The Perfect Storm: How Alex Pretti's Death Reveals the Price of Solidarity

Three US Citizens killed by ICE 2026

A Feminist Analysis of Federal Violence, Privilege, and the Fight for Civil Rights

On January 24, 2026, Alex Pretti—a 37-year-old white male ICU nurse—was shot and killed by federal agents in Minneapolis while acting as a legal observer during protests against ICE operations. His death sparked immediate bipartisan outrage, Republican calls for investigation, and gun rights groups defending his Second Amendment freedoms. Two and a half weeks earlier, Renee Nicole Good, a white woman and mother of three, was shot and killed by an ICE agent under similar circumstances. Her death, too, generated massive media coverage and political response.

A week before Good's death, Keith Porter Jr., a 43-year-old Black father of two, was shot and killed by an off-duty ICE agent in Los Angeles. Local officials reportedly told activists they had no intention of investigating. And four months before Porter's death, Silverio Villegas González, a Latino father and cook, was shot at close range by ICE agents in Illinois after dropping his children at school. His death barely registered in national discourse.

The Pretti case has become what activists call a 'perfect storm'—not because federal agents behaved differently, but because his identity made it impossible for the administration to control the narrative as they had successfully done with victims of color. Understanding why requires examining how privilege operates, how the Civil Rights Act created protections that benefit all marginalized groups, and why solidarity across lines of privilege remains our most powerful tool against state violence.

The Civil Rights Act: A Feminist Victory That Protected Everyone

The Civil Rights Act of 1964 stands as one of history's most important pieces of legislation—not just for racial justice, but for gender equality. Title VII of the Act prohibited employment discrimination based on 'race, color, religion, sex, or national origin.' The inclusion of 'sex' was initially proposed by opponents hoping to kill the bill, but women's rights activists seized the opportunity. What resulted was landmark protection that benefited both women and racial minorities.

From a feminist perspective, this moment teaches us something crucial: liberation movements succeed when they build coalitions across different forms of oppression. The Civil Rights Act's protections didn't just help Black Americans or just help women—they created a framework that protected all people facing discrimination. Women gained workplace protections. Immigrants gained due process rights. LGBTQ+ individuals would later use these same frameworks to argue for marriage equality.

When asked in a New York Times interview whether protections that began in the 1960s, spurred by the passage of the Civil Rights Act, had resulted in discrimination against white men, Mr. Trump said he believed

“White people were very badly treated, where they did extremely well and they were not invited to go into a university to college,” he said, an apparent reference to affirmative action in college admissions. “So I would say in that way, I think it was unfair in certain cases.”

To be clear from the previous paragraphs, white women benefitted from the Civil Rights Act. Counter to this unsubstantiated claim from the President of the USA multiple datasets supports this assertion. This information is covered in other posts.

This intersectional approach—understanding how different systems of oppression overlap and reinforce each other—remains vital today. When federal agents kill civilians without accountability, it threatens everyone. When immigration enforcement operates without oversight, it endangers entire communities. When the government demonizes protesters, it undermines democracy itself.

The Pattern of Violence: Race Determines Response

Since July 2025, Immigration and Customs Enforcement and Customs and Border Protection agents have been involved in at least 30 shootings, resulting in 8 deaths. Additionally, at least 32 people died in ICE detention facilities in 2025 alone—the highest number since 2004. As of late January 2026, six more people had already died in detention in the first three weeks of the year.

The racial hierarchy in how these deaths are treated is stark:

White U.S. Citizens (Renee Good, Alex Pretti):

• Massive national media coverage with humanizing profiles

• Bipartisan political response including Republican senators

• Multiple ongoing state and federal investigations

• Gun rights groups defending their constitutional freedoms

Black U.S. Citizen (Keith Porter Jr.):

• Limited national coverage

• Local officials reportedly refusing to investigate

• No arrest of the off-duty agent involved

• Minimal Republican political response

Latina U.S. Citizen (Marimar Martinez):

• Shot five times; Border Patrol agent bragged in texts: 'I fired 5 rounds and she had 7 holes. Put that in your book boys'

• Criminal charges dropped after body camera evidence contradicted government narrative

• Still labeled 'domestic terrorist' on DHS website despite having no charges

• Agent faced no consequences and remained employed

Latino Immigrants (Silverio Villegas González, Geraldo Lunas Campos, others):

• ICE statements emphasize criminal records, even juvenile offenses

• Deaths described as justified or framed as victims' own fault

• Minimal sustained media coverage

• Federal jurisdiction on military bases limits state/local oversight

Asian American/Refugee (Parady La):

• Described by ICE as 'career criminal, illegal alien' despite arriving as a 2-year-old refugee fleeing genocide

• Died from apparent medical neglect during drug withdrawal

• Minimal mainstream media attention

Alex Pretti: Using Privilege as a Shield for Others

What made Alex Pretti different was not his innocence—all these victims were innocent. What made him different was that he was using his privilege deliberately and consciously to protect those without it.

As a white, male, U.S. citizen with a professional career as an ICU nurse, Pretti embodied multiple forms of privilege. But rather than using that privilege to insulate himself from state violence, he positioned himself between federal agents and vulnerable community members. Video footage shows him acting as a legal observer, documenting ICE operations, directing traffic to keep protesters safe, and stepping between an agent and a woman the agent had pushed to the ground.

This is what solidarity looks like. This is what the feminist movement, at its best, has always called for: those with privilege using it not to climb higher, but to lift others up. Not to speak for marginalized communities, but to stand with them. Not to lead movements, but to follow the leadership of those most affected while using privilege as a shield.

His colleague, Dimitri Drekonja, described Pretti's approach to nursing: 'He wanted to be helpful, to help humanity and have a career that was a force of good in the world.'

That same ethic of care extended to his community activism. He saw immigration enforcement terrorizing his neighbors—many of them immigrants, many of them people of color—and he showed up.

His mother said of him: 'He loved this country, but he hated what people were doing to it.' That distinction is crucial. Patriotism doesn't mean blind allegiance to government power. It means fighting for the ideals the country claims to represent—equal protection under law, due process, human dignity.

The Perfect Storm: When Privilege Meets Accountability

The Pretti case became a 'perfect storm' because his identity created contradictions the

Trump administration couldn't easily resolve:

1. The Second Amendment Collision

Pretti was a legal gun owner with a concealed carry permit.

"You can't have guns. You can't walk in with guns," the president said.

When DHS Secretary Kristi Noem claimed his legally carried firearm justified his killing, she inadvertently attacked a cornerstone of conservative ideology. Gun rights organizations—typically aligned with the administration—found themselves defending a protester killed by federal agents. The NRA stated that 'responsible public voices should be awaiting a full investigation, not making generalizations and demonizing law-abiding citizens.' Representative Thomas Massie declared that 'carrying a firearm is not a death sentence.'

The administration's attempt to criminalize legal gun ownership—when the victim was white and male—exposed the racial double standard in how Second Amendment rights are applied. Black and Latino victims like Keith Porter and Silverio Villegas González received no such defense.

2. The Video Evidence

Multiple bystander videos showed Pretti holding only his phone, never brandishing his weapon. Videos showed an agent removing Pretti's gun from his waistband holster before other agents opened fire. The preliminary DHS report made no mention of Pretti drawing his weapon or threatening officers. This directly contradicted the administration's narrative that Pretti 'approached agents with a firearm' and 'wanted to massacre law enforcement.'

When officials make the same false claims about people of color, those narratives often stick. But with Pretti—a white professional—the media scrutiny was immediate and unrelenting. The same pattern occurred with Marimar Martinez, where video evidence eventually forced prosecutors to drop charges, but only after she'd been labeled a 'domestic terrorist' with far less media advocacy.

3. The Professional Identity

As a VA ICU nurse, Pretti was employed by the federal government to care for veterans. His role represented a form of traditionally form of service to the federal government, which the Trump administration professes to appreciate. Yet they labeled him a 'domestic terrorist' and would-be 'assassin.' This created cognitive dissonance even among conservatives who typically support law enforcement.

The administration's attack on a white male legal gunowner unintentionally highlighted how their vision of masculinity excludes actual care work, even when done by men. It revealed that their 'masculinity' politics are really about domination, not protection.

4. The Bipartisan Fracture

Perhaps most significantly, Pretti's death generated criticism from Republicans who had remained silent about previous ICE killings. Senators Ted Cruz, Thom Tillis, Lisa Murkowski, Bill Cassidy, and others called for investigations. Two Republican senators called for Secretary Noem's resignation. This was unprecedented—Republican criticism of Trump administration law enforcement has been extremely rare.

Their willingness to break ranks over Pretti, but not over Keith Porter or Silverio Villegas González, reveals exactly how race determines which victims matter politically. It also shows that accountability is possible—but only when victims have sufficient privilege to make their deaths politically costly.

Gender, Race, and the Politics of Victimhood

Renee Good's case adds another layer to understanding how identity shapes response to state violence. As a white woman and mother, her death generated what journalists call 'Missing White Woman Syndrome'—disproportionate media attention compared to victims of color. The New York Times alone published at least seven stories about Good, focusing on her kindness, her poetry, and her role as a mother.

But Good's case also revealed uncomfortable tensions within progressive movements. Some Black activists expressed discomfort when white protesters adopted the phrase 'Say Her Name'—originally created to honor Black women victims of police violence who receive little attention. One activist noted that Good was 'getting a treatment that even in death, even other people who have been shot by ICE and police do not get, and I'm sure a part of it has to do with race.'

This isn't to diminish Good's death or her family's grief—her killing was unjustified and horrific. Rather, it's to acknowledge that even in death, race determines whose pain gets centered, whose story gets told, and whose loss sparks political action.

From a feminist perspective, this requires us to think carefully about solidarity. White women have historically played complicated roles in social justice movements—sometimes as crucial allies, sometimes centering their own experiences at the expense of women of color. The same is true for white men like Pretti. The question isn't whether they should participate in movements for racial justice, but how they should participate.

Pretti seems to have understood this. He wasn't leading the movement—he was acting as a legal observer and support person. He was there because Minneapolis's immigrant community, particularly Somali and Latino residents, had been terrorized by ICE raids for weeks. He was using his privilege not to speak for them, but to provide what protection his white male body could offer in encounters with armed federal agents.

What Feminist Solidarity Requires

The pattern of ICE violence—and the differential responses to it—teaches several crucial lessons about solidarity and privilege:

First, we must name the racial hierarchy in whose lives matter. Keith Porter deserves the same outrage as Alex Pretti. Geraldo Lunas Campos—who was choked to death by guards while handcuffed—deserves the same investigation as Renee Good. Parady La, who died from medical neglect while experiencing drug withdrawal, deserves the same media attention. The fact that they haven't received it is not accidental—it's structural racism operating exactly as designed.

Second, we must use the attention generated by privileged victims to demand accountability for all victims. The political pressure created by Pretti's death should not stop with investigations into his case alone. It should force comprehensive reviews of all ICE/CBP shootings and detention deaths. It should generate policy changes that protect everyone. This is how we turn the reality of privilege into a tool for justice rather than a barrier to it.

Third, we must recognize that no one is safe when the state operates without accountability. Federal agents have now killed white citizens, Black citizens, Latino citizens, and immigrants. They've killed mothers, fathers, nurses, and cooks. They've killed people with guns, people with phones, and people with nothing in their hands. The common thread isn't the victims' behavior—it's the agents' impunity.

Fourth, solidarity requires risk. Alex Pretti could have stayed home. As a white man with a professional career, ICE wasn't coming for him. He could have relied on his privilege to keep him safe. Instead, he chose to show up for his neighbors. That choice cost him his life—but it also demonstrated what meaningful allyship looks like. It's not symbolic. It's not performative. It's putting your body on the line.

Finally, we must connect immigration justice to all other justice struggles. The Civil Rights Act succeeded because different movements recognized their interconnection. Today's fight is no different. Immigration justice is racial justice is gender justice is workers' rights is disability rights is LGBTQ+ rights. Systems of oppression reinforce each other, which means liberation movements must support each other.

The Path Forward

At least 38 people have died in connection with ICE operations since January 2025—8 killed in shootings, at least 6 in detention in January 2026 alone, and 31 in detention facilities throughout 2025. These deaths occurred under policies that deliberately escalated violence, militarized immigration enforcement, and stripped away accountability mechanisms.

The Trump administration has publicly declared all 16 ICE/CBP shootings since July 'justified' before investigations were completed. Agents have bragged about shootings in text messages. Evidence has been mishandled or destroyed. Witnesses have been detained or deported. Medical examiners have been overruled. And throughout it all, the government has labeled victims 'domestic terrorists' while emphasizing their criminal records—even juvenile offenses, even traffic violations.

Meaningful accountability requires several immediate steps:

• Independent investigations of all ICE/CBP shootings and detention deaths, conducted by entities without ties to DHS

• Public release of body camera footage and evidence in all cases

• Federal legislation establishing clear use-of-force standards for immigration agents, including prohibitions on shooting into vehicles

• Criminal prosecution of agents who kill unlawfully

• Medical oversight of detention facilities with independent monitoring

• Ability to detain and deport Citizens

• Civil rights investigations into patterns of racial profiling and excessive force

But policy changes alone won't be enough. We need cultural change—a recognition that immigration enforcement has become a lawless operation that threatens everyone. We need to reject the dehumanizing language of 'illegal aliens' and 'domestic terrorists.' We need to honor the full humanity of every person killed, whether they were citizens or immigrants, whether they had criminal records or not, whether they were white or Black or brown.

This is the USA

Conclusion: Honoring Alex Pretti's Legacy

Alex Pretti understood something that the Civil Rights Movement understood: that those with privilege have a moral obligation to use it in service of justice. He could have looked away. He could have told himself that immigration enforcement wasn't his problem, that he should focus on his career and his own safety. Instead, he showed up—not to lead, but to support. Not to speak for others, but to stand with them. Not to be a savior, but to be an accomplice.

His colleague said he 'thrived' in environments where he could help others, that he 'wanted to be helpful, to help humanity.' That ethic of care—traditionally dismissed as 'feminine'—is exactly what movements need from people with privilege. Not heroics, but service. Not glory, but solidarity.

The fact that his death generated political pressure when others' deaths didn't is not something to celebrate—it's something to leverage. Every investigation into Pretti's killing should also investigate Keith Porter's, Renee Good's, Marimar Martinez's, Silverio Villegas González's, Geraldo Lunas Campos's, Parady La's. Every Republican senator who called for accountability in Pretti's case should be asked why they remained silent about the others.

The perfect storm Pretti's death created isn't just about one white man being killed by federal agents. It's about the moment when different forms of privilege collided with systemic violence in a way that made the violence visible to people who usually don't have to see it. It's about how his death revealed the racial double standards in whose lives matter, whose rights get defended, and whose killers face accountability.

Feminist movements have always understood that liberation isn't about equality within oppressive systems—it's about dismantling those systems entirely. We don't want equal opportunity to be killed by federal agents. We want systems of accountability, community care, and human dignity for everyone.

The Civil Rights Act succeeded because different movements recognized they were fighting the same fight against the same systems of power. Women and racial minorities both gained significant rights because they stood together. Today's movements need that same solidarity.

Alex Pretti used his privilege to fight for people with different skin pigmentation, different national origins, different positions in society's hierarchies. He paid for that solidarity with his life.

The least we can do is ensure that his death—and the deaths of Keith Porter, Renee Good, Marimar Martinez, Silverio Villegas González, Geraldo Lunas Campos, Parady La, and all the others—leads to real change.

Not just for people who look like him, but for everyone. That's what solidarity means. That's what justice requires.

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Note: This article honors the memory of all victims mentioned while analyzing the systemic factors that determine which deaths receive attention and accountability. All victims deserve justice. All families deserve answers. All communities deserve safety from state violence.