Trump’s Twin Cities immigration crackdown has made chaos and tension the new normal

MINNEAPOLIS– Work begins around sunrise for federal immigration enforcement agents in and around the Twin Cities, with hundreds of people in tactical gear streaming out of a bland office building near the main airport.

Within minutes, hulking SUVs, pickup trucks and minivans began to drive away, forming unmarked convoys that quickly became feared and common sights on the streets of Minneapolis, St. Paul and their suburbs.

Protesters also arrive early, braving the cold to stand in front of the fenced federal complex, which houses an immigration court and government offices. “Go home!” they shout as the convoys roar by. ” Ice ! »

Things often turn for the worst after dark, when convoys return and protesters sometimes become angrier, shaking fences and sometimes hitting passing cars. Eventually, federal agents moved toward them, firing tear gas and flash grenades before evacuating at least a few people.

“We’re not going anywhere!” » shouted a woman one recent morning. “We’re here until you leave.”

This is the daily rhythm of Operation Metro Surge, the latest and largest crackdown ever carried out by the Trump administration, in which more than 2,000 agents participated. The wave has pitted city and state officials against the federal government, sparked daily clashes between activists and immigration officials in deeply liberal cities, and left a mother of three.

The crackdown is barely perceptible in some areas, particularly in whiter, wealthier neighborhoods and suburbs, where convoys and tear gas are rare. And even in neighborhoods where masked immigration agents are common, they often move with ghostly speed, making arrests and disappearing before protesters can gather in force.

Still, the surge can be felt across large areas of the Twin Cities region, home to more than 3 million residents.

“We don’t use the word ‘invasion’ lightly,” Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey, a Democrat, said this week, noting that his police force has only 600 officers. “What we are seeing is thousands – plural, thousands – of federal agents arriving in our city. »

These agents have an outsized presence in a small town.

It can take hours to cross Los Angeles and Chicago, two targets of the Trump administration’s crackdown. It can take 15 minutes to cross Minneapolis.

So as anxiety spreads across the region, children are skipping school or learning remotely, families are avoiding religious services, and many businesses, especially in immigrant neighborhoods, have closed temporarily.

Walk down Lake Street, an immigration hub since the days when newcomers arrived in Minneapolis from Norway and Sweden, and the sidewalks now seem crowded only with activists standing guard, ready to sound warning whistles at the first sign of a convoy.

At La Michoacana Purepecha, where customers can order ice cream, chocolate-covered bananas and pork rinds, the door is locked and staff lets people in one by one. Nearby at Taqueria Los Ocampo, a sign in English and Spanish says the restaurant is temporarily closed due to “current conditions.”

A dozen blocks from Karmel Mall, where the city’s large Somali community goes for everything from food to coffee to tax preparation, signs on doors warn: “No ICE enters without a court order.”

It’s been nearly six years since George Floyd was murdered by a Minneapolis police officer, but the scars from that killing remain raw.

Floyd was killed just blocks from where an Immigration and Citizenship Enforcement agent fatally shot Renee Good, a 37-year-old U.S. citizen, during a confrontation Jan. 7 after she stopped to help neighbors during an enforcement operation. Federal officials say the officer fired in self-defense after Good “cocked” his vehicle. City and state officials reject those explanations and point to several videos of the confrontation.

For Twin Cities residents, the crackdown can seem overwhelming.

“Enough is enough,” said Johan Baumeister, who came to the scene of Good’s death shortly after the shooting to lay flowers.

He said he didn’t want to witness the violent protests that rocked Minneapolis after Floyd’s death, causing billions of dollars in damage. But this city has a long history of activism and protests, and there’s no doubt there will be more.

“I think they will see Minneapolis show our anger again,” he predicted.

He was right.

Since then, clashes have taken place several times between activists and immigration officials. Most of it consisted of insults and jeers, with much of the destruction limited to broken windows, graffiti and badly damaged federal vehicles.

But violent clashes now break out regularly in the Twin Cities. Some protesters clearly want to provoke federal agents, throwing snowballs at them or shouting obscenities through megaphones just a few feet away. The biggest force, however, came from immigration agents, who smashed car windows, pepper-sprayed demonstrators and warned observers not to follow them into the streets. Immigrants and citizens were taken from their cars and homes and detained, sometimes for days. And most clashes end with tear gas.

Drivers in Minneapolis or St. Paul can now encounter intersections blocked by men wearing bulletproof vests and gas masks, with the roar of helicopters and the air filled with the whistles of protesters.

In a state that prides itself on decency, there is something particularly Minnesotan about the protests,

Shortly after Good was shot, Gov. Tim Walz, a Democrat and regular Trump target, repeatedly said he was angry but also urged people to find ways to help their communities.

“It could be shoveling your neighbor’s driveway,” he said. “It might mean going to a food bank. It might mean stopping to talk to someone you’ve never talked to before.”

He and other leaders implored protesters to remain peaceful, warning that the White House was looking for an opportunity to crack down harder.

And when protests turn into clashes, residents often come out of their homes, handing out bottles of water so people can clear the tear gas from their eyes.

Residents stand guard at schools to warn immigrant parents if convoys are approaching as they pick up their children. They provide care packages to people who are too afraid to go out and arrange rides to work and doctor visits.

On Thursday, in the basement of a Lutheran church in St. Paul, the Open Market MN group assembled food packages for more than a hundred families back home. Colin Anderson, the group’s outreach director, said the group has seen an increase in requests.

Sometimes people don’t even understand what’s happening to them.

Like Christian Molina of suburban Coon Rapids, who was recently driving through a Minneapolis neighborhood, taking his car to a mechanic, when immigration agents began following him. He wonders if it’s because he looks Hispanic.

They turned on their siren, but Molina continued driving, not knowing who they were.

Eventually, the officers accelerated, hit his rear bumper and both cars stopped. Two came out and asked Molina for his papers. He refused, saying he would wait for the police. Crowds began to gather and a confrontation soon broke out, ending in tear gas.

Then the officers left.

They left behind an angry and worried man who suddenly found himself the owner of a sedan with a mangled rear fender.

Long after the officers had left, he asked him one last question.

“Who will pay for my car? »

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Associated Press journalists Rebecca Santana and Giovanna Dell’Orto in Minneapolis, and Hallie Golden in Seattle, contributed to this story.