Tim Walz raised property taxes 27% to pay for all the empty buildings in downtown
Tim Walz raised property taxes 27% to pay for all the empty buildings in downtown
A commentator in Minneapolis has raised concerns about rising property taxes in the city, claiming that residents are shouldering increased costs due to a growing number of vacant buildings downtown.
In a widely shared video, journalist Brookerteejones reported that property taxes for many Minneapolis homeowners have increased between 20% and 27%. He attributed these increases to the financial burden of maintaining empty commercial spaces.
Walking through downtown, the journalist pointed to numerous unoccupied buildings. He noted that many shops, offices, and restaurants have closed or relocated, leaving long stretches of the city center unused.
According to his account, the vacancies have placed new financial pressure on local taxpayers. He said residents are effectively covering the cost of leases and infrastructure tied to buildings that no longer generate business activity.
Brookerteejones questioned why so many properties remain empty. One factor he highlighted was the continuation of remote work among federal employees based in Minneapolis.
He claimed that Governor Tim Walz has not required federal workers to return to their offices, resulting in a significantly reduced daytime population in the downtown area.
With fewer workers commuting, he argued, foot traffic that once supported small businesses has sharply declined. This drop, he said, contributed to the closure of restaurants and retail stores.
The journalist also cited a rise in crime as another consequence of lower activity downtown. With fewer people in the area during the day, he suggested that the environment had become less secure.
He described Minneapolis as a city that once had a vibrant core but is now struggling to recover from pandemic-era disruptions. According to his account, the decline has left many residents discouraged.
Despite the challenges, he noted that Minneapolis remains visually appealing and retains aspects of its historic charm. However, he emphasized that economic conditions have created a sense of stagnation.
He stated that visitors might spend less simply because there are fewer places open to shop or dine. This trend, he said, further illustrates the difficulty businesses face in sustaining operations downtown.
Brookerteejones portrayed the situation as emblematic of broader policy decisions. He contended that leadership choices at the state level have played a role in downtown Minneapolis’ struggles.
In his view, Governor Walz’s handling of workplace policies and economic recovery efforts contributed to the current conditions. He argued that more decisive action could have helped reverse the downturn.
The journalist concluded by saying that Minneapolis’ decline is “very sad” for a city with such architectural beauty and cultural potential. He expressed hope that the area could still rebound with stronger support.
He ended his remarks by suggesting that the nation “dodged a bullet” by not having Walz selected for national office, underscoring the political tone woven throughout his commentary.
On my birthday, my sister smashed the cake straight into my face, laughing as she watched me fall backward, blood mixing with the frosting. Everyone said, “It’s just a joke.” But the next mo
On my birthday, my sister smashed the cake straight into my face, laughing as she watched me fall backward, blood mixing with the frosting. Everyone said, “It’s just a joke.”
But the next morning in the emergency room, the doctor studied my X-ray and immediately called 911—because what he saw… exposed a horrifying truth.
Part One: “It’s Just a Joke”
On my birthday, the room smelled like sugar and candles and cheap champagne. A pink cake sat in the center of the table, my name written across it in looping frosting. Everyone was laughing. Phones were out. Someone shouted for me to make a wish.
My sister stood closest to me.
She grinned, eyes bright with something that wasn’t kindness. Before I could even lean forward, her hands slammed the cake straight into my face.
The impact was harder than anyone expected.
I felt myself stumble backward, my heel catching on the rug. There was a sharp crack as my head hit the edge of the table, then the floor. For a split second, the room spun in white and pink. I tasted sugar—and then iron.
Blood mixed with frosting, dripping down my chin.
People screamed, then laughed nervously.
“Oh my God,” someone said, still chuckling. “It’s just a joke!”
My sister laughed the loudest. “Relax! You’re so dramatic.”
I tried to sit up. Pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision blurred, and the ceiling swayed like it was floating. Someone wiped my face with a napkin, smearing blood across my cheek.
“You’re fine,” my mother said quickly. “Don’t ruin the mood.”
I remember thinking how strange it was that my ears were ringing louder than the music.
I remember the taste of frosting as I swallowed blood.
I remember waking up hours later in my bed, alone, my head throbbing, my phone full of messages telling me not to be “too sensitive.”
By morning, I couldn’t lift my arm.
Part Two: The X-Ray That Changed Everything
The emergency room smelled like disinfectant and sleepless nights. The doctor asked how it happened. I hesitated, then said quietly, “I fell.”
He nodded, unconvinced, and ordered X-rays “just to be safe.”
I lay on the cold table staring at the ceiling, replaying the laughter over and over in my head. It’s just a joke. That sentence hurt almost as much as my skull.
When the doctor returned, he wasn’t smiling.
He stared at the image on the screen for a long time. Too long.
Then he left the room without a word.
Minutes later, he came back—with a nurse, a security officer, and his phone pressed to his ear.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I need emergency services. Immediately.”
My heart started pounding. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
He turned to me, his voice careful. “This isn’t a simple fall.”
He pointed to the X-ray. Even I could see it—fine fractures branching like cracks in glass, not just in my skull, but along my collarbone and ribs. Old fractures. Healed wrong. Layered.
“These injuries happened at different times,” he said gently. “Some weeks apart. Some months.”
I stared at the screen, my mouth dry.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
He met my eyes. “This pattern isn’t accidental. And the impact that brought you in today could have killed you.”
The word killed echoed in my ears.
“Who did this to you?” he asked softly.
I thought of my sister’s grin. My parents’ laughter. All the times I’d been shoved, tripped, “joked” into walls. All the times I’d been told I was clumsy. Sensitive. Overreacting.
My hands began to shake.
“I think…” My voice broke. “I think it was never a joke.”
Part Three: When Laughter Turns Into Sirens
The police arrived quietly. Calmly. Like this wasn’t the first time they’d seen something like me.
They didn’t accuse. They asked questions.
Who was there last night?
Who pushed you?
How often do you get hurt?
For the first time, I didn’t minimize. I didn’t protect anyone. I told the truth.
By evening, my phone was exploding.
My mother crying.
My father furious.
My sister screaming that I had “ruined everything.”
“You’re exaggerating!” she yelled over voicemail. “It was cake! Everyone saw it!”
Everyone had seen it.
That was the horrifying truth.
Everyone had seen it—and laughed.
The investigation didn’t take long. Videos surfaced. Old medical records were reviewed. Witnesses contradicted themselves. Patterns became impossible to ignore.
What started as a “birthday prank” became an assault case.
What they called humor was documented as violence.
I was moved to a different room that night, monitored closely, safe for the first time in years. As I lay there, ice wrapped around my head, I realized something terrifying and freeing all at once:
If that cake hadn’t been smashed into my face…
If I hadn’t fallen just right…
The truth might have stayed buried forever.
Sometimes it takes breaking something visible to expose what’s been shattered for years.
