“THIS LITTLE LIGHT OF MINE”

JANUARY 24, 2026 – This morning I was putting the finishing touches on another post about ICE—specifically, the unintended consequences of the policy behind it—when suddenly, out of the calm cold blue, I received notification that a man in Minneapolis had been shot by ICE agents.

Now the world knows what happened yet again at the hands of an ICE goon squad. Notably, of the three homicides in Minneapolis so far this year, two were committed by ICE.

But what is to be said about today’s tragedy that hasn’t already been said—or is beyond the reach of words?

Yet, there is reason for hope that just as the sun always shines, so does its light always fall on half the rotating earth. Being a “glass half full” kind of person, I like to think that ultimately Minnesota will prevail in the war that The Regime chose to wage against us. This optimism isn’t merely the product of wishful thinking, though I’ve learned in life that “wishful thinking” can often influence outcomes directly or indirectly. In the current dark and trying circumstances my hopefulness is based on the strong, steady and unequivocal reaction of our (Democratic) elected officials (despite rightwing disparagement in support of the indefensible) and above all, on the unwavering reaction of an ever growing majority of Minnesotans.

If The Regime insists on continuing its campaign to scare and smash us, we are more than up to the project of effective peaceful resistance. By their actions thus far, The Regime has violated the cardinal rule in waging war: know thy opponent. At each misstep, Trump, Miller, Noem, Bondi, Bovino (the on-the-ground ICE commander in charge of “Operation Metro Surge”), and members of the ICE goon squads have revealed how they’ve misgauged the people of Minnesota—not to mention winter weather.

By late this afternoon, word had spread like snow in a blizzard that beginning at seven o’clock local time this evening, candle-light gatherings would take place on street corners throughout Minnesota in memory of Alex Pretti, the victim of today’s ICE shooting, and to further the message that we want ICE out NOW. We knew the temperature would be below zero—still—but the effect of that knowledge was not to deter us but to ensure that we donned adequate cold-weather wear for the occasion.

Ahead of the appointed time Beth rounded up candles and clear plastic cups to use as stylish light shades. At seven, we then ventured forth to join others at the nearest street corner. More people streamed toward us, and then together we walked to join a larger crowd at the next corner.

Strangers as we appeared to be, disguised by our scarves, high collars, jacket hoods and wool caps pulled down over our ears, we were nonetheless cordial toward one another. Yet, we were appropriately solemn, as well. Several people began singing softly, and soon others joined in. I recognized the songs from my church days and while Beth joined in, I summoned enough courage to mouth the words. When a trio of women began singing, “This Little Light of Mine,” however, I smiled. As well it should have, the old familiar children’s song stirred broad participation among the crowd, which by this time, had grown to more than 60 people.

During one of the verses, I looked up at Jupiter high in the eastern sky. It shone brightly through the upper branches of an elm as old as the oldest homes in the neighborhood; one of the few of its species in our neighborhood to have survived the Dutch elm disease of yesteryear. For my purposes, the bright point of light in the cold black sky qualified as a star, so I made a wish—an extended one, given the therapeutic effect that people derived from a spontaneous nighttime group sing at Iowa and Pascal, inhaling air chilled to eight degrees below zero.

I wanted our overseas friends to witness the scene; friends who express regular worry and concern about what’s happening to America. Here was the essence of the good side of America; the resilient side; good people singing an old familiar children’s song of hope and encouragement at the base of an ancient tree that had survived the ravages of time, just as our nation has escaped multiple threats of extinction.

In time the crowd expanded in each direction, and I noticed conversations breaking out—mostly about the war waged by The Regime. I peered into the St. Paul neighborhood on the other side of Hoyt, one block south of Iowa. At the south end of the first block into St. Paul, I saw another multitude of candle lights. “This Little Light of Mine” still echoed inside my ears. Together across our neighborhood, I thought, and across the Twin Cities, across Minnesota, across the whole nation, our individual candles could light the way out of darkness.

Yes, with a heavy heart each of us closes out this day of tragedy, but motivated by this sad circumstance and holding our candles high, we can ensure that neither Renée Good nor Alex Pretti died in vain.

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© 2026 by Eric Nilsson