Minneapolis is seething. For weeks, the city has resembled occupied territory, with thousands of federal immigration agents conducting what officials term the largest operation of its kind. The frigid air, however, has done nothing to cool the fury sparked by the killing of 37-year-old resident Renée Good by an ICE officer in January.
For Andy, a U.S. citizen whose company is headquartered in the city, the crisis is not an abstract policy debate—it's a daily reality of masked agents and vanishing rights. The pain is compounded by a grim sense of history repeating itself; the scar left by the murder of George Floyd in 2020 is still raw, and now another name is etched into the city's streets of protest.
"Ironically enough," Andy notes, "George Floyd and where Miss Goods was shot are only eight blocks apart. It's very close." The proximity is both geographical and symbolic, marking Minneapolis once again as the epicenter of a national confrontation over state violence and accountability.
"You're looking at a group right now with ICE that has very limited legal capability," Andy says, his words measured but urgent. "There is no protection for people who are protesting or being taken by ICE." His observation cuts to the core of the outrage sweeping Minneapolis and beyond. The Trump administration has deployed roughly 3,000 agents to Minnesota, a massive escalation following Good's death. Officials labeled Good a "domestic terrorist," though multiple videos contradict the claim that she tried to run over an agent.
What Andy describes is a fundamental breakdown of transparency and due process. "We are dealing with a masked, unidentified police force," he explains. "They're not giving their name; they're not showing their badges." This practice, encouraged by a Department of Homeland Security tweet urging "decisive action," stands in stark contrast to standard policing.
More alarmingly, those detained are stripped of basic rights. "People are not getting due process," Andy notes. "You have a right to a lawyer. That is not happening." This absence of accountability has turned ICE into what critics call a "standing army" with minimal oversight, a reality underscored by a dramatic rise in detention deaths and reports of brutality under the current administration.
The response from Washington has been to double down, not de-escalate. President Trump has defended the agents involved, sent reinforcements, and threatened to invoke the Insurrection Act—with 1,500 Army troops placed on standby. Simultaneously, the Department of Justice has shifted from investigating the shooting to probing Minnesota officials like Governor Tim Walz and Mayor Jacob Frey, who told ICE to "get the *** out of Minneapolis."
For Andy, this pattern is familiar. "They will never admit a mistake," he says, drawing a direct line to the administration's refusal to concede the 2020 election. This unwavering stance has polarized the nation: while a majority of Americans now disapprove of Trump's immigration tactics, the base remains solidly behind him, with most Republicans justifying Good's shooting.
Amid this standoff, a patchwork resistance is forming. Minnesota and Illinois have filed lawsuits to halt ICE operations. Protesters, part of a national "ICE Out For Good" movement, continue to face aggressive tactics, including less-lethal rounds and tear gas. Yet they persist, a fact that stuns Andy even in the bitter cold. "It gives us a preview of what we're going to see this summer," he warns. "The protests are just going to get more intense." The city knows this pattern too well; the flames that followed George Floyd's death are a living memory, and the current crackdown suggests few lessons were learned.
The trajectory ahead appears locked in a dangerous feedback loop of escalation. Legal scholars warn that the impending court battles—over state lawsuits, the potential use of the Insurrection Act, and the constitutionality of ICE's "absolute immunity" claims—will be protracted, leaving a vacuum filled by street-level conflict. Congressional action to impose meaningful oversight remains unlikely in a divided government, effectively granting the executive branch continued carte blanche. In this climate, the administration's strategy of smearing critics, targeting political opponents, and mobilizing a loyal enforcement apparatus has drawn uneasy historical parallels from observers like Andy, who has studied history.
"Trump is going after the media. He's trying to control the media... He is trying to pit people against each other," Andy observes. While direct comparisons are often fraught, the unsettling resonance with the early tactics of regimented, ideologically-driven state forces in 1930s Germany lies in the systematic erosion of institutional checks, the creation of a pliable paramilitary arm, and the deliberate fostering of societal division to consolidate power. The goal, as Andy sees it, is not merely enforcement but the "production" of a new, more acquiescent political reality.
For Andy, the true danger lies in the nature of the force itself. Unlike the military, which swears an oath to the Constitution, ICE appears bound only to its mission. "ICE can't say 'this is against constitutional law,'" he observes. This unchecked power, expanding under a president willing to "exude" control over the American people, is what frightens him most.
Reporter | Guo Zedong
Video editor | Qin Shaolong
Cover design | Lai Meiya
Editor | Steven Yuen, James Campion, Shen He, Ou Xiaoming
