Howie is Minnesota’s Columnist, writing about power, money, sports and civic life across the state. His daily column is powered by Lyric Kitchen · Bar of Duluth.
MINNESOTA DID NOT ASK for this moment. But we are living in it.
Over the past week, the Twin Cities have become the focal point of a major federal immigration enforcement operation that has spilled well beyond its stated purpose and into the fabric of daily life.
What began as a law-enforcement action has turned into sustained protests, court intervention, school disruptions, business closures and a pervasive sense of unease that now stretches across neighborhoods that normally pride themselves on calm and routine.
At the center of the unrest is the fatal shooting of a Minneapolis resident by a federal immigration officer during an enforcement operation. That death became the flashpoint. Everything that followed — the demonstrations, the surge in federal presence, the legal back-and-forth — has flowed from that moment.
The details of the shooting will be examined by investigators and courts. They should be. Facts matter. Process matters. Accountability matters. But while that work unfolds, Minnesota is already absorbing the consequences of what happens when enforcement arrives at scale and trust is not prepared to meet it.
Large numbers of federal agents were deployed across the metro area, far exceeding the visible presence of local police. The scale alone changed the atmosphere. To some, it looked like a necessary show of authority. To others, it felt like an occupation. Both reactions can exist at the same time — and both are worth understanding if the goal is stability rather than escalation.
For many residents, the effect has been immediate and personal. Streets that once felt familiar now feel uncertain. Parents hesitate before sending children to school. Workers reconsider their commute. Small business owners weigh whether opening the doors is worth the risk to their employees. Ordinary decisions now carry an added layer of calculation, and that quiet disruption rarely makes headlines.
The federal government has framed the operation as lawful enforcement, aimed at removing individuals with serious criminal histories and protecting public safety. That framing is not frivolous. Immigration law exists. Enforcement authority exists. Public safety is a legitimate obligation of government.
But legality does not end the conversation. It begins it.
Enforcement does not happen in a vacuum. It happens in neighborhoods, in front of homes, near schools and workplaces, among people who may not be the targets but are nonetheless affected. When the visible exercise of power overwhelms the surrounding community, the costs extend beyond arrests and court filings.
In parts of Minneapolis, those costs have been tangible. Schools shifted to remote learning out of concern for safety and stability. Businesses in immigrant-heavy corridors closed preemptively, unwilling to expose workers to uncertainty. Service providers canceled appointments. Community events were postponed or abandoned. The economic and psychological ripple effects are real, even if they are difficult to quantify neatly.
Local and state leaders responded publicly, criticizing the scope and tactics of the federal operation and warning that it was undermining, rather than enhancing, public safety. That response has now produced its own layer of tension, with federal authorities reviewing whether those statements or actions crossed legal boundaries.
At the same time, courts have stepped in to draw clearer lines — limiting how federal agents may interact with peaceful protesters and reaffirming constitutional protections even amid active enforcement.
This is not a single conflict. It is several overlapping ones.
There is a legal conflict about the reach of federal authority in local spaces. There is a civic conflict about what public safety actually means when fear becomes widespread. There is a human conflict about dignity, trust and the right to live without constant apprehension.
And there is a structural conflict about how power operates when responsibility is dispersed and accountability is slow.
These are uncomfortable questions, which is why they are often reduced to slogans. But slogans are a poor substitute for governance.
Minnesota’s strength, historically, has been its preference for problem-solving over posturing. That tradition is being tested now. This is not the moment for reflexive outrage or performative reassurance. It is the moment for clarity.
What exactly happened. Why it happened. Who is responsible. What standards govern the use of force. What safeguards exist for bystanders and protesters. How disputes between federal authority and local governance are resolved. And what steps will be taken to restore trust once enforcement activity recedes.
Law enforcement without trust does not create durable safety. It creates compliance at best, resentment at worst. Protest without boundaries does not create reform. It creates exhaustion and fracture. Governance without transparency does not sustain legitimacy. It merely delays reckoning.
Minnesota does not need louder voices right now. It needs steadier ones.
Leadership, in moments like this, is not about staking out ideological ground. It is about holding multiple truths at once: that federal law must be enforced; that constitutional rights do not disappear during enforcement; that public safety includes mental, economic and communal well-being; and that power, once exercised, must answer for its impact.
This state has long told itself a comforting story — that it is pragmatic, reasonable and capable of managing conflict without tearing itself apart. That story is now being tested not in theory, but on sidewalks, in classrooms and in courtrooms.
The test is not whether Minnesota can avoid conflict. Conflict is unavoidable in a pluralistic society governed by overlapping authorities. The test is whether the state can move through conflict without losing sight of the people caught in between.
Not everything about this moment will be resolved quickly. Investigations take time. Lawsuits take time. Healing takes longer. But there are immediate choices that matter: how openly information is shared, how restraint is exercised, how dissent is handled, and how quickly leaders move from defending positions to solving problems.
Minnesota does not need to inflame this moment. It needs to resolve it — carefully, lawfully and with humility.
That means fewer declarations and more explanations. Fewer assumptions and more listening. Less insistence that “this is how it works” and more attention to how it feels to those living through it.
The reputation Minnesota values most is not that it is progressive or conservative, tough or compassionate. It is that it is capable — capable of balancing authority with restraint, enforcement with rights, and order with humanity.
This is where that reputation is earned.
Not in press conferences. Not in viral videos. But in the quieter work of accountability, correction and follow-through.
Minnesota does not need to win this moment. It needs to emerge from it wiser, steadier and more worthy of the trust it asks from its people.
That is the work now.
