The streets of south Minneapolis are unnervingly quiet in the early morning frost. At 6:15 am, Jac Kovarik navigates their SUV, eyes peeled for the distinctive vehicles of US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents. This daily patrol is a new reality for a city living under what local leaders describe as a federal "occupation."
A City Transformed by Fear and Enforcement
The mood across the Twin Cities is one of palpable tension. The Trump administration has mobilised approximately 3,000 federal agents to Minnesota, a force that now outnumbers the Minneapolis police by five to one. The Department of Homeland Security has labelled it the largest operation in the agency's history.
The impact is visceral. Bus stops are empty of early shift workers. Classrooms have emptied, with Minneapolis public schools closing for two days after agents used chemical irritants outside Roosevelt High School and detained a staff member. Now, parents are offered a choice between in-person or online learning.
"Make no mistake, this is an occupation," stated Angela Conley, a commissioner for Hennepin county, which includes Minneapolis. The presence of armed, masked agents making arrests on morning commutes, at grocery stores, and outside churches has fundamentally altered daily life. "It's affecting every aspect of daily life," said Ryan Pérez of the nonprofit Copal.
Community Response and Escalating Tactics
As federal law enforcement has surged, so has the organised response from residents. By 7 am, a diminished contingent of parents escorts not only their own children but those of immigrant neighbours too afraid to leave home. Volunteers clutch bright orange whistles on street corners, blowing them in unison to alert others to ICE sightings.
ICE states its aim is to arrest undocumented immigrants with criminal backgrounds. However, reports and a class-action lawsuit filed by the American Civil Liberties Union allege aggressive tactics targeting US citizens, legal residents, and refugees without criminal records.
The operation intensified following the killing of Renee Good, a US citizen, by an ICE agent in Minneapolis earlier this month. Her death spurred protests, leading Donald Trump to threaten invoking the Insurrection Act in Minnesota. The Department of Justice has since opened an investigation into state officials, including Governor Tim Walz and Mayor Jacob Frey, for allegedly impeding federal agents.
Personal stories highlight the human cost. Daisy Martinez described how agents pulled over her family while driving their six-year-old son to hospital for a tonsillectomy on New Year's Eve. With the child in the backseat, agents pinned her to the car and took her husband, Tomas Martinez Gregorio. "It's almost as if he was kidnapped," she said. Her son now sees a therapist and fears going to school.
In a disturbing pattern, Garrison Gibson, a Liberian man, was arrested after agents used a battering ram to enter his home. A judge ordered his release, which ICE complied with, only to arrest him again the following day.
Economic Collapse and Mutual Aid in the Shadow of ICE
The economic fallout is severe. Approximately 80% of immigrant-run businesses in Minneapolis and St Paul were closed this week, with sales plummeting since late December. On Lake Street, an immigrant-heavy corridor, many restaurants are shuttered indefinitely. Coffee shops display signs reading "Federal agents are not permitted" and operate with locked doors, allowing entry only to those who knock.
In response, a powerful network of mutual aid has emerged. Juan Leon, owner of Leo's Tow, offers free or discounted towing for cars abandoned after drivers are arrested. Sex shops transform into donation centres, art galleries become resource hubs with free groceries, and baristas offer free coffee funded by community donations.
The Rev Ashley Horan, who lives a block from where Renee Good was killed, has coordinated tens of thousands of dollars in aid for rent, food, and supplies like whistles and hand warmers for observers. "Minneapolis could be and will be anywhere else in the country," she warned.
The crisis has a particular impact on Minnesota's Somali community, which numbers around 84,000, most of whom are US citizens or legal residents. Nimco Omar, a Somali American citizen, was stopped by four ICE agents who demanded she verify her citizenship. She refused, stating no law required her to prove her status to "a masked person walking around my neighbourhood."
As agents spread into suburbs and rural areas, the community's resolve hardens. "The people of the Twin Cities are extremely determined," said patrol organiser Jac Kovarik. "We just are more and more determined as they send more and more agents. And at the end of the day, there's way more of us than them."
