HOUSTON -- Many U.S. communities with bustling downtowns were better prepared to weather economic fallout from the pandemic, thanks to a decades-old revitalization project.

The Main Street program was founded by Mary Means in the 1970s when she worked at the National Trust for Historic Preservation.

Means said regional shopping centers and suburban lifestyles were draining downtowns, leaving behind shabby buildings and vacant storefronts that once lined vibrant main streets.

"What we were doing with the Main Street project, it turns out, is creating another story: 'Hold on, you can stay. You can do some things about it and here's how to get started, and here's what to do,'" Means explained.

Now known as Main Street America, the program continues to help communities transform their economies and improve residents' quality of life. Means was about to publish a book about her life's project called "Main Street's Comeback" when COVID-19 hit. She revised the title to include: "And How It Can Come Back Again," with advice to businesses about staying afloat during the pandemic.

After a pilot program in three cities, Means said Texas was one of the first states to apply for grant money, promising to choose five towns a year for 10 years, and back them to do Main Street revitalization.

"Nobody made a claim like that. We just thought it was Texas," Means recounted. "But by God they have, and it's been long beyond 10 years that Texas has been entering new towns in the program and providing the kind of support that enabled Texas towns to survive, and many of 'em to thrive."

Means said it's helpful 40 years after the project began, there are investment tax credits for historic buildings that make revitalizing downtown areas more doable.

"Not only do communities need to take a look at the usually hidden or undiscovered asset of their historic downtown buildings, they need to really keep them up, and bring them back and keep them up," Means urged.

By Amy Felegy for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Kathleen Shannon for Greater Dakota News Service reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration

Ask any six-year-old and they’ll tell you just how to play the classic game of Go Fish: Get a handful of cards. Try to get four that match. Repeat as attention spans allow. 

But swap out the fish for owls and say “gookooko’oo” instead of “go fish,” and you have Bineshiiyag: one of several new amusements in the Nashke Native Games award-winning line. 

Launching a year and a half ago, the three-person business is trying to bolster Ojibwe language and culture in the Midwest—in a fun, accessible (not to mention, effective) way.

“Our mission is to increase awareness and the power of learning through gameplay. And boy, we just see it come to fruition every day,” says founder and CEO Tony Drews “Chi-Noodin” (Big Wind). 

Language learners, teachers, families, and curious board-gamers alike can purchase the games, ranging from modern takes on traditionals (like Bagese: The Bowl Game) to fast-paced fur trade-simulation kits with puzzles and tile matching challenges (like Mii Gwech). 

The games are an avenue for discovery; they can be played in Ojibwe or English (Dakota expansion packs coming soon!) Here, words are intentionally not forgotten. 

Drews says there are less than 700 first-language Ojibwe speakers in the U.S. 

“And if we don’t do something, we’re gonna become known as the people who were the Ojibwe,” he says. “Native history is Minnesota history. And without a spark, our youth aren’t gonna learn it.” 

Drews’s great-grandmother only spoke Ojibwe. Her daughter was sent to Pipestone Indian Training School and now, Drews’s father doesn’t know more than four words in Ojibwe.  

“It took one generation to strip my family of its culture, its language and the millennium of our culture,” Drews says. “We can’t talk about language and culture separately. They’re intertwined.” 

Take the word mindimooyenh. Somebody who holds the family together. A term of high respect for an elderly woman. 

“If you call someone an old woman in English, that’s a dig, right? So if we lose that word, we lose the cultural perspective of how we truly look at elderly women,” Drews says. “And the same with elders. We call our elders gichi-aya’aa: ‘the Great Beings.’”

Second-grade teacher Lisa Schussman’s students have played Ginebig: The Snake Game, Makizinataagewin: The Moccasin Game, and Bineshiiyag in her Lincoln Elementary classroom.

She loans out take-home kits at the Bemidji, Minnesota, school where many Native students attend; the area is surrounded by the Leech Lake (Ojibwe), Red Lake (Chippewa), and White Earth reservations. 

“I just find it such a valuable way to get … excited about the language and about their culture and respect too,” Schussman says, overhearing students using words learned in the games. 

“I think that a lot of times we get nervous to try or we don’t want to do something wrong, so then we don’t. But I’ve found that through the games, you’re a lot more willing when it’s in a fun, laughing atmosphere to just try.” 

Goji’ewizi: Just try.


Amy Felegy wrote this story for Arts Midwest.


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By Amy Felegy for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Mike Moen for Prairie News Service reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration

Director Anj Karna describes Parachigo as a three-layer cake. 

Sitting on multiple floors, the grassroots art venue in Fargo, North Dakota, hosts pay-what-you-can studios, a music and event stage, a 24/7 band practice room, and an art store. 

It’s what many call a third place — a no-cost hangout spot. Run by five board members and a handful of volunteers, Parachigo is for all ages, alcohol free, and low cost. 

“Parachigo is a seat at the table that we built ourselves for local artists,” Karna says. “It’s the community voice of art.” 

This particular voice has a particularly uncommon name, too.

“I think a lot of the people who run the space and are passionate about the space share very similar views, but the goal is also to be neutral ground, regardless of that, for anybody recovering or like may come from a different angle, but shares the understanding that equality is important. So I think that’s kind of the only guideline and expectation.” 

Storefront Director Crona Solberg says Parachigo is “the little glue” between people and community, which often don’t meet due to financial or other barriers. 

“Everywhere in life, it seems, everything is just so disconnected. And this is the only place that feels connected,” Solberg says. “Mom and pops died 40 years ago. We’re bringing that back, but now it’s like 30 mom and pops all together.” 

Up next for Parachigo is adding more board members and volunteers, partially to lessen Karna’s workload as director, manager, fundraiser, outreach specialist … the list goes on. 

A main goal is climbing out of $2,800 in debt from relocating this year. People can donate by texting DIY to 53555. 

A dedicated space to make art happen is just as integral as the art happening in it, Karna says. Parachigo is Fargo’s unwavering reminder of it. 

“I think in all cities, local communities and art communities are a dying breed. But they’re not going anywhere. [Artists] just need a place to get together. And if you have an empty space and open it to local creatives, they will fill up the space with beauty.”


Amy Felegy wrote this story for Arts Midwest.


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Book bans are on the rise in Maryland, according to a new report from PEN America.

The nonprofit that tracks issues of free expression says Maryland tied with South Carolina at ninth for the number of books banned during the last school year.

Three Maryland school districts tossed out a total of 64 books.

Carroll County was responsible for 59, due to a new policy there that bans titles with any sexually explicit content - a policy backed by Moms for Liberty, a national parental rights group.

Tasslyn Magnusson, a senior advisor with PEN America's Freedom to Read program, said parents have always had questions about books for their children and worked with librarians. But now, she said, the motive behind bans is changing.

"There are people who don't want to read the titles, but submit large challenges - 20, 30, 40 books at a time - and it's not about their child and their family," said Magnusson. "It's about all the students, and it's much more ideological and driven by much more political interests across the country."

Some of the titles banned in Maryland included notable works like The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood and The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison.

The PEN America research found books bans haven't been evenly distributed across the country. Iowa and Florida were responsible for more than 80% of the banned books in the last year.

And in the last school year, 29 states saw at least one booked banned. Magnusson said to change this trend, folks must show support for librarians before book challenges arise.

"You need to go into the public comment time of your school board meeting or send messages to your administration, before things happen in your community, about how much you love your librarians," said Magnusson. "Talk about how much you love diverse, inclusive literature that prepares your children for the world that they live in."

This past April, Maryland Gov. Wes Moore signed the Freedom to Read Act into law. It requires school officials to not remove books based on ideological, religious or partisan opposition.



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