The Voice of Minneapolis

Crowds of people protesting holdings signs that express anti-ICE sentiments.
Protest march against ICE in Minneapolis 23 January 2026 - Intersection of 4th Street.jpg. (2026, January 25). Wikimedia Commons. Retrieved January 28, 2026, from https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Protest_march_against_ICE_in_Minneapolis_23_January_2026_-_Intersection_of_4th_Street.jpg&oldid=1153437478.

In the wake of the ICE shooting of Renée Good, thousands of community members across a broad coalition emerged on the icy streets of Minneapolis in protest. The general strike, one of the most momentous in decades, was a distinctively Minnesotan affair, as people handed out hand warmers and danced to music in subzero temperatures. Their message? ICE out. 

As a Minnesotan currently abroad, the scenes in Minneapolis are both horrifying and inspiring. After the latest slaying of Alex Pretti—who was shot ten times by ICE agents while restrained on the ground—the community turnout has been tremendous. And that is exactly what this is: the knitting-together of a community in a moment of intense crisis. As many note, the civilian response is leaderless but not uncoordinated. Neighborhoods, parents, teachers, and business owners have organized and coalition-built with incredible efficiency at the grassroots level. Their units are hyperlocal and swiftly mobilized, somehow maintaining communication without the use of a central authority. The fact that this has all unfolded in the dead of winter only underscores the significance of the current moment. It is as one Minnesotan put it: If the Nazis’ downfall at the Battle of Stalingrad proves anything, it’s that you don’t target a winter people in winter.

Protest As A Legacy

While the news might surprise some onlookers, it doesn’t surprise locals, considering that protest is as Minnesotan as hotdish and shoveling snow. The state has always been progressive, but its history of resistance is especially rich. In 1934, the Twin Cities emerged as a flashpoint in the American labor movement when a Teamsters-led general strike against Citizens Alliance shut down commercial transport. Their work successfully transformed Minneapolis from an anti-union stronghold into a union town, contributing to the signing of the National Labor Relations Act in 1935. During the Long, Hot Summer of 1967, simmering racial relations exploded into street riots in North Minneapolis. The same decade saw the rise of the Red Power and American Indian Movement, which fought against systemic poverty, housing discrimination, and treaty violations.

The University of Minnesota sits at the epicenter of this legacy. One cannot forget the 1969 occupation of Morrill Hall by Black activists, resulting in the creation of the Department of Afro-American Studies—a historical moment that the UMN still pays homage to today. Nor can we forget how the community of Cedar-Riverside—the neighborhood that straddles West Bank and is partially integrated into campus—fought against urban renewal plans that threatened to displace residents and destroy the local quality of life in the 1970s. The Riverside Plaza stands as the lone relic of the failed development plan, its characteristic red, yellow, and blue panels easily viewable from multiple points in Minneapolis. 

Responding to the Current Crisis

Cedar-Riverside is precisely the kind of place that draws the ire of the Trump administration. This urban neighborhood, blending immigrant heritage with radical traditions of counter-culturalism and social expression, has sheltered working-class communities, artists, and activists for decades. In many ways, it symbolizes the cultural heritage that Minneapolis is determined to protect. The strength of these neighborly bonds is on display right now—and the astonishing sense of impunity with which federal agents seem to be operating is just as visible. So far, ICE agents have employed brutal tactics, beating a restrained man in the face and pepper-spraying a pinned-down civilian in chilling images released by The Star Tribune.

In January, President Trump threatened to unleash U.S. military power on Iran for its own slaughter of protesters. How can the president champion Iranians’ right to free speech while subjecting Americans to similarly violent practices? Our political situation might seem bleak, but the U.S. remains a constitutional republic where limits on federal power exist. When the government exercises lethal force, it has a duty to demonstrate that its actions served the public good. Yet, an independent, transparent investigation seems unlikely.

This administration has violated key human rights norms, testing the bounds of judicial orderspunishing dissent, and weaponizing border controls. It invokes “legal immigration” like an old refrain while attacking meaningful pathways to citizenship, arresting individuals at court check-ins, and dismantling life-giving asylum protections (this attitude doesn’t seem to apply to White Afrikaners, whom President Trump has promised to resettle). Such a sweeping betrayal of human rights and democratic values is difficult to digest. Still, hope remains.

Hear Their Voice

Images depicting state violence may dominate newspapers, but the spirit of these protests lies in the vibrancy of everyday lives. I see it all around me, in the snippets of my own life. I am a foreign-born Minnesotan. My classmate is Muslim, my co-worker is from Brazil, the girl at the dorm service desk with headphones over her hijab is named Ayaan. I have a professor who mastered French in a refugee camp before learning English, and another who was tear-gassed at a Kurdish rally in Turkey. When it snows, I drink Somali chai and in the spring, mango juice from an Ethiopian restaurant. I buy Hmong batik. I celebrate Chinese New Year. I swing-dance at the Ukrainian Cultural Center.

The world should know that Minnesotans are from everywhere, and yet, we are all from here. Our unique cultures and family histories crafted a home from this city, and this home is precious enough to defend. If you remember anything, let it not be the masked, inscrutable faces of ICE agents, but the voices of these people—everyday, resilient, and profoundly, utterly extraordinary. 

The views, thoughts and opinions expressed in this blog are the author’s only and do not reflect an official position of the University of Minnesota, the Human Rights Program, or the College of Liberal Arts. As an institution of higher education that values and promotes free speech, civil discourse, and human rights, we welcome a variety of perspectives and opinions from our student contributors that are consistent with these values.