Pam Bondi Unleashes DOJ Crackdown: ICE Protest Leaders Arrested in Minneapolis Chaos

Paul Riverbank, 1/29/2026DOJ cracks down on ICE protest leaders; arrests ignite legal and community battles in Minneapolis.

Tension in the Twin Cities has hardly been a well-kept secret these past weeks. On the streets, outside hotels and the looming facades of ICE field offices, protestors gathered—at first in trickles, then in waves. Their fears, fueled by stories of immigration raids, soon turned to spirited activism. Public outcry grew louder, restless, and, on occasion, defiant.

The Justice Department responded with familiar bluntness: those arrested were charged under federal law—specifically, 18 U.S. Code § 111, which covers assault on federal officers. Bondi’s statement echoed with the kind of certainty officials trade in when the cameras are rolling. “We expect more arrests to come. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Nothing will stop President Trump and this Department of Justice from enforcing the law.”

Among the detainees is Nasra Ahmed. She’s 23, and in recent weeks she’s become an unlikely symbol—her own words, “Being Somali isn’t just eating bananas with rice,” rippled across social media after her brief press conference. Ahmed, who says she was subjected to racial slurs by ICE agents, was held for two days before release. Whether she was a leader or just swept up by events is up for debate, but her arrest has poured fuel onto an already volatile discussion.

Anyone following the coverage will have seen the photographs—arrested protestors on one side, the HSI agents who apprehended them on the other. Christina Rank, Abdikadir Noor, Madeline Tschida, Nitzana Flores, and the rest—fifteen names in total—are now woven into the narrative stitching together issues of protest, law enforcement, and community anger. Their faces, no longer anonymous, are posted and re-shared online as both proof and provocation.

Monday night’s flashpoint came at a nondescript SpringHill Suites in Maple Grove. There, what started as loud protest morphed into property damage. Police say objects were hurled; by the night’s end, more than two dozen people were detained. A Maple Grove police statement cut to the chase: “The protest was declared an unlawful assembly after property damage and violence occurred, making the activity no longer protected under the First Amendment.” The message was clear: the right to speak one’s mind doesn't extend to bricks through windows.

Some names are familiar to police and courthouse clerks. Justin Neal Shelton’s past conviction for a violent carjacking in 2007—he assaulted a pregnant woman—featured in local reporting. Shelton had also been barred from owning firearms. Then there’s Abraham Nelson Coleman, cited for damaging hotel property, who has already seen the inside of a courtroom for prior theft. Others, like Rayna Michelle Alston, appear to wear their ideology on their sleeves—her social profiles championing the anti-ICE cause; she’s faced riot charges before and doesn’t shy away from the limelight.

Scrutiny has only intensified as details emerge about how protestors organize. Law enforcement sources have pointed to encrypted chat apps, with some reports highlighting a particular Signal group coordinating rapid mobilization when ICE is spotted in town. Commentators debate: is this technological savvy or an escalation in methods?

Bondi and federal officials maintain their focus is public safety—protection for agents, hotel guests, everyone caught in the fray. But advocacy groups, and many locals, are not convinced. They warn of a widening gulf, arguing ICE actions specifically endanger already marginalized residents and that heavy-handed law enforcement distorts the legal lines between civil protest and criminal offense.

In the courts, those very lines are being tested. Recently, a judge blocked charges against one protest organizer, presumably out of concern that First Amendment protections were being overshadowed by the heat of the moment.

One thing’s certain: the conflict brewing in Minnesota seems poised to continue. With each new arrest, each new legal challenge, the story deepens—watched not just by the neighborhood or the city, but by an entire nation grappling yet again with how, and where, law, dissent, and community truly meet.

Attorney General Pam Bondi found herself at the center of Minneapolis's turmoil—not the meteorological kind, but the ever-churning human one. Late Wednesday, Bondi made it known that federal agents had moved in: sixteen people, suspected of aggressive actions against ICE personnel and the disruption of official duties, were now in custody.Tension in the Twin Cities has hardly been a well-kept secret these past weeks. On the streets, outside hotels and the looming facades of ICE field offices, protestors gathered—at first in trickles, then in waves. Their fears, fueled by stories of immigration raids, soon turned to spirited activism. Public outcry grew louder, restless, and, on occasion, defiant.The Justice Department responded with familiar bluntness: those arrested were charged under federal law—specifically, 18 U.S. Code § 111, which covers assault on federal officers. Bondi’s statement echoed with the kind of certainty officials trade in when the cameras are rolling. “We expect more arrests to come. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Nothing will stop President Trump and this Department of Justice from enforcing the law.”Among the detainees is Nasra Ahmed. She’s 23, and in recent weeks she’s become an unlikely symbol—her own words, “Being Somali isn’t just eating bananas with rice,” rippled across social media after her brief press conference. Ahmed, who says she was subjected to racial slurs by ICE agents, was held for two days before release. Whether she was a leader or just swept up by events is up for debate, but her arrest has poured fuel onto an already volatile discussion.Anyone following the coverage will have seen the photographs—arrested protestors on one side, the HSI agents who apprehended them on the other. Christina Rank, Abdikadir Noor, Madeline Tschida, Nitzana Flores, and the rest—fifteen names in total—are now woven into the narrative stitching together issues of protest, law enforcement, and community anger. Their faces, no longer anonymous, are posted and re-shared online as both proof and provocation.Monday night’s flashpoint came at a nondescript SpringHill Suites in Maple Grove. There, what started as loud protest morphed into property damage. Police say objects were hurled; by the night’s end, more than two dozen people were detained. A Maple Grove police statement cut to the chase: “The protest was declared an unlawful assembly after property damage and violence occurred, making the activity no longer protected under the First Amendment.” The message was clear: the right to speak one’s mind doesn't extend to bricks through windows.Some names are familiar to police and courthouse clerks. Justin Neal Shelton’s past conviction for a violent carjacking in 2007—he assaulted a pregnant woman—featured in local reporting. Shelton had also been barred from owning firearms. Then there’s Abraham Nelson Coleman, cited for damaging hotel property, who has already seen the inside of a courtroom for prior theft. Others, like Rayna Michelle Alston, appear to wear their ideology on their sleeves—her social profiles championing the anti-ICE cause; she’s faced riot charges before and doesn’t shy away from the limelight.Scrutiny has only intensified as details emerge about how protestors organize. Law enforcement sources have pointed to encrypted chat apps, with some reports highlighting a particular Signal group coordinating rapid mobilization when ICE is spotted in town. Commentators debate: is this technological savvy or an escalation in methods?Bondi and federal officials maintain their focus is public safety—protection for agents, hotel guests, everyone caught in the fray. But advocacy groups, and many locals, are not convinced. They warn of a widening gulf, arguing ICE actions specifically endanger already marginalized residents and that heavy-handed law enforcement distorts the legal lines between civil protest and criminal offense.In the courts, those very lines are being tested. Recently, a judge blocked charges against one protest organizer, presumably out of concern that First Amendment protections were being overshadowed by the heat of the moment.One thing’s certain: the conflict brewing in Minnesota seems poised to continue. With each new arrest, each new legal challenge, the story deepens—watched not just by the neighborhood or the city, but by an entire nation grappling yet again with how, and where, law, dissent, and community truly meet.