, far beyond the confines of her classroom. “My students were tired,” she remembers, “and homeless. They wore the same clothes for days.” She loved being with the students but sought a professional path that would address a broader constellation of societal determinants: “I centered on where inequity has hurt community,” she says. And then asked: “How do I orient myself to the work?”

Mitra chose community organizing and policy. She went to work for then-Representative Keith Ellison in his Minnesota office and focused on immigration policy, something she understood from her own family’s journey from Iran (her father) and Korea (her mother). “I have this big multi-racial, multi-cultural, multi-national family,” says Mitra. Regarding the immigrant experience in Minnesota, Mitra identified early on that “Minnesota Nice” can be code for a “brand of simultaneous generosity and distance” exhibited by white Minnesotans toward “others,” especially people of color.

Despite being born in Minnesota (“I’m a Minnesota baby, through and through!” she beams), Mitra felt the trauma of her white neighbors and classmates “thinking I’m not from here,” and experienced the painful reality that, often, the “white mainstream gaze on Minnesota erases the diversity of our community.” Facing another inflection point, Mitra dug deeper: “How can we change this?” she remembers thinking. Ellison inspired her with his tenacity and willingness to engage people – his constituents, colleagues, and community experts – to identify barriers, cultivate relationships, and TRY things through policy and practice to make progress. “If you have a leader that is MOVING,” she says, “you can make progress.” Regarding her own foray into St. Paul politics and how it’s going so far, she offers: “It’s like a car engine that I am trying to ‘unstick.’ You get your fingers pinched, you are dirty and greasy at the end of the day.”

In Mitra’s case, at the end of the day, she is also heartened. Certainly, her battles to raise St. Paul’s minimum wage and to provide stronger protections for renters have left some bruises, but Mitra looks to the community for support and confirmation. She sees her policy work as elevating those around her who have traversed even tougher roads, and she gains strength from their stories. Afya Sanaa Healing Center in St. Paul’s Midway district is one business Mitra celebrates: “This is an example of hopefulness and happiness,” she says of the Black-owned, Black-centric enterprise for healing through art, media, storytelling, body work, convenings, and affirmation. Mitra was instrumental in starting the Neighbors United Funding Collaborative, a community-based group that helped Afya Sanaa access start-up funding. “I came to the grand opening,” says Mitra, “and there was a beautiful neon sign reading ‘Black.’ [It is] Bold. Beautiful. Unapologetically here! As a person of color, though not Black, I am so proud. This place is aimed at helping Black people find physical and emotional healing, and repair damage.”

There is often emotion in Mitra’s voice. In one moment, as she describes the trauma that customers of Afya Sanaa and her constituents have experienced, she is fierce, almost angry sounding. She squares her shoulders: “Systemic racism WANTS us in tatters. That’s how it feels, all ripped up, constantly fending for yourself.” And then, she softens: “When we organize and built spaces that make us feel whole, that matters. When community is empowered to build, I feel excited. It’s revolutionary how happy and calm feel.”

Mitra Front Porch Portrait by Scott Strebel

Mitra is an elected official of-color serving in a time and place where more of us recognize race and skin color and their collective impacts on community; she is also colorful. A recent home buyer in her ward (she was the only renter on the St. Paul City Council when first elected in 2018), Mitra is redecorating and finding joy across multiple shades. “I’m drawn to warm colors,” she declares, having just painted her new-to-her kitchen walls a fine shade of peach. The tips of her shiny black hair are often, almost famously, tinted a sassy magenta, fuchsia, or rose petal pink. She embraces whimsy and revels in experiences and ideas that fuel both personal and communal delight. A quick look at her social media and you learn that Mitra is a fan of unicorns, rainbows, black cats, white cats, calico cats, glitter beards, and pie. She adapts and morphs as she goes through her day, illustrated by the spontaneous nickname “Pancake Mitra” she gives herself after downing an (oddly) named (and flavored) Pancake Latte on her morning commute.

On this day, time is up for talking. Mitra heads back to work, and back to her people, on her bike with – what else? – pedals in a pleasing shade of pink.