Minneapolis seems to be in the spotlight again.

You’ve probably heard about ICE murdering Renee Nicole Good on Wednesday morning. I was at work and spent the remainder of the day distracted and trying to not cry. That’s pretty much how Thursday and Friday went too.

Saturday James and I went to a protest at a park a few blocks from where Good was killed. This is about a 15 minute bike ride from my house, but with 5,000 other people heading to the same location, it happily took a little longer. It was healing being there on a 20F /-6.6C day. People were angry but calm, and care permeated the whole area. The last week we’ve been having thawing during the day and re-freezing overnight and sidewalks are covered in lumpy, slippery ice. Volunteers were out sprinkling grit on the park sidewalks. People were helping each other navigate the ice. Younger folks were using the signs they had brought to slide down icy hills. There were families with children from infants to teenagers.

There were so many people James and I couldn’t even get close to the center of the event where the speakers were, or the street where people were gathering for the march to the sight of Good’s murder and where there is now a beautiful memorial. But that didn’t matter, we were there, adding our bodies and voices.

James’s bike commute to and from work takes him not far from the memorial. He generally bikes through George Floyd Square, Itself a memorial, and only a few blocks north. He plans on detouring by Good’s memorial this week to add note and a prayer.

We stayed a little over an hour before heading home, though the event continued well into the evening. When we had arrived ours were the only bikes at the bike rack. When we left I had to do some contortions to get close enough to the rack to unlock my bike because it was packed. At a table nearby were some women offering water to keep folks hydrated and free pizza. One would yell, “Grab a slice!” And then the other would yell, “Fuck ICE!” They had a great rhythm going and people were smiling and grateful and asking if they could make a donation and the women would refuse money and suggest they give it places delivering food and supplies to people who are afraid of leaving their homes.

Good’s murder Wednesday was not the only horror. ICE showed up and Roosevelt High School, just down the street from my house, when classes were getting out for the day. They detained two staff members, tackled teachers who were trying to keep the kids safe, and then they pepper sprayed and set off tear gas on the teachers and the kids.

I have not been trained on ICE watch, but I have neighbors who are out on patrol regularly. I have a sangha member who has been trained in de-escalation who has been going to hot spots, trying to talk people down, including ICE agents. I have a whistle I have begun wearing whenever I go out so I can sound an alert if I see ICE activity.

Ilhan Omar, my Congressional representative, showed up at the ICE detention facility by the airport Friday demanding to be allowed in to check on how people are being treated. It is her right and prerogative as a member of Congress to have access to ICE facilities. They would not allow her entrance.

One of my senators, Amy Klobuchar, announced Saturday that we now have more ICE agents in the Twin Cities than the combined number of police officers on the Minneapolis and St Paul police force.

We are under siege. We are resisting.

Don’t believe the lies coming from Kristi Noem, President Trump, and Vice President Vance. If you want to know what is really going on, following the local independent news sources: Minnesota Public Radio, Minnesota Reformer, and MinnPost. They are all paywall-free.

Renee Good was a 37-year-old mother and prize-winning poet. You can read her poem “On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs” at poets.org.

Poet Amanda Gorman wrote a beautiful tribute for Good:

For Renee Nicole Good
Killed by I.C.E. on January 7, 2026.

by Amanda Gorman

They say she is no more,
That there her absence roars,
Blood-blown like a rose.
Iced wheels flinched & froze.
Now, bare riot of candles,
Dark fury of flowers,
Pure howling of hymns.

If for us she arose,
Somewhere, in the pitched deep of our grief,
Crouches our power,
The howl where we begin,
Straining upon the edge of the crooked crater
Of the worst of what we’ve been.

Change is only possible,
& all the greater,
When the labour
& bitter anger of our neighbors
Is moved by the love
& better angels of our nature.

What they call death & void,
We know is breath & voice;
In the end, gorgeously,
Endures our enormity.

You could believe departed to be the dawn
When the blank night has so long stood.
But our bright-fled angels will never be fully gone,
When they forever are so fiercely Good.

It is hard to go on with regular life in the face of all of this, but it is also important to retain some touchstones of normalcy whenever possible for the purpose of mental health and well being. I read a great book called The Garden by Nick Newman. It’s a nebulous post-apocalyptic time with two late middle aged sisters, Evie and Lily, who have lived in the walled estate just the two of them since they were young. Then a boy makes it over the wall and their settled routines are overturned and their relationship cracks. We learn the truth of the sisters’ lives in carefully spooled out flashbacks and current day comments and actions. It is quiet and creepy and deliciously unsettling. The ending is a bit soft, but I forgive that given all that came before.

Also, my bathroom remodel is mostly done! There are a few finishing things still pending but it is done enough that we can use it. The contractor picked out the sink on the promise that it would be smaller than our old one, but it turned out to be larger. We said we didn’t like it, found one we liked better, and they have ordered it and will swap it out in the next week or two.

And now of course, we will need to repaint, get a new window and shower curtain, and a new mirror so it all matches and looks new and shiny. These things we can take our time with because I want to make sure we like them since I never want to do this again while I am living in this house.

Here is part of the old tub-shower. You can see the enamel of the tub was peeling off, and the side of the tub was knee-high. I look at that photo and wonder how we put up with it looking so terrible for so long!

And now we have this:

The photo doesn’t show the true color very well. The tile is a mottled light to medium gray with bits of white and dark gray in it. The grout is a light gray. The tile on the bathroom floor is the same as in the shower. It is lovely. And James is pleased with the folding chair and grab bars.

Books and a new bathroom are definite blessings amidst the horror outside my door. And my Buddhist sangha and Beloved Community Circle have been both a refuge and a source of support. I’ve never felt so much community belonging and support in my life. It fills my heart with love and gives me strength.