Photo courtesy of Peggy Flanagan
Minnesota Lieutenant Governor Peggy Flanagan
At this point, Peggy Flanagan is almost unrecognizable when she’s not wearing buffalo plaid.
A strange thing about the Minnesota State Capitol is that you can walk right in. East entrance. West entrance. South entrance. Take your pick. Just park out front. Stroll up the grand stairs—golden quadriga looming above you—and walk through the door. No security checkpoint. No front desk. Only you, wandering into the most important, most iconic building in the state.
I experienced this amazement again in mid-December when I arrived at the building to meet Peggy Flanagan, the new lieutenant governor. The first Native American woman elected to statewide office in Minnesota, and only the second nationally, Lt. Gov. Flanagan seems poised to be a major player in the administration. She ran the transition advisory board and co-headlined the new administration’s “One Minnesota” listening tour. The DFL even had a “PEGGY” button for sale at its State Fair booth.
Flanagan found a place on Tim Walz’s ticket as a former organizer and Minneapolis School Board member, who also represented district 46A (parts of Plymouth, Golden Valley, and St. Louis Park) as a state representative. As I sit in an oak and leather conference room waiting for her, my mind turns to how Flanagan must see this place.
Eventually, there’s a knock on the door, which I ignore. Then there’s another. Finally, I awkwardly declare the room occupied, only to be met with uproarious laughter on the other side. It’s the lieutenant governor and she’s locked out. I open what is apparently the only door at the capitol you can’t just walk right through, and we begin.
We’re in this fancy conference room and you are the lieutenant governor. Have you had any “WTF am I doing here?” moments yet?
The first day we opened the transition office, the governor, his wife, and I pulled up in front and walked up those stairs. I’ve been to this building a million times, but that time I was like, “I can’t believe it’s real.” The other day I was talking to a group of students and I was like, “No one grows up and says, ‘I want to be the second most powerful person in the state.’”
I noticed John Lind’s portrait just outside your office. He was Minnesota’s 14th governor, and one of the first Democrats. And, as his lobby card says, he championed a new movement called “progressivism,” which aimed to elevate both the urban and rural working class. That was in 1899. One hundred nineteen years later, here you are.
Democracy doesn’t sit still. You have to continue to recreate it and recommit to it. And democracy works best when it reflects the people that it represents. In this particular election you saw a wave of people of color, indigenous folks, and immigrants take office. They more accurately reflect the community. And I think that is this next step of what it means to be progressive.
Teen Vogue recently asked you how you’d prefer to be identified when it comes to your Ojibwe heritage. You said,“I’m happy to say, member of the White Earth Band of Ojibwe. That’s great. You can feel free to use Indigenous woman, Anishinaabe, Ojibwe, all interchangeably, Native with a capital ‘N.’” Why was that an important question to you?
People don’t have an understanding of what it means to be Native American. When you walk around this building, for example, some of the images that you see are of us stuck in the past—we can’t exist as contemporary people. That also essentially says, All Native people are the same.
This is the type of subject that leads Minnesotans into what you’ve dubbed “who wants pie?” moments. As in, speaking openly about complicated subjects makes us feel self-conscious enough to offer pie as a way to change the subject.
That’s correct. The first time I ever met R.T. Rybak, he was like, “How do you want to be referred to? Anishinaabe or Ojibwe?” And I was like, “Well, thanks so much for asking!” That matters. We’re still here.
But there is definitely a wrong way to ask that, right?
“What are you?” [Laughs.] Or, “How Indian are you?” Uh, “What half of you is Indian?” Yeah, there are a lot of wrong ways to ask that question. One of my favorites is, “You don’t look like a real Native American.” I’ve gotten to the point where I’m like, “OK, then I want you to tell me what a real Native American is supposed to look like.” And that’s usually like a record-scratch moment.
“Who wants some pie?”
“Are you hungry?” But, seriously, it’s important that we can create space and have goodwill for people who approach those conversations.
Backing up a bit. You’re my age, and we both graduated from the University of Minnesota in 2002. But you grew up to be the lieutenant governor. I mean—
—What’s funny is, I just went to my 20-year high school reunion and people were like, “We’re not at all surprised that this is what you did.” And I was like, “Really?! Because I am!”
Whoa! Hold up! You just opened up the high school reunion door, and you better believe I’m going to walk through it.
St. Louis Park is a great place. My best friend from junior high is still my best friend. It’s always a lot of fun to be around people who’ve known you since you were a kid.
Going into it, were you like, “I’m a state rep now. I’m going places”?
Well, I planned it, so—
The lieutenant governor of Minnesota planned her high school reunion? You’re that person?
Well, I’m not that person, but that person was like, “I’m not going to do it.” And I said, “We have to. We have to all see each other.” So we just went to Bunny’s.
Did you see former Vikings coach Mike Tice?
No! But it was fun. It was very low-key. We had some apps and cocktails, and everyone just hung out. We had one of those photo booths. But I’m not going to plan it again in 10 years. Somebody else is going to have to.
After college you lived in Minneapolis. What made you move home to St. Louis Park?
I was going to have a baby and was living in Uptown. One night, pregnant, in my bathrobe, I was walking my dog—this is going to get real for a second—right by the CC Club. It was bar close. And, well, this guy started to just, you know. And I was like, “Are you really cat-calling me? I’m in a bathrobe, walking my dog, and I’m pregnant. You’re barking up the wrong tree.” But, really, I wanted my baby to grow up in the community that raised me.
You said no kid grows up wanting to be lieutenant governor, but in your case, you didn’t grow up wanting to be in politics at all.
My senior year of college, driving past the Wellstone for Senate office changed my entire trajectory. I thought, “I really like Senator Wellstone. I’m going to stop and check it out.” They were like, “Hey! Welcome! Come on in!” And I stayed and stuffed envelopes with these strangers who were from all different walks of life and who cared tremendously about their community and their future. There was this buzz. And I said, “What is this? I love this.”
How did that early experience with the late senator shape your belief system?
I think, if it’s the Minneapolis School Board, or being a state rep, or this role as LG, or being the executive director of the Children’s Defense Fund, that all of my work has been motivated by the deep belief that communities and individuals are experts in their own lives.
What does your daughter think of all this?
The way that we talk about it at home is like, “Mommy cares about you, and mommy’s number-one job is to be your mom. But mommy’s job is also to make sure she helps take care of people out in the community.”
So, does she want to go into the family biz?
She said, “I know I don’t want to be a state representative.” And I was like, “You’re breaking my heart!”
What does she want to do instead?
She wants to be a police officer. We know a couple of Native women who are police officers, and they are her heroes.
Speaking of daughters, mine thinks your name is Peggy Flannelanagan, because of all the matching plaid you guys wore during the campaign. How did that start?
The governor has an amazing buffalo plaid jacket—like, just a jacket he’s had for years and years. And he was like, “I’ve gotta get you one!” And so then we were, like, twinning. And it just caught on.
It felt authentic.
One of the things that we try to do—and I hope it comes across—is to reflect that we are just regular people. I still have my student loans. Tim’s a teacher who is married to a teacher. My kid plays soccer on Saturdays.
Do you guys still get to do people-who-wear-normal-clothes things?
Last night I went to see Sheila E at First Ave—it was AWESOME—and the governor was at Bob Seger. And if that’s not a perfect cross section of Minnesota, I mean, c’mon.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
