I have been feeling some kind of way lately, and I decided to write about it.

I’ve been writing this essay, in fits and starts, since Renée Good was murdered by an ICE agent in Minneapolis. I was still writing it when Alex Pretti was murdered by two different ICE agents in Minneapolis while several others acted as accomplices.

Yes. Murdered. I’m not going to equivocate on that.

Good was a mother. A poet. She may or may not have been a legal observer. She was definitely a US citizen.

She was shot three times. At least once in the face. At point-blank range.

We’ve also learned that Good did not die immediately from her wounds. That she still had a pulse when ICE agents prevented a physician from checking on her.

Pretti was an ICU nurse at a VA hospital—an employee of the federal government. He was a licensed gun owner. He was trying to help a woman who had been thrown to the ground by an ICE agent.

He was pepper sprayed, then shot at least ten times. Six of those shots were fired after he already laid motionless on the ground.

Normally, something of this length would take me a few hours to write. But I spent weeks on this essay, largely because bad shit that I felt compelled to include just kept happening. But ultimately, I decided the piece was getting too long and it was time to edit and publish.

You can read the whole piece here. I hope the next thing I write will be lighter.