A new MayDay fest is rooted in community: 'This is my neighborhood, too'

It wasn't the pandemic that caused the MayDay Parade and Festival to take two years off. Financial hardship wasn't the only issue, either. This popular Minneapolis rite of spring was paused largely because its leaders perceived an equity problem.

In the Heart of the Beast Puppet and Mask Theatre vowed to remake the festival — improving it for artists and audiences of color. Now, after two years of behind-the-scenes work, MayDay will return to south Minneapolis.

It will be a very different event. South Minneapolis-based Kalpulli KetzalCoatlicue, a traditional Aztec dance group, will host a political/cultural street festival, filled with art projects and performances and speeches.

For years, the group's dancers, young and old, have performed as part of the parade. But they never felt like they could shape it, said Susana De Leon, leader of Kalpulli KetzalCoatlicue and one of the street fest's organizers.

"We come from traditions of papier-mâché, of singing, dance, painting," said De Leon, an immigration attorney in Minneapolis. "We had all this richness in our art, but that wasn't what this vision had in mind."

Now, the festival centers artists of color, immigrants and Indigenous people, she said. In an hourlong interview, De Leon talked about the work that led up to this point. The conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

Q.: Tell me about your history with MayDay.

Every year, my feeling about the inequalities was growing. And my feeling about the disconnect was growing. I would think, "We're on Native land. Little Earth is right here. Why is this a Nordic tradition? Why is this not rooted in the culture that's here?"

I would express those feelings. Sandy [Spieler, MayDay's longtime artistic director] was listening, she was always listening. She invited me to hard conversations, sometimes with community participants who were set on doing things a certain way. I would go there and say, "This is my neighborhood, too."

When I got selected to be on the MayDay Council, I still didn't trust them. [Laughs.] I thought: Who are these people, and what are they up to? More of the same?

Q: The council worked with artist-led Free Black Dirt, right?

A: Yes, they were just fantastic. They were romantic, utopian — but in a different way. Because all the little pieces of colonial, white supremacy thinking and acting became very clear, it became easier then to dismantle them.

The process was enriching to my soul. It changed me in profound ways. So when the decision was made to invite partners to lead MayDay, I said, "I will do it."

Q: What are your hopes for this year's festival?

A: I think the outcome is going to be even more beautiful than what I see in my head.

I'm banking on lots of youth being there because they were involved. I'm banking on lots of Indigenous people being there because they were involved. I'm banking on African American people being there because they're involved.

This new process allows us to build these gatherings in a less extractive way — in a way that's more grounded in abundance, grounded in collaboration, grounded in true participation.

A: My personal thing is that with a parade, you sit there and watch it go by.

More importantly, the parade was made with a pattern that was exploitative, that was rooted in white supremacy. We are at a moment in time where we must not be who we were. This is the time for people to show their humanity, to take a step back, to analyze their own participation.

To everyone who might be having feelings of being excluded, I've been there. I've been there all my life. These youth who took charge of this event, they have never been the leadership before.

And now they're at the forefront of MayDay.