January 16, 2026

A decade ago, many white Americans watched from the sidelines while police killed Black people. Today, the stakes have shifted: White people are being caught in the undertow of state-sanctioned gun violence. ICE is now doing what local police have been doing in urban communities:  Shoot first, ask questions later. 

If white communities don’t act now, they'll rapidly become savagely victimized by the same system that allows state violence to continue.  Let’s be frank in 2026: the state doesn’t need a badge that says police to kill you. All it needs is power, a gun, and a system that says “we are the law above the law.” That’s the lesson from Minneapolis — and it’s not new. It’s the same grim lesson we learned from George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and far too many others: the enforcement arm of the state can decide to kill first and explain later — or never explain at all.  The streets are no longer safe for anyone.

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The Incident — A Snapshot of State Violence

On January 7, 2026, Renee Nicole Good — a 37‑year‑old poet, mother of three, and U.S. citizen — was shot and killed by Jonathan Ross, a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent in south Minneapolis. She had just dropped her 6‑year‑old off at school. Video shows an agent approaching her vehicle, and within moments, shots were fired. Ross fired three shots at point blank range, striking Good in the face.  A doctor was prohibited by ICE to provide Good with lifesaving aid;  she would later pass away from the brutal act of state-sanctioned gun violence.  

Federal officials immediately tried to frame the narrative: she “weaponized her vehicle” and committed “domestic terrorism.” Local officials and video analysts said the opposite — that Good was stationary or trying to pull away and that the agent’s decision to shoot was neither necessary nor justified.

Here’s the part that should make anyone with a pulse uneasy: federal authorities have indicated the agent might not be charged, and the DOJ may not even open a civil‑rights investigation — even as prosecutors resign in protest over this lack of accountability. Others are suggesting that protests in support of Good and the community affected might be criminalized.  

That’s not an isolated bureaucratic flub — that’s systemic impunity in action.  But none of this should come as a surprise, if you were staying work throughout the first and second decades of the 21st century. 

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Police Violence 101: A Thread Through Recent U.S. History

What happened to Good isn’t radical or surprising when you look at how American law enforcement has escalated its attacks on Black people over the last 20 years:

• On May 25, 2020, George Floyd’s murder in Minneapolis — eight blocks from where Good was killed — happened because an officer felt entitled to subdue a Black man without consequence.

• On March 13, 2020, Breonna Taylor died in her home during a no‑knock raid, shot by officers who justified the violence with minimal transparency.

• On July 17, 2014, Eric Garner told police he couldn’t breathe — and died after they restrained him.

The pattern is clear: when state agents perceive threats — whether real or imagined — they default to violence, and the system rushes to protect them rather than the victims.

Yes, ICE is law enforcement.  Yes, ICE carries guns.  Yes, ICE kills people.  But because ICE is nominally an immigration agency — not local police — the legal and political cover for that violence is even broader. Federal agents aren’t just using the playbook of police violence; they’re pushing it further into the shadows, where accountability evaporates.

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Impunity: The Invisible Shield

The reaction of the Department of Homeland Security and the Trump administration — labeling Good a “domestic terrorist,” claiming self‑defense, and shrugging off accountability — is telling. It’s the same sinister playbook used when local police kill Black people:

1. Label the victim as a threat.

2. Justify the killing as self‑defense.

3. Protect the officer/agent.

4. Slow‑walk or refuse accountability.

The difference here is subtle in name but massive in impact: ICE is federal. That means local pressure — protests, vigils, public outrage — matters less than it ever did when police departments were the primary killers.  And there could possibly be a move afoot to crimininalize protests, vigils, public outrage, and heck, even people like me writing about it.  

Already, communities from Minneapolis to Philadelphia have rallied under “ICE equals death” banners, mourned Good’s loss, and called for systemic change.

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Structural Violence Isn’t About Skin Tone — It’s About Threat Perception

Good’s death highlights a tough truth: state violence doesn’t only strike Black folks — but the mechanisms that permit it are the same mechanisms that have historically killed Black people with impunity.

And there’s a chilling second layer: some commentators have pointed out that because Good was white, there’s a chance the establishment might actually pretend to care — at least more than when a Black man is shot in similar circumstances. That says as much about systemic racism as the killing itself.

Police violence taught ICE how to act without consequences — because when law enforcement kills first and answers questions later, federal agents see they can do the same in the same communities.  

That’s not just policy critique — it’s a diagnosis of how racist, violent power operates in the U.S.  And it's only going to get worse.

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The Larger Lens: Immigration Enforcement as Policing by Another Name

ICE’s mission is to enforce immigration law — but in practice, it acts like a militarized police force with less oversight. Whether it’s raids, detentions, or lethal force, the tools are the same. The difference?  There’s even less public scrutiny and even more bureaucratic cover. That’s the dangerous lesson state violence has taught ICE: you can kill people with the trappings of law enforcement and still walk free.

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"You in danger, girl!!” — Why White People Need to Step Up Now

The lesson is clear: state violence doesn’t wait. And the warning echoes across communities — it’s the same energy behind “you in danger girl!!” It’s funny when said in casual conversation, but here it’s a grim alert: ICE and the police won’t pause. Lives are at stake, and old patterns of hesitation, ignorance, or deflection aren’t just unhelpful — they’re deadly.

Healing does not come only from naming harm, but from witnessing it together. When white people step forward — not to center themselves, not to perform outrage, but to stand plainly in the truth of what state violence has done — something shifts. The burden of proof loosens. The grief is no longer carried in isolation. Accountability, when shared, becomes a form of care. It tells those most harmed that they were seen, believed, and not abandoned to the aftermath alone. In that way, stepping up is not about guilt or heroics; it is about interrupting the loneliness that violence creates. And in that interruption, there is the beginning of healing — not just for those who have been targeted, but for a society that cannot move forward while refusing to look at what it has allowed.

Too often, in moments like this, white people look to Black communities for instructions — asking what more Black people should do, or why we have not done enough. That question misses the point. Black people have been organizing, mourning, documenting, resisting, and surviving for generations. What is being asked for now is not more labor from those already harmed, but responsibility from those who have been insulated from the worst consequences. Healing does not come from shifting the burden back onto Black communities; it comes when white people stop asking to be guided and start acting from what they already know. When responsibility is taken up rather than deferred, the cycle of harm begins to loosen. And in that loosening — where grief is acknowledged without being explained away — healing becomes possible.

Your move.