A Case for Minnesota's New Standard

A Minnesotan's argument in favor of their new state flag

Liam paused to catch his breath.

Elijah was close behind, struggling through the last bramble.

"What do you see?" asked Elijah.

Liam squinted, his eyes adjusting to the transition between forest and field.

"An empty meadow," said Liam, turning back to his comrade.

Elijah pointed over Liam's shoulder, "What about that?"

Both men raised a hand to shield the sun from their eyes. On a distant hill, a small cavalry charged in their direction. Their standard-bearer, doubling as the vanguard, raised the unit's flag high for all to follow.

"Idaho! We're saved!" said Liam.

"I don't think so, their flag is square."

"No, you're thinking of North Dakota."

"Wait a minute, I'm pretty sure it's Kansas."

"Nah, Kansas has their name on their flag."

"Isn’t that Montana?"

They paused. Each man strained his eyes, calculating whether the unit was friend or foe. Safety or sorrow. The sound of the horses pounding grew stronger. Elijah broke the silence.

"I'm starting to think it's Oklahoma, but they're too far away to tell. It’s too risky. Let's get out of here."

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As my three year old would say, these soldiers have a “problem.” Unlike my son's problems, this one is life or death. The cavalry's flag has one job: to signal. The Romans called the person holding the flag the Signifer and they felt it was important enough to command twice the wage. They signaled where the unit should be. Whether charging or retreating, the flag represented safety. The enemy's flag? A fight.

But that's all in the past.

Right?

Wrong. The purpose of a flag is still to signal. For some flags this is obvious. Maritime flags signal words, phrases, and shorthand concepts. The Jolly Roger signals pirates. A checkered flag signals the finish line. A white flag signals surrender. Many others represent a social group, a city, a state, or a nation. Those flags signal this is us.

The original purpose remains. For our friends Liam and Elijah, they can't tell the cavalry is from Minnesota. If it was clear they would've known whether it was a butt kicking or a butt saving that awaited them. What symbols represent change over time, and differs based on who's viewing it, but it's still a shorthand that refers to a group of people.

There is incredible power in symbols. It can rally against—or toward. It can exclude—or include. It can divide—or unite.

But, like both Winston Churchill and Spider-Man say, "Where there is great power, there is a great responsibility." If a flag has that kind of influence, it should be clear. It's not useful if it looks like twenty others.

Listen, I know we're not all amateur vexillologists. Few people spend their spare time dissecting the state flags of the United States. But I'm not being facetious when I say, there are at least twenty flags that have a field of blue with a state seal in the center.¹ On close inspection they all look different. But from a distance? It’s far more difficult to discern.

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Recently, the Minnesota State Emblems Redesign Commission proposed a new state flag and seal.² They solicited designs from the public and, through a multi-phase process, winnowed the selections down until one remained. After final adjustments, Minnesota is now set to adopt two new state emblems next year.

The prospect of a new Minnesota flag excites me. I was born and raised here, and consider myself proud to be Minnesotan. I can pick the old flag out of a crowd, but I have no relation to it. More of a vague indifference. For a symbol that's meant to represent me, that's not a resounding endorsement.

I had heard rumors about a new flag but it never seemed real enough to give it my attention. Once they made this announcement, I stopped to think about what I'd include if I were the designer. What represents me? What represents Minnesota? What represents us?

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I can start by telling you what doesn't: "Uff-da," "Ope," or "You Betcha." These are sayings other people associate with our state. Fargo, the acclaimed movie about a pregnant Minnesotan police chief on the case of a triple homicide, didn't do us any favors. Francis, the film's protagonist, speaks with a stereotypical Minnesota accent. It's a fantastic film, and we are proud to count the Coen brothers our own, but most of us don't speak like that. At least, not as comical as it's played. The film's dent on pop culture was so deep, I still need to inform people that, while it takes place in Minnesota, the city of Fargo resides in North Dakota.

I have no qualms with people that've embraced these sayings. I use them ironically myself, with a tinge of pride. But it can't possibly represent us all. It's a trifle.

So what does?

Sports comes to mind. We're lucky to have a franchise in each of the four main professional sports.³ I'm proud of each team in their own way, but teams already have their own symbols. They are their own tribes. And I can say this because I'm Minnesotan, but let's leave the mediocrity and misery to the sports teams. The Wild though, there's more to that.

Before the Minnesota Wild, we had the the Minnesota North Stars. That’s a symbol I still see, despite the team moving to Texas in the early 90s. It's got staying power the Wild haven't earned. For a few reasons.

First there's hockey. They don't call us the "state of hockey" for nothing. We’ve got a chip on our shoulder that Texas took our team. While I don't skate, I can't argue the significance of hockey to our history—and to our identity. Next, there's the team's name. Our state's motto is L'Étoile du Nord, or "the star of the north." North Stars is on the nose, but it works. Polaris—the actual north star—is positioned such that the entire cosmos appears to rotate around it. Quite the boon to celestial navigators.

While we're discussing words, why not mention the name of the state itself—Minnesota. It comes from our indigenous peoples. "Mní sóta" translates to "clear blue water." And if you're old enough, you may remember a jingle by Hamm's. The first line states their beer comes "From the Land of Sky Blue Waters." Sounds tasty.

Water happens to be a big deal here. I didn't realize how spoiled with water we were until later in life. We're the Land of 10,000 lakes, we’ve got the headwaters of the Mississippi River, and the north shore of the largest freshwater lake by surface area—one of my happiest of places—Lake Superior. What do you get when you combine the St. Croix, Lake Superior, and the Mississippi?

Our iconic shape.

That shape. There's no other like it. Grade school children love Minnesota because it's one of the easiest to recognize. The shape itself is a symbol of Minnesota. Our boundaries tell a history—of mankind and of earth. I take pride in the baker's hat. The snowy white hat of the nation.

I spend a lot of time assuring people out of state that it's not winter here year round. While Minnesotans know that we get all four seasons, there is no doubt that winter is a permanent fixture of our identity. I have a tougher time of it as I age, but I still enjoy a fresh fallen snow covering the world in its magic. A hoarfrost is a concept foreign to most. But for us, we know there's nothing else like it. Winter is part of us.

The things I associate with Minnesota are timeless. Our winters, our shape, our water, and our position among the stars. They feel permanent, stalwart, invulnerable.

Here’s our flag.

It's simple. It's representative. It's us.

I'm eager to rally around it.

1. Popular Youtuber, CGP Grey once ranked our flag the worst in the nation.

2. If approved, this will be the fourth iteration of Minnesota's flag.

3. Even if we're described as "small market." Not that I care or anything.