Retired teacher Charley Underwood cashed his state pension check, tucked all $1,294.11 of it into an envelope Friday morning, and returned it to sender.

"For me, this is blood money," Underwood said, seated in a bland meeting room in a bland state office building, facing four of the most influential politicians in Minnesota.

He dropped the envelope he said he filled with cash on the table in front of them. "I do not want it."

Minnesota's investment portfolio topped $149 billion by the end of last year, all managed by the State Board of Investment. Underwood was the last in a long line of residents and retirees who came before the board on Friday to question whether Minnesota's investments reflect Minnesota's values.

For the better part of an hour, the investment board's members— Gov. Tim Walz, Attorney General Keith Ellison, State Auditor Julie Blaha and Secretary of State Steve Simon — sat and listened as petitioners questioned why the state was investing in everything from polluting industries to Tesla stock.

A group of sign language interpreters reminded the board that Texas-based Z Video Relay Service is closing its call centers in Little Canada and Bloomington, laying off 50 Minnesota interpreters and moving the jobs to Texas. That came just as the interpreters were considering whether to unionize.

If a company won't invest in Minnesota, they said, why should Minnesota invest $400 million with the private equity firm that owns the service, Ariel Alternatives?

But the majority of the speakers were there to talk about the war in Gaza. Over the years, Minnesota has divested from South Africa to protest Apartheid; cut financial ties to Russia and Belarus after the invasion of Ukraine; and severed financial ties to Iran and Sudan.

One by one, residents and retirees approached the board to question why the state continues to invest even a fraction of its assets in Israel, after its government shattered the latest truce in Gaza.

Most of the speakers had about a minute to plead their case, with a digital clock counting down in big red numbers before them.

"My pension was used to burn children alive," said Abir Ismael, a math teacher, fighting back tears. "Every day, I wake up horrified that ... my pension is funding this. I feel physically sick, seeing images of children's bodies scattered in the rubble."

Members of the board might argue that with markets in chaos — and the $319 million worth of Tesla stock the state reported last year now in freefall — their priority should be ensuring a return on investment for the state retirees who rely on those pensions.

"We are well aware of our covenant to provide benefit security," Jill Schurtz, the state's chief investment officer, told the board and the audience on Friday.

Underwood, 79, talked it over with his wife and decided to put his principles ahead of his pension this time. He spent the last 15 years of his long teaching career in the St. Paul schools and the money he returned to the state represented a sizable chunk of the family budget this month.

"I don't know if they're going to take my money," he said. "But I'm not going to take it back."

As Underwood's envelope hit the table, the meeting adjourned. The state leaders left the hearing room without comment as shouts erupted inside the room and from protesters gathered outside.

Underwood joined the crowd as the room slowly emptied.

The envelope stayed on the table, untouched.