If you’re feeling the weight of the news coming out of Minneapolis — you’re not alone. The killing of Renee Nicole Good, a 37-year-old mother of three, poet, and neighbor, by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent has shaken many of us to our core. She was shot and killed during a federal enforcement operation in her own neighborhood on January 7, 2026 — a moment that has sparked grief, protest, and deeply painful questions about force and justice in our communities.
Across social feeds and gatherings, people are asking: How do we make sense of this? How do we respond without becoming the anguish we fear? It’s an honor to pause with you and reflect.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. has been on my mind this week as we celebrated his birthday. He once said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” In times like this, those words can feel both piercingly true and achingly difficult. Because the darkness we see — the pain, the anger, the grief — feels so immediate. And yet what all of us who are hurting really want is not darkness, but light: deeper clarity, compassion, justice, and peace.
The collective pain in Minneapolis has been heightened by the way federal immigration enforcement has operated in recent weeks. Many residents and advocates have described the tactics of ICE, from aggressive raids to lethal use of force, as dehumanizing and militarized. Neighborhoods are being treated like hostile territory rather than communities full of people with dignity and rights. National groups and local leaders have publicly condemned these escalations and called for accountability and change in immigration enforcement.
You might find comfort in the work of Brené Brown, who reminds us that real courage lives in vulnerability. In The Gifts of Imperfection, she writes that the word courage comes from the Latin cor, meaning “heart,” and that true courage is not only heroic acts on the battlefield or in headlines. It’s about “speaking one’s mind by telling all one’s heart.” Vulnerability isn’t weakness — exposing our full humanity, our love for one another, and even our grief — that is extraordinary courage. Courage is the daily practice of opening our hearts, even when they’re aching. That’s bravery.
This moment, in Minneapolis and in conversations everywhere, beckons us to channel that courage. It’s tempting to respond to tragedy with anger, blame, or despair. But love, courage, and light ask something deeper of us: to acknowledge the pain, hold it tenderly, and still choose care for each other.
Grief moves through us in waves. Some days, it feels unspeakable. Other days, we find ourselves lifting someone else up. Both are part of resilience — that quiet but persistent courage to stay open, not closed; to hope, not harden.
There are no simple answers here, no quick fixes or tidy endings. But every time we show up with honesty of heart, every time we choose compassion over contempt, and every time we refuse to let darkness define us, we honor not only Renee’s life but the light she brought into the world.
Let’s keep talking, keep listening, and keep loving fiercely. That’s how we build courage — ordinary, everyday, heart-on-our-sleeve courage, together.
Read more about the Resilient Mindset of Courage here.
In Resilience,
Emily & the Dovetail Team