WE MARCHED IN SOLIDARITY, in community, in collective grief Saturday evening through downtown Faribault. No signs. Only candles, flames flickering, lights shining in subzero temps as vapor billowed from our faces.
An estimated 100 of us walked eight blocks in reverent silence, only the sound of boots crunching on snow and the occasional passing vehicle breaking the quiet.
Bundled up against the frigid cold, we left our warm homes to gather and honor 37-year-old Alex Pretti, an ICU nurse shot to death Saturday morning by ICE agents on the streets of south Minneapolis, less than an hour’s drive north on Interstate 35. It is the second fatal shooting of a Minneapolis resident, a Minnesotan and an American citizen by federal agents in recent weeks.
Faribault resident Martha Brown hastily organized the candlelight vigil via social media, calling for people to walk in silence on our city streets “to mourn together and peacefully pray for the (federal) occupation to end.” I knew I needed to be there, to join Martha and others who felt overwhelmed, yet determined to raise their voices via silence.
FOR OURSELVES & OUR NEIGHBORS
We did this not only for ourselves individually and collectively, but also for the Hispanics, Latinos and Somalis who call Faribault home and who have been targeted by ICE. Our neighbors are living in fear, sheltering in their homes as ICE continues to threaten, take and traumatize right here in my community and across the state.
As the march began in the parking lot outside Buckham Memorial Library, a Hispanic family waited along the curb. I motioned for them to join us and they did as the father filmed the walk for those whom he said could not be there. Those who cannot leave their homes for fear of ICE.
His daughter, about 8 years old, walked ahead of me, her bare hands clutching a slender battery-lit candle someone had given her. I felt so proud of this little girl while simultaneously thinking, she should not have to be here doing this. What a strong, brave family.
REFLECTING IN SILENCE
Walking in silence gave me time to reflect, process my emotions and observe. I passed Mexican and Somali-owned shops, restaurants and a bakery, all told about a dozen in our core downtown business district. I considered how they contribute to our economy, our tax base, our diversity, filling buildings that may otherwise stand vacant.
But I passed, too, a large GUNS sign on the pawnshop, the significance of that singular word not lost on me in the context of the day’s shooting.
Four blocks into the march, I felt strengthened by simply being among caring people of all ages united in purpose and grief. That young girl and her family. A woman in a wheelchair who was wheeled across snowy curb cuts. All of us there, connected by this moment in time in Minnesota.
GRATITUDE FOR COMMUNITY SUPPORT
When the half hour vigil walk ended back in the library parking lot, we stood in a moment of silence, then prayer before the Hispanic man stepped up and thanked us for coming, explaining how much it meant to him to see and feel our support.
Back home I got a text from family in south Minneapolis to “Shine a Light for Minnesota” by placing a lit candle outside at 7 pm. And so Randy set the tea light candles we had just carried through downtown Faribault on our front steps, flames flickering for our communities, for Alex, with the flaming message of ICE OUT NOW.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Reflecting from Minnesota on the killing of Renee Good, wife, mom, writer & poet January 8, 2026
Tags: Academy of American Poets, commentary, death, fatal shooting, Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Minneapolis, Minnesota, news, Old Dominion University, opinion, poet, poetry, Renee Nicole Good, trauma
ALL OF THIS is beyond belief, yet it isn’t.
I texted that to a friend today. “This” refers to the fatal shooting of Renee Good by an ICE agent in south Minneapolis on Wednesday morning. The governor of Minnesota, the mayor of Minneapolis, the police chief of Minneapolis all publicly predicted several weeks ago that something like “this” could happen during ICE’s ramped up immigration enforcement here.
I’m not surprised either. Tensions have been building, not only in Minnesota but across the country, as ICE swarms cities and communities. ICE tactics seem unnecessarily aggressive and sometimes violent. I see zero humanity. Zero compassion. Zero care. I wonder about the vetting, the training, the actions, the accountability of these ICE agents.
Now in the aftermath of Renee’s killing, the FBI, which originally agreed to work with the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension on investigating the fatal shooting, has backtracked. The FBI will be the sole investigator and will not provide any investigative information to the BCA. It is impossible for me to trust the process since, shortly after the shooting, Renee Good was tagged “a domestic terrorist” by the feds. Judgment was already made.
Nothing I’ve read or heard indicates to me that Renee was anything but a wife, mom, writer and poet. Recently-moved to Minneapolis, the 37-year-old was young enough to be my daughter. She had a full life ahead of her.
Because I am also a wife, mom, writer and poet, I relate personally and professionally to Renee. I am grieving the senseless loss of not only a human being, but of another creative. In 2020, Renee won an Academy of American Poets Prize for her poem, “On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs.” That’s quite an accomplishment for a then-undergrad at Old Dominion University. She graduated with an English degree in 2020. Today I think of all the poems this poet will never write, all the hugs and kisses this mom will never give to her three children.
I appreciate a three-paragraph statement released by Old Dominion President Brian O. Hemphill. It reads in part:
“…May Renee’s life be a reminder of what unites us: freedom, love, and peace. My hope is for compassion, healing, and reflection at a time that is becoming one of the darkest and most uncertain periods in our nation’s history.”
I think, as a creative, that Renee would have appreciated those well-crafted words. I do. In continuing to process this tragedy, I feel uplifted by those of you who have encouraged not only me, but Minnesotans as a whole. Your solidarity, your supportive actions, your caring words all matter while we work through this collective trauma. Thank you.
© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling