By Kenneth Tiven
The surprise in Minneapolis, Minnesota, is not simply the violence—it is the refusal. At a moment when many feared Americans were ready to fold the tent on constitutional democracy, Minnesotans instead reached back to the spirit of July 4 and made clear that this anniversary year need not be democracy’s last.
What unfolded exposed the failure of a long-gestating right-wing fever dream: an over-armed, under-trained immigration enforcement apparatus unleashed on American cities, killing citizens in the name of “order”. This vision did not arise overnight. It has been metastasizing since the Reagan era, nurtured by ideological descendants who matured in conservative institutions like the Heritage Foundation and, by 2023, formalized their ambitions in Project 2025—a manifesto aimed at remaking the United States into a white, conservative, Christian fundamentalist state should Republicans regain the White House. The unspoken goal was stark: reduce the Constitution to a symbolic relic, like Britain’s Magna Carta—revered, but no longer binding.
With a second term secured, Donald Trump moved quickly to implement this blueprint, displaying the same impatience and disregard for planning that marked his business failures. He drew inspiration from Hungary’s Viktor Orbán, who methodically dismantled democratic institutions while preserving their outward forms to remain within the European Union. But Trump rejected Orbán’s incremental “salami tactics”. Instead, he chose domination—accelerating the process through spectacle and violence, betting that shock would produce submission.
Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York proved resistant: too large, too organized, too fortified by labour unions and Democratic governors. Minnesota looked different. A blue state, yes—but perceived as manageable. Its governor, a prominent Trump critic in the 2024 election, was an added incentive. The message was meant to be unmistakable: dissent will be punished.
The consequences were entirely predictable. Innocent people were dragged from cars, beaten, pepper-sprayed at close range—and some were killed. Earlier this month, Trump stoked the moment himself, posting a rage-filled warning: “THE great people of Minnesota that THE DAY OF RECKONING AND RETRIBUTION IS COMING.”
But rage politics always miscalculates. Trump misjudged Greenland. His inner circle—largely Stephen Miller—misjudged Minnesota.
Nearly six million people live in the state, two-thirds of them concentrated in the Minneapolis–St. Paul metropolitan area. While much of Minnesota’s land is rural farmland, forests, and lakes, its civic culture is deeply communal. Minnesotans pride themselves on fairness, mutual responsibility, and an ethical instinct—do unto others—that once defined much of American life, but has thinned elsewhere. That ethic surfaced immediately.
The killing of two citizens—Renée Good, a middle-aged woman, and Alex Pretti, a 37-year-old emergency room nurse, who intervened when he saw a woman being harassed—ignited widespread revulsion. Without investigation, Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem and President Trump claimed the victims had brought their deaths upon themselves. Bystander videos proved otherwise. Multiple recordings showed irrational, aggressive behaviour by ICE agents, including the reckless use of tear gas and overwhelming force.
Pretti was shot ten times after being shoved face-down and restrained—apparently not because he posed a threat, but to demonstrate dominance. It was power as performance. What does it say about a democracy when accountability becomes secondary to spectacle?
Instead of retreating in fear, Minneapolis organized. Neighbourhoods coordinated warnings. Protesters documented agents. Legal observers mobilized. While ICE’s operations have not stopped, they have slowed—an outcome that shocked MAGA loyalists accustomed to submission, not resistance.
Trump responded by sending Greg Bovino, the aggressive commander of immigration enforcement, back to California and installing Tom Homan—another hardliner whose arrogance promises escalation rather than restraint. But Americans, including many conservatives, are increasingly unwilling to be treated as subjects in a police state. For a movement once obsessed with “government overreach”, this reversal has been disorienting.
Minnesota soon looked like a self-inflicted disaster. In the age of mobile video, surveillance cuts both ways. Government agents taking lives in broad daylight cannot control the narrative simply by stonewalling. Yet, the federal response has been to block state and local leaders from investigating, offering no transparency and no justice.
A democracy cannot survive armed power without consequence. This erosion was formally rebuked by US District Judge Patrick J Schiltz, a Republican appointee and Minnesota’s chief federal judge, who censured ICE for violating nearly 100 court orders in a single month—more than “some federal agencies have violated in their entire existence,” he wrote. Schiltz warned ICE leadership that continued defiance could bring personal court appearances and sanctions, underscoring a basic truth: agencies may challenge the law, but they must obey it unless overturned.
The fallout crossed ideological lines. Some Republican members of Congress criticized the tactics. Even the National Rifle Association (NRA)—long a GOP ally—defended Pretti, noting he held a valid concealed-carry permit. When the NRA breaks ranks, it signals electoral danger.
As video evidence mounted, Trump met privately with Noem. The question now facing his administration is stark: double down on chaos, or hesitate in the face of organized civic resistance?
Public backlash has reached unexpected corners. A non-political subreddit devoted to cats, with 8,00,000 members, banned Trump and ICE supporters outright. “We can no longer tolerate people making excuses for this,” the moderator wrote. Cultural lines once considered apolitical are now being redrawn.
Polling and public reaction suggest a broader shift. Immigration—long a Republican rallying cry—is increasingly a liability. Congressman Mike Lawler, a Republican from rural New York, acknowledged this in a New York Times essay: “The deaths of Renée Good and Alex Pretti were tragic and preventable… what the country has been doing is not working.”
Stephen Miller, Trump’s chief architect of immigration policy and arguably the most relentless ideologue in the White House, is unlikely to soften. His influence thrives on escalation. And as with so many Trump-era crises, each new outrage conveniently crowds out unresolved scandals—from delayed Epstein disclosures to reckless foreign policy stunts.
More ominously, Trump, Vice-President JD Vance, and Miller have begun saying the quiet part out loud: that they no longer believe domestic or international law applies to them. Treaties, court orders, even the Constitution itself are dismissed as obsolete. This lawlessness now permeates governance—from ignored judicial rulings to economic chaos driven by illegal tariffs, to opaque cryptocurrency dealings that conceal corruption.
Democrats face an urgent imperative. This is no ordinary election cycle. It is a contest over whether constitutional democracy still functions when tested by force. The moment echoes another confrontation with soldiers in American streets—Boston, 1770—when citizens decided that submission was no longer an option.
Trump, who inherited a real-estate empire, may imagine passing the country on as a family holding. Minneapolis has offered a different inheritance: proof that the reflex to resist authoritarianism is bruised—but not broken.
—The writer has worked in senior positions at The Washington Post, NBC, ABC and CNN and also consults for several Indian channels
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