How this government responded to kindness with bullets — and what that says about us
“That’s fine, dude. I’m not mad at you.”
Those were the last words Renee Nicole Good ever spoke.
They were not uttered in anger. They were not provocative. They were said with warmth, understanding, and a smile — a tacit acknowledgment that the ICE officer in front of her was doing what his superiors had asked of him.
After collecting her wife, she backed away from the officer and attempted to leave. There was no attempt to use her car as a weapon. No high-speed getaway. No obscene gestures. No threats. Just: “That’s fine, dude. I’m not mad at you.”
Seconds later, Jonathan Ross pulled out his pistol and fired three shots into her car, killing her — denying her children their mother and her wife her partner.
No Aid. No Urgency. No Accountability.
The ICE officers on scene did not administer first aid. Instead, they blocked medical personnel from reaching her. It was not until six minutes later, when Minneapolis Fire and EMS arrived, that anyone attended to a woman whose only offense was caring deeply about her neighbors.
Let’s be clear: Renee Nicole Good was not a member of a domestic terrorist organization. She was not part of this government’s imagined boogeyman known as “ANTIFA.” She was a mother doing what mothers do — standing up for her family and her neighborhood.
According to her family, she fervently believed that we are on this earth to love and care for one another, and to bring warmth and creativity into the lives of those around us.
This Government Had a Choice
This government could have paused.
It could have reflected.
It could have acknowledged that something had gone terribly wrong.
It chose not to.
Instead, in the aftermath of this tragedy, this government chose not to question the actions of masked, unbadged ICE officers. It chose to blame a soccer mom with stuffed animals jammed into her glove box.
Words Matter. Lies Matter More.
Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem said:
“It is very clear this individual was harassing and impeding law enforcement operations.”
I don’t know about you, but telling a masked officer “That’s fine, dude. I don’t hate you,” said with a smile, does not meet any reasonable standard of harassment. It sounds more like the verbal equivalent of a warm hug — one that might, if handled properly, end with a cup of cocoa.
Noem then defended Officer Ross by saying he “followed his training and did exactly what he’s been taught to do … and took actions to defend himself and his fellow law enforcement officers.”
The standard for using deadly force is well established:
- The threat must be immediate
- The individual must have the capability to cause serious harm
- There must be clear intent
- Reasonable alternatives must be unavailable
Additionally, FBI guidance is clear: officers are not supposed to fire at a fleeing vehicle.
Noem’s statements leave us with only two possibilities. Either she is lying — something that has become distressingly routine in this government — or Officer Ross truly did follow his training. If it is the latter, then this government is sanctioning the killing of soccer moms for saying something as dangerously inflammatory as:
“Dude, I’m not mad at you.”
The Vice President Weighs In
Vice President J.D. Vance called the killing “a tragedy of her own making.” He ignored the reality that the ICE presence itself was inflammatory, particularly in the context of this administration’s rhetoric. He also claimed Ross had “absolute immunity,” apparently under the belief that asserting something makes it true — a level of reasoning one expects from a nine-year-old, not the second most powerful person in the country.
What This Means for Our Democracy
What horrifies me most is not just this killing, but what it represents.
It moves us one step farther from constitutional democracy and one step closer to authoritarianism.
The First Amendment guarantees free speech and peaceful expression. That is exactly what Renee Nicole Good was exercising. There was no violence. No imminent threat. Her expression of dissent was simply:
“That’s fine, dude. I’m not mad at you.”
And how did this government respond? Not with accountability — the most profoundly American value — but by blaming a mythical far-left cabal and a soccer mom who preached kindness and compassion.
This Is Ours to Own
Like it or not, this is our government doing this. We are responsible for the actions of Trump, Vance, and Noem. We must call out their lies, their misdirection, and their hypocrisies — and we must hold them accountable.
With all due respect to Renee Nicole Good, I say this:
Hey, dudes. I am mad at you — and I won’t rest until you are out of power, and those who deserve it are held fully accountable under the law.
Blame it on Rio 
Eighty-Six Years Ago, My Father Found Home
Today marks the eighty-sixth anniversary of my father’s arrival in the United States. In our family we treated the date like a small holiday. Maybe it didn’t have the sparkle of Hanukkah, Christmas, or the cluster of December birthdays in our house, but it carried its own quiet reverence. It was a day to pause, acknowledge what this country gave to my father, and—importantly for a family with a serious sweet tooth—to eat cake.
I’m fairly certain this holiday was my mother’s invention. It fit her sensibilities: an excuse to visit Segal’s Stationery for coordinated tableware and, as a lifelong history lover, a chance to remind us of the meaning behind the day. But my father never objected. It gave him an opening to tell his story.
For much of his youth he must have felt like an outsider—first in Austria, where the country of his birth stripped him of dignity, opportunity, and eventually safety. Then again in America, where he was a “stranger in a strange land,” dropped into second grade until he learned English, marked by an accent, viewed by some with suspicion. Yet here, finally, he became part of something. A citizen of a country that said he mattered. A piece of the grand American experiment that once called itself the “greatest nation on earth.”
He was home.
This nation gave him a place to live without fear, to work and dream without persecution, to build a life judged by merit rather than ancestry. He cherished that citizenship in a way those of us born here can’t fully grasp.
One memory captures it. My father always did his own taxes, a process that turned the house tense for days. When he was finally done one year, he asked my mother to sign the forms. She glanced at the total owed and casually remarked what a shame it was that they had to pay so much. He exploded—then launched into a heartfelt lecture about why citizenship here was priceless and why paying taxes was a small offering for the protection and freedom this country gave him.
Immigrants often possess a deeper patriotism than almost anyone else—born not of slogans but of gratitude. And yet, today, they are among the most vilified groups in American political life. The demonization pushed by Donald Trump and his MAGA allies contradicts everything this country claims to value.
Consider his recent attacks on Somali immigrants. Like my father, they came seeking safety—a chance to escape famine, civil war, religious persecution, and to build a future under a Constitution that promised equality and opportunity. They came searching for the same promise that brought him here: a homeland where their children could grow without fear.
Instead, they are met with rhetoric like:
“We’re going to go the wrong way if we keep taking in garbage into our country.”
“I don’t want them in our country.”
“Their country stinks, and we don’t want them in our country.”
Somalis are hardly alone. Haitians “eat their neighbors’ pets.” Mexicans are “rapists.” Muslims are “terrorists.” The only immigrants consistently praised are those who fit a narrow, preferred profile: white, Christian, and South African. The targeted cruelty echoes the very forces my father fled—a bitter irony that would have pained him deeply.
This moment is not about classic American ideals—the rule of law, equality, checks and balances. It’s about power. It’s about a man willing to wrap himself in the flag while hollowing out its meaning, twisting patriotism into a tool for dividing Americans from one another.
The country that welcomed my father no longer exists in the same form. The freedoms he defended in World War II are strained by a government increasingly flirtatious with authoritarianism, Christian Nationalism, and policies that entrench privilege rather than expand opportunity. The new arrivals—once the lifeblood of the American story—find doors closing.
Today, I’ll still celebrate his arrival. I’ll still have cake—baked from my much younger sister’s new cookbook “The Secret Life of Cookies.” But I’ll also use the day as a reminder of what we’ve lost this year, and what we must fight to restore. The work of renewing America’s promise—and honoring the gratitude my father felt every day he lived in this country—falls to us now.
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