On the day Renee Nicole Good’s last words, “That’s fine Dude. I’m not mad at you.” rang out to the ICE agent who shot her in the head and whose last words to her were “F**ing bitch,” I was preparing a lunch of soup made from the broth and meat of a holiday turkey dinner along with gifted Christmas cookies and sweats, both leftover products from a whir of family and friends’ gatherings in celebration of the season. A good friend joined us for lunch on the day this tragic event happened no more than one mile from our home. His visit was on our calendar for days. He wanted to come over to see our Christmas decorations before we took them down.
“These were the best of times and the worst of times” wrote Charles Dickens in his novel A Tale of Two Cities and it certainly felt that way to me. Over the month of December, I enjoyed every party I attended and hosted. I carried the joy of setting a festive table, eating, playing board games and cards, dressing up in my holiday colors, connecting with the ones I love the most and attending the meaningful Advent worships in anticipation of the annual celebration of the Christ who was born and lived among us.
While carrying this joy within I was also carrying the deepest fear and anxiety I have ever felt in my life, for my city, state and nation, but especially for my neighbors, as ICE moved in and destroyed our immigrant businesses. Documented and undocumented alike of a certain heritage were afraid to leave their homes and go to work. Close to half my block is inhabited by Latino households, many who flip houses, do roofing and siding, and handy work. Some own their own construction businesses. On our street there are four large white vans that, have not moved for a month. None of our Latino neighbors have been seen outside of their houses. I call one of them I know on a regular basis to make sure they are not in need. I talk with the mom about things I never imagined we would talk about in this nation, like her husband making sure the coast is clear if he leaves the house and the need for him to take his advertising off the side of his truck and park it in the back, instead of on the street like he always did, before this evil descended upon us.
Many of the little immigrant businesses on Lake Street are closed for lack of workers. I did half of my Christmas shopping in the Global Market, but it was hard as half of their shops were shuttered, during the busiest time of the year. I had to fight the impulse to sit down in the middle of that place and bawl my eyes out.
This is my second year doing a bus stop walk, a volunteer service organized by our neighborhood’s Crime Prevention Specialist in which I and other “bus stop guardians” walk a certain street and stand with parents and kids waiting for their school buses in the morning. It began, because the working class, immigrant parents were scared for their children because of the crime. The street I walk had three encampments on or very near it, until, in January of 2025 one of them burned down and the subzero weather hit. Following that, the city changed its strategy in dealing with encampments, that has pretty much kept that street and the rest of Minneapolis clear of tent cities, and the violent crime they attracted. However, this school year I am standing with families on the bus stop in a whole different situation. I am standing in support of families facing the crime of kidnapping brought down on them by the power of the Federal Government and that’s way more scary than the dealers, human traffickers and gang members milling around an encampment in the wee hours of the morning. Except for two Native American girls, all the kids I stand with are Somali or Latino children of immigrant parents. ICE is the subject of conversation, and they are scared, for themselves and their families.
One morning a mom told me of a report she received about ICE staging in the parking lot of a small business on Lake Street. It was just one block away from where we were standing and when the kids got on the bus and I watched her until she entered her house, I was tempted to go over to that business. Instead, I texted the rapid response number to report it and continued my walk, because my first obligation was to the kids. When my walk ended, I heard loud honking and realized I was close to a kidnapping. So, I ran in the direction of the honking and witnessed three ICE agents putting a handcuffed man in the back seat of a medium size, sleek, black car with heavily tinted windows. I got my whistle out and started blowing along with the loud honking coming from three cars, two parked across the street from the ICE vehicle and one directly behind it. The agents weren’t mouthy, like the ones who were badgering Renee before she was shot and killed. They were silent and radiated evil, like black crows in a scary movie, just looking at me blowing my whistle. When they pulled away all three of the cars followed. I’m not a spiritual person, but I feel the darkness that has descended upon our city, a storm cloud that will not be lifted until they leave.
Before they were on us in earnest, I attended two rapid response trainings and joined a hyper-local group on my street, organized to watch and warn, to collect funds to help near-by families with rent, utilities and food through a local church and to be of service to our neighbors who are hiding out. I know some who have self-deported, and who could blame them. But I hope most will stick it out until this evil can somehow be stopped, because no one in this neck of the woods wants them to leave, which has been made abundantly clear by the marches, the protests, the vigils, the trainings and the support our immigrant neighbors are receiving. And though the shooting death of Renee Nicole Good was shocking, and made this resistance stronger, the spirit of resistance was already moving among us. Let’s keep it going.
