Flanagan Faces Fire: Hijab Stunt Sparks Outrage Amid Minnesota Fraud Scandal

Paul Riverbank, 12/27/2025Minnesota’s $9B fraud scandal entwines politics, identity, and trust, spotlighting Flanagan amid controversy.

No one in Minnesota politics would mistake Flanagan for a quiet bystander. Tall, proud, known for her advocacy, she blends her Ojibwe and Catholic heritage in a state where identities matter. On this day, though, it was the hijab—neatly pinned and clearly out of place on a Catholic politician—that crashed into the headlines. She fixed her gaze on the crowd and the press, declaring the Somali community “part of the fabric” of Minnesota. “Show up, support our Somali businesses, support our immigrant neighbors,” she urged, with a nudge to shop local—a simple message on the surface, complicated by timing.

The timing, it must be said, is everything. Behind the speeches and shopping, federal and state agents race to pick apart a web of alleged fraud costing some $9 billion. The Feeding Our Future scandal alone has ballooned into a symbol of wider failures—money meant to feed children instead vanished into flashy cars, foreign wire transfers, and luxury homes. “A whole network,” the U.S. Attorney emphasized, not a random handful operating in the dark. Meanwhile, Minnesotans from every political persuasion want explanations. Where were the guardrails? Who watched the money flood out?

The tension is sharper because of who stands accused. Many implicated nonprofits are tied to the Somali community, a reality that makes every official statement a minefield. Flanagan’s appearance at Karmel Mall was quickly picked apart—her supporters calling it an act of solidarity at a time of fear, her critics, including longtime Republican whip Tom Emmer, deriding it as pure “political theater.” To some, it looked like a calculated campaign stop, with the Senate primary looming and her eyes on an open seat. For others, it was a defense of unity when suspicion has begun to seep into daily conversation.

Standing nearby, Nimco Ahmed—a fixture in local DFL politics and no stranger to controversy—spoke quietly with reporters. She’s spent years threading the needle for her community, reminding outsiders of the cost of suspicion and the pain families feel when a few criminals tarnish the many. Ahmed once put it plainly: “We lose our children to war abroad and come home to be painted as criminals ourselves.” It’s never that simple, of course, but these grievances don’t vanish just because politicians say the right things.

If Flanagan’s critics have a point, it’s not only about optics. Just ask those 400-plus Department of Human Services employees who, in a remarkable public letter, laid the blame for “massive fraud” squarely at the feet of Governor Tim Walz. Statehouse halls echoed for weeks with the sound of lawmakers—Democrats and Republicans alike—pointing fingers over missed warnings. “The programs are set up to move the money to people... and in many cases, the criminals find the loopholes,” Walz conceded in a rare moment of candor to The New York Times. Since then, he’s promised tougher oversight, even creating a new task force—vowing, “You commit fraud against public dollars, you go to prison.” The promise is pointed, but it arrives after the fact.

Naturally, this crisis has become a magnet for national figures. House Oversight’s James Comer came barreling in, demanding full cooperation and ominously waving the threat of consequences if the state fails to comply. And on the far right, Donald Trump, never one for understatement, called for ending protections for Somali nationals, his message echoing around the internet: “Send them back to where they came from. It’s OVER!” Trump’s words, blunt as ever, served mostly to stoke anxiety among Minnesota’s East African community.

Of course, for Flanagan, this is hardly new terrain. A year ago, she took heat—national heat—for wearing a shirt saying “Protect Trans Kids,” complete with a knife motif, days after a tragic shooting at a Catholic school by a transgender gunman. That too had gone viral, sparking angry debate on cable news and a new round of fundraising emails from both parties.

All this arrives as Minnesota’s political landscape shifts. Senator Tina Smith is stepping down, the state’s open Senate seat drawing big-name Democrats (Rep. Angie Craig among them) and wild card candidates like Billy Nord. Flanagan’s every move is measured for political effect, her supporters citing courage, her detractors cynicism. But the reality is messier—and the stakes sharper—than any campaign ad will dare admit.

For now, beneath the fluorescent lights of Karmel Mall or the wood-paneled legislative hearing rooms, the question lingers: In the aftermath of a $9 billion scandal, what will it take for politicians to regain the trust of voters? The easy answers—for or against—are running thin. It’s the harder conversations about oversight, identity, and belonging that could, just possibly, reshape Minnesota politics in the months ahead.

Big fraud stories have a way of making everything a bit blurry, even for old political hands in Minnesota. The most recent one—by all accounts, a jaw-dropping $9 billion swindle, with names and numbers no one can quite keep straight—has wrapped state politics in a haze of blame and suspicion. Federal investigators have fanned out. “Historic,” the prosecutors said. “Industrial-scale fraud.” And somewhere in the thick of it, we find Lt. Gov. Peggy Flanagan. Not in court, but at Minneapolis’s busy Karmel Mall, surrounded by Somali American small business owners as camera phones blinked and Somali TV of Minnesota looked on.No one in Minnesota politics would mistake Flanagan for a quiet bystander. Tall, proud, known for her advocacy, she blends her Ojibwe and Catholic heritage in a state where identities matter. On this day, though, it was the hijab—neatly pinned and clearly out of place on a Catholic politician—that crashed into the headlines. She fixed her gaze on the crowd and the press, declaring the Somali community “part of the fabric” of Minnesota. “Show up, support our Somali businesses, support our immigrant neighbors,” she urged, with a nudge to shop local—a simple message on the surface, complicated by timing.The timing, it must be said, is everything. Behind the speeches and shopping, federal and state agents race to pick apart a web of alleged fraud costing some $9 billion. The Feeding Our Future scandal alone has ballooned into a symbol of wider failures—money meant to feed children instead vanished into flashy cars, foreign wire transfers, and luxury homes. “A whole network,” the U.S. Attorney emphasized, not a random handful operating in the dark. Meanwhile, Minnesotans from every political persuasion want explanations. Where were the guardrails? Who watched the money flood out?The tension is sharper because of who stands accused. Many implicated nonprofits are tied to the Somali community, a reality that makes every official statement a minefield. Flanagan’s appearance at Karmel Mall was quickly picked apart—her supporters calling it an act of solidarity at a time of fear, her critics, including longtime Republican whip Tom Emmer, deriding it as pure “political theater.” To some, it looked like a calculated campaign stop, with the Senate primary looming and her eyes on an open seat. For others, it was a defense of unity when suspicion has begun to seep into daily conversation.Standing nearby, Nimco Ahmed—a fixture in local DFL politics and no stranger to controversy—spoke quietly with reporters. She’s spent years threading the needle for her community, reminding outsiders of the cost of suspicion and the pain families feel when a few criminals tarnish the many. Ahmed once put it plainly: “We lose our children to war abroad and come home to be painted as criminals ourselves.” It’s never that simple, of course, but these grievances don’t vanish just because politicians say the right things.If Flanagan’s critics have a point, it’s not only about optics. Just ask those 400-plus Department of Human Services employees who, in a remarkable public letter, laid the blame for “massive fraud” squarely at the feet of Governor Tim Walz. Statehouse halls echoed for weeks with the sound of lawmakers—Democrats and Republicans alike—pointing fingers over missed warnings. “The programs are set up to move the money to people... and in many cases, the criminals find the loopholes,” Walz conceded in a rare moment of candor to The New York Times. Since then, he’s promised tougher oversight, even creating a new task force—vowing, “You commit fraud against public dollars, you go to prison.” The promise is pointed, but it arrives after the fact.Naturally, this crisis has become a magnet for national figures. House Oversight’s James Comer came barreling in, demanding full cooperation and ominously waving the threat of consequences if the state fails to comply. And on the far right, Donald Trump, never one for understatement, called for ending protections for Somali nationals, his message echoing around the internet: “Send them back to where they came from. It’s OVER!” Trump’s words, blunt as ever, served mostly to stoke anxiety among Minnesota’s East African community.Of course, for Flanagan, this is hardly new terrain. A year ago, she took heat—national heat—for wearing a shirt saying “Protect Trans Kids,” complete with a knife motif, days after a tragic shooting at a Catholic school by a transgender gunman. That too had gone viral, sparking angry debate on cable news and a new round of fundraising emails from both parties.All this arrives as Minnesota’s political landscape shifts. Senator Tina Smith is stepping down, the state’s open Senate seat drawing big-name Democrats (Rep. Angie Craig among them) and wild card candidates like Billy Nord. Flanagan’s every move is measured for political effect, her supporters citing courage, her detractors cynicism. But the reality is messier—and the stakes sharper—than any campaign ad will dare admit.For now, beneath the fluorescent lights of Karmel Mall or the wood-paneled legislative hearing rooms, the question lingers: In the aftermath of a $9 billion scandal, what will it take for politicians to regain the trust of voters? The easy answers—for or against—are running thin. It’s the harder conversations about oversight, identity, and belonging that could, just possibly, reshape Minnesota politics in the months ahead.