Trump Slams Minneapolis Leaders: “Let ICE Patriots Restore Order—No More Chaos!”

Paul Riverbank, 1/25/2026Minneapolis reels after fatal shooting; Trump blasts local leaders amid federal-local power struggle.

Mayor Jacob Frey faced the cameras before most had even left church. His tone landed somewhere between disbelief and accusation. “How many more Americans need to die, or get badly hurt, before someone calls time on this operation?” It wasn’t just a rhetorical question; Frey had combed through footage minutes earlier, his anger tinged by what he called 'pummeling'—not policing—and the death of someone he was quick to claim as a constituent.

Of course, Chief Brian O’Hara, who leads the city's police, tried threading a needle between candor and caution. He revealed what little his department knew: a white male in his thirties, local. The rest was speculation—fuel for a rapidly growing crowd.

By afternoon, the tension on the ground was palpable. Protesters streamed down Lake Street, chanting in a mix of fury and exhaustion. Someone waved a sign: “Who’s in charge here?” Later, clashes flared—bystanders tossed water bottles, agents in padded vests pushed forward. Curiously, the previous day's protest—reportedly 15,000 strong—had passed with little disruption. That nonviolent march didn’t shield the city from the night’s crackling confrontations or from the finger-pointing that followed.

Mayor Frey, insistent, pinned the accelerant squarely on what he described as “militarized force” and anonymous agents, warning that this is what frays the fabric of the country. “You want to talk about weakening America?” he pressed, “This is it.” His comments landed as a direct challenge to the machinery of federal intervention.

From Washington, reactions were swifter—and louder. President Trump, never one for muted responses, took to Truth Social and blasted local leadership: he depicted federal agents as the last line against a tide of criminality, citing numbers—12,000 alleged offenders removed from Minnesota—and sneered at Frey and Governor Tim Walz’s “pompous, dangerous, and arrogant rhetoric.” He wasn’t shy, either, about dragging in broader conspiracies, hinting without evidence at “cover-ups” connected to ongoing federal fraud investigations and even taking potshots at Congresswoman Ilhan Omar’s finances.

In an interview on NewsNation, as the unrest gained national attention, Trump danced around the idea of invoking the Insurrection Act. He floated that “maybe” it could come into play but was clear: he’d considered it, knew its history, but—at least for now—would hold off. “Hopefully we won’t need it,” he said, but the message was more warning than reassurance.

At street level, city and federal officials operated at cross-purposes. Minneapolis leaders demanded border agents—and ICE—leave, tempers flaring over jurisdiction and approach. The White House insisted on the necessity of a federal presence. Neither side blinked.

Peel back the rhetoric, and the discord reveals something deeper: the push-pull over who gets to shape a city’s safety, who sets the limits on force, and how far Washington can press its thumb on the scales of local control. It’s a contest—the old American story—sometimes cast as a debate over sovereignty, sometimes as a hard question of safety versus autonomy. On this, nobody is conceding—even as most citizens just want clarity, and calm.

Answers remain in short supply. Investigations grind on, both official and unofficial. Minneapolis, once more the stage for a national conversation about power and protest, waits restlessly for the next chapter—uncertain, unresolved, the city on edge well past midnight.

By Sunday, the hum on Minneapolis streets was less the mundane whir of weekend traffic and more the restless echo of a city searching for how it all spun out. A man—37, white, familiar in the neighborhood to at least a handful—was dead after the sharp crackle of Border Patrol gunfire lit up a grainy Saturday morning. DHS issued a familiar explanation: he was armed, resisting, carrying not just a handgun but extra magazines. But it was the shaky cellphone video that spurred the city’s anxiety, capture of federal agents and suspect locked in a flurried tangle before the shots; half drama, half confusion, and no clean answers.Mayor Jacob Frey faced the cameras before most had even left church. His tone landed somewhere between disbelief and accusation. “How many more Americans need to die, or get badly hurt, before someone calls time on this operation?” It wasn’t just a rhetorical question; Frey had combed through footage minutes earlier, his anger tinged by what he called 'pummeling'—not policing—and the death of someone he was quick to claim as a constituent.Of course, Chief Brian O’Hara, who leads the city's police, tried threading a needle between candor and caution. He revealed what little his department knew: a white male in his thirties, local. The rest was speculation—fuel for a rapidly growing crowd.By afternoon, the tension on the ground was palpable. Protesters streamed down Lake Street, chanting in a mix of fury and exhaustion. Someone waved a sign: “Who’s in charge here?” Later, clashes flared—bystanders tossed water bottles, agents in padded vests pushed forward. Curiously, the previous day's protest—reportedly 15,000 strong—had passed with little disruption. That nonviolent march didn’t shield the city from the night’s crackling confrontations or from the finger-pointing that followed.Mayor Frey, insistent, pinned the accelerant squarely on what he described as “militarized force” and anonymous agents, warning that this is what frays the fabric of the country. “You want to talk about weakening America?” he pressed, “This is it.” His comments landed as a direct challenge to the machinery of federal intervention.From Washington, reactions were swifter—and louder. President Trump, never one for muted responses, took to Truth Social and blasted local leadership: he depicted federal agents as the last line against a tide of criminality, citing numbers—12,000 alleged offenders removed from Minnesota—and sneered at Frey and Governor Tim Walz’s “pompous, dangerous, and arrogant rhetoric.” He wasn’t shy, either, about dragging in broader conspiracies, hinting without evidence at “cover-ups” connected to ongoing federal fraud investigations and even taking potshots at Congresswoman Ilhan Omar’s finances.In an interview on NewsNation, as the unrest gained national attention, Trump danced around the idea of invoking the Insurrection Act. He floated that “maybe” it could come into play but was clear: he’d considered it, knew its history, but—at least for now—would hold off. “Hopefully we won’t need it,” he said, but the message was more warning than reassurance.At street level, city and federal officials operated at cross-purposes. Minneapolis leaders demanded border agents—and ICE—leave, tempers flaring over jurisdiction and approach. The White House insisted on the necessity of a federal presence. Neither side blinked.Peel back the rhetoric, and the discord reveals something deeper: the push-pull over who gets to shape a city’s safety, who sets the limits on force, and how far Washington can press its thumb on the scales of local control. It’s a contest—the old American story—sometimes cast as a debate over sovereignty, sometimes as a hard question of safety versus autonomy. On this, nobody is conceding—even as most citizens just want clarity, and calm.Answers remain in short supply. Investigations grind on, both official and unofficial. Minneapolis, once more the stage for a national conversation about power and protest, waits restlessly for the next chapter—uncertain, unresolved, the city on edge well past midnight.