"We’re an Island of Decency in a Country Being Driven Toward Cruelty."
I stand with Minneapolis
I grew up in Woodbury, Minnesota, 20 miles east of Minneapolis. Woodbury’s a cushy suburb, with miles of bike paths, cookie-cutter houses, and “safe” neighborhoods with a playground within walking distance of basically every home. It’s comfortably boring in the very best way.
This week, ICE unjustly detained a realtor in Woodbury. Ryan Ecklund was headed back from dropping his son off at school when he spotted ICE near a grocery store. He didn’t get in their way, or even so much as honk at them, he said; he just followed them for a short distance, recording. Five ICE agents blocked his car, opened his door, and yanked him out. They threw him to the ground, and he got road rash across his face. Ecklund was held for 10 hours before he was released—because he didn’t do anything wrong.
In an Instagram post, he said all of the other people he was detained with were U.S. citizens.
“I was exercising my legal rights, which I encourage anyone to do safely,” Ecklund said in the post. “I wasn’t impeding an investigation. I wasn’t flashing my lights or driving erratically or honking my horn at anyone. I was simply recording them as they moved around the city.”
My home state, Minnesota, is under attack. It’s estimated that about 3,000 ICE and CBP agents are in the Minneapolis area, which is more than the combined police departments of Minneapolis and Saint Paul. They’re knocking down doors, grabbing citizens, and invading schools. They are targeting people of color.
But Minnesotans are not backing down. They’re in the streets protesting. They’re buying whistles to help warn neighbors when ICE shows up. They’re organizing food drops for immigrant families who don’t feel safe going to the grocery store.
Scroll through any social media feed, and you’ll see folks who live there saying things like “We were built for this” and “We are steadfast survivors who always take care of our neighbors.” And, as a Minnesotan, I can tell you it’s true. Minnesotans are tough. They weather extreme temperatures and feet of snow. They shovel their neighbors’ driveways if they happen to get outside first after a big storm. They bring hotdish to friends, family, and their community in celebration and mourning, and as a way to welcome.
Last night, Minnesota Governor Tim Walz addressed Minnesota, urging his constituents to keep pushing back peacefully, protesting, and recording ICE. “We will reclaim our communities from Donald Trump. We will reestablish a sense of safety for our neighbors. And we will bring an end to this moment of chaos, confusion, and trauma,” he said to the camera. “Minnesotans believe in the rule of law, and Minnesotans believe in the dignity of all people. We’re a place where there’s room for everybody—no matter who you are or who you love or where you came from—a place where we feed our kids, we take care of our neighbors, and we look out for those in the shadows of life. We’re an island of decency in a country being driven toward cruelty.”
What I’m Reading
Think You’re Tough? Spend an Afternoon at Minnesota’s Coldest Ice Fishing Derby.
Outdoor recreation in Minnesota isn’t for the faint of heart. We spent a day at an ice fishing competition in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, where Mother Nature calls the shots, the fabric of community is thicker than denim, and tenacity is everything.
By Stephanie Pearson
I met Waldo, an outdoorsman’s outdoorsman with a reddish beard and a Carhartt beanie pulled close over his ears, out on the ice. Later in the day, he gave me a lift in his pickup truck. When I hopped in his cab, I absentmindedly pulled on my seatbelt.
“You don’t need your seatbelt on the ice,” Waldo quickly reminded me. A chill electrified my body as I envisioned myself trying to unbuckle it underwater.
You’ve Heard About Who ICE Is Recruiting. The Truth Is Far Worse. I’m the Proof.
What happens when you do minimal screening before hiring agents, arming them, and sending them into the streets? We’re all finding out.
By Laura Jedeed
The ICE expo in the Dallas area, where my application journey began, required attendees to register for a specific time slot, presumably to prevent throngs of eager patriots from flooding the event and overwhelming the recruiters. But when I showed up at 9 a.m., the flood was notably absent: there was no line to check in and no line to go through security. I walked down nearly empty hallways, past a nearly empty drug testing station, and into the event proper, where a man directed me to a line to wait in for an interview. I took my spot at the end; there were only six people ahead of me.
While I waited, I looked around the ESports Stadium Arlington—an enormous blacked-out event space optimized for video game tournaments that has a capacity of 2,500. During my visit, there couldn’t have been more than 150 people there.
Last But Not Least
