Federal Officer Maimed as Rioters Run Rampant—Mayor Frey Demands ICE Withdrawal

Paul Riverbank, 1/25/2026Fatal shooting, riot, and broken trust leave Minneapolis reeling—facts disputed, scars remain.

A chorus of voices now crowds the conversation. Pretti’s parents issued a furious statement, sharp and grieving: “We’re devastated that officials continue to spread blatant falsehoods,” they wrote, accusing the government of twisting their son’s final moments. They insist Alex was defenseless—nothing but a phone in one hand, and an open, empty palm, raised in protest as pepper spray burned and a woman beside him struggled to breathe.

Federal officials, for their part, tell a story with far more menace. Department of Homeland Security spokespeople allege Pretti didn’t merely intervene—he threatened. According to their account, Pretti appeared with a handgun as officers tried to arrest a “dangerous criminal illegal alien.” “Officers attempted to disarm the suspect,” repeated Secretary Kristi Noem, “but the armed suspect resisted violently. Our officer fired to protect these lives.” Distinctions about threat, intention, chaos—all tangled up inside that moment.

Multiple videos from the scene have surfaced since, the angles inconsistent, the sound often drowned out by shouts and sirens. In one, Pretti can be seen reaching out as a woman is shoved, his white coat already spattered as he falls. Gunshots ring out almost at once. It’s impossible, even slowed and looped, to make out anything resembling a firearm in his hands—but the scrum is tight and confusion reigns. Eyewitnesses—some insistent, some uncertain—recall Pretti being thrown to the ground, then surrounded in a blur of uniforms.

If federal and family accounts clash on what came before, violence after the shooting left its own ugly mark. As riot police pressed into swelling crowds, panic took hold. “We couldn’t breathe,” said one protester, his voice hoarse from pepper gas. Just a few blocks away, chaos turned personal and surreal. In the scramble, one protester managed to bite a federal officer with such force, the man is now missing part of a finger. Administrative officials shared photos online (“rioters,” they said, no room for nuance; not everyone buys this), drawing an uncomfortable wave of Tolkien-inspired memes—one user quipping darkly about Gollum and Frodo’s finger, fiction colliding with reality on the internet’s stage.

The city’s mayor, Jacob Frey, found himself in open conflict with Washington. He demanded the removal of federal agents—“This kind of militarized presence breaks trust,” he said during a tense press conference. Outside, tear gas stung eyes and people staggered between police lines, some clutching homemade masks, some waving hurried placards. One woman, echoing countless voices from similar American scenes, cried out as agents pinned her husband to the ground, “We just want to go home! Why are you doing this to us?”

Federal authorities continue to defend their response, pinning blame on “irresponsible rhetoric from Minnesota’s sanctuary politicians,” as Secretary Noem framed it. Meanwhile, across the city, Pretti’s family asked that his memory not be lost beneath headlines and hashtags: “He wanted to help—his last act was to protect someone in distress. Please, don’t forget that.”

Some see overburdened officers abandoned by city hall, others, a dangerous overreach by a government that seems increasingly distant from the people it claims to protect. What no one disputes: the scars from that night remain deep. Families mourn, officers nurse wounds both invisible and physical, a city is left to reckon with what really happened and—perhaps more importantly—why. In the still-crisp morning, Minneapolis waits, anxious for clarity that may not soon arrive.

On a humid night in Minneapolis, rain-slick streets glinted blue and red under the sudden flares of sirens. The city, for so many, has become a name synonymous with upheaval—tonight, confusion and fury ruled. The trigger? The shooting death of Alex Pretti, an ICU nurse, at the hands of federal agents. From the first moment, nothing about the situation has been clear-cut.A chorus of voices now crowds the conversation. Pretti’s parents issued a furious statement, sharp and grieving: “We’re devastated that officials continue to spread blatant falsehoods,” they wrote, accusing the government of twisting their son’s final moments. They insist Alex was defenseless—nothing but a phone in one hand, and an open, empty palm, raised in protest as pepper spray burned and a woman beside him struggled to breathe.Federal officials, for their part, tell a story with far more menace. Department of Homeland Security spokespeople allege Pretti didn’t merely intervene—he threatened. According to their account, Pretti appeared with a handgun as officers tried to arrest a “dangerous criminal illegal alien.” “Officers attempted to disarm the suspect,” repeated Secretary Kristi Noem, “but the armed suspect resisted violently. Our officer fired to protect these lives.” Distinctions about threat, intention, chaos—all tangled up inside that moment.Multiple videos from the scene have surfaced since, the angles inconsistent, the sound often drowned out by shouts and sirens. In one, Pretti can be seen reaching out as a woman is shoved, his white coat already spattered as he falls. Gunshots ring out almost at once. It’s impossible, even slowed and looped, to make out anything resembling a firearm in his hands—but the scrum is tight and confusion reigns. Eyewitnesses—some insistent, some uncertain—recall Pretti being thrown to the ground, then surrounded in a blur of uniforms.If federal and family accounts clash on what came before, violence after the shooting left its own ugly mark. As riot police pressed into swelling crowds, panic took hold. “We couldn’t breathe,” said one protester, his voice hoarse from pepper gas. Just a few blocks away, chaos turned personal and surreal. In the scramble, one protester managed to bite a federal officer with such force, the man is now missing part of a finger. Administrative officials shared photos online (“rioters,” they said, no room for nuance; not everyone buys this), drawing an uncomfortable wave of Tolkien-inspired memes—one user quipping darkly about Gollum and Frodo’s finger, fiction colliding with reality on the internet’s stage.The city’s mayor, Jacob Frey, found himself in open conflict with Washington. He demanded the removal of federal agents—“This kind of militarized presence breaks trust,” he said during a tense press conference. Outside, tear gas stung eyes and people staggered between police lines, some clutching homemade masks, some waving hurried placards. One woman, echoing countless voices from similar American scenes, cried out as agents pinned her husband to the ground, “We just want to go home! Why are you doing this to us?”Federal authorities continue to defend their response, pinning blame on “irresponsible rhetoric from Minnesota’s sanctuary politicians,” as Secretary Noem framed it. Meanwhile, across the city, Pretti’s family asked that his memory not be lost beneath headlines and hashtags: “He wanted to help—his last act was to protect someone in distress. Please, don’t forget that.”Some see overburdened officers abandoned by city hall, others, a dangerous overreach by a government that seems increasingly distant from the people it claims to protect. What no one disputes: the scars from that night remain deep. Families mourn, officers nurse wounds both invisible and physical, a city is left to reckon with what really happened and—perhaps more importantly—why. In the still-crisp morning, Minneapolis waits, anxious for clarity that may not soon arrive.