At least 42 people were arrested Saturday outside the Bishop Henry Whipple Federal Building in Minneapolis after an anti-ICE demonstration turned violent. Footage from the scene showed protesters tearing down yellow police tape, hurling objects at law enforcement officers, and shouting at state patrol. Dozens were seen wearing gas masks.
The Hennepin County Sheriff's Office confirmed the arrests, which came after a memorial for Renee Good and Alex Pretti — two Minneapolis residents shot and killed by federal agents last month while clashing with immigration enforcement.
According to Fox News, Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey, apparently watching a different event, took to social media to describe the scene this way:
"Thousands showed up to remember and honor Renee Good and Alex Pretti." "Minneapolis is with you—and we will keep spreading love."
Spreading love. Forty-two arrests. Objects thrown at officers. Police tape ripped down. Gas masks on demonstrators who evidently came prepared for something other than a candlelight vigil.
The day began at Powderhorn Park, roughly a 15-minute drive from the federal building, where the memorial was held exactly one month from the date of Good's death. By itself, a memorial is unremarkable — people grieve, people gather, people mourn. Nobody objects to that.
What happened next was not grief. It was a confrontation. The crowd migrated to the federal building and descended into chaos. One protester, speaking through a megaphone, claimed the gathering was "peaceful." The crowd chanted:
"No justice, no peace."
That chant has become so routine at these events that people barely hear it anymore. But the words say exactly what they mean. No justice — as defined by us — no peace. It's not a plea. It's a conditional threat. And Saturday in Minneapolis, the "no peace" part arrived right on schedule.
Mayor Frey didn't address the violence or the arrests at the Whipple building. He posted about love. Governor Tim Walz has been similarly busy — not calming tensions, but escalating them. Both Frey and Walz have accused the federal administration of violating citizens' constitutional rights by targeting minorities, conducting warrantless searches, and weaponizing the Department of Justice. They've demanded ICE leave Minnesota entirely.
Think about the sequence. Two of the state's highest-ranking officials spend weeks telling their constituents that federal law enforcement is an occupying force violating their rights. Protesters then show up at a federal building, assault officers, and tear through police barriers. And the mayor calls it love.
Not one word from Frey about the officers who had objects thrown at them. Not one call for calm. Not one acknowledgment that the crowd crossed a line. Just "spreading love."
When you tell people their government is waging war on them, some of them will act like they're at war. That's not a mystery. That's a consequence.
On Wednesday, days before Saturday's eruption, White House border czar Tom Homan withdrew 700 federal agents from Minneapolis amid rising concerns. The move pulled a massive enforcement presence out of a city whose political leadership had made clear that those agents were unwelcome.
That withdrawal is significant. Seven hundred agents are not a token gesture — it's a substantial operational footprint. Removing them from a city where the mayor and governor have spent weeks demonizing federal immigration enforcement is a strategic decision. Minneapolis made its choice. Now Minneapolis owns what follows.
The protests in Minneapolis picked up steam in January following the deaths of Good and Pretti. The anti-ICE movement seized on both deaths to frame federal immigration enforcement as a lethal threat to residents. The fact that both individuals were clashing with immigration enforcement at the time of their deaths has done little to complicate that narrative — because nuance is the first casualty when politicians decide to weaponize grief.
There is a formula at work, and it's been tested in American cities for years now. An incident occurs. Local leaders frame it in the most inflammatory terms possible. Protests follow. Violence breaks out. The same leaders who stoked the outrage refuse to condemn the violence. Then they blame someone else — usually the federal government.
Frey and Walz are running the playbook with precision. They accuse federal authorities of constitutional violations without citing specific instances. They demand ICE leave the state. They describe a mob that attacked law enforcement as people "spreading love." And when 42 people get arrested, the silence on what actually happened at that federal building is deafening.
This is what happens when elected officials decide that illegal immigration enforcement is the enemy rather than illegal immigration itself. The logical endpoint isn't peaceful protest — it's protesters in gas masks throwing things at cops outside a federal courthouse.
Minneapolis now sits in a precarious position. Seven hundred federal agents are gone. The city's political leadership has signaled, loudly and repeatedly, that immigration enforcement is unwelcome. Protesters have learned that they can attack law enforcement, and their mayor will call it love on social media.
The 42 people arrested Saturday will face legal consequences. But the political leaders who created the conditions for Saturday's chaos will face none. Frey will post again. Walz will issue another statement about constitutional rights. And the next time a crowd shows up at a federal building with gas masks and projectiles, everyone will act surprised.
Minneapolis isn't burning yet. But its leaders keep handing out matches.