In Minneapolis, Native American patrols keep watch – and see history repeating: 'We are still being chased'
Minneapolis' Native American community is on high alert as federal immigration agents descend on the city, sparking a wave of fear and anxiety.
'Our kids are afraid, our elders are afraid,' says Vin Dionne, a leader of the Many Shields Society, a community safety group that has been working to help both Native and immigrant neighbors.
The Twin Cities, home to one of the largest urban American Indian populations in the US, are witnessing a chilling repeat of history.
As federal forces descended on the Twin Cities this winter as part of Donald Trump’s aggressive immigration crackdown, tribal citizens reported being frequently stopped and interrogated for their documentation.
Masked, armed federal agents in SUVs circled the neighborhood, stopping undocumented immigrants, legal residents, and tribal citizens alike.
'This is a general attack on brown people, a 'scoop them all up,' says Robert Lilligren, CEO of the Native American Community Development Institute (NCDI).
The American Indian movement (AIM) was born in this corner of south Minneapolis more than 50 years ago, and now, Many Shields, along with Native and non-Native volunteers in the neighborhood, has reprised the practice of citizen patrols.
At least four members of the Oglala Sioux Tribe have been detained in the operations, according to tribal president Frank Star Comes Out. The Department of Homeland Security disputed the tribe’s allegations.
In response, Star Comes Out and the leaders and representatives of at least 10 tribes traveled to Minneapolis and processed applications for tribal IDs, setting up booths at the Minneapolis American Indian Center.
'We felt an urgency to protect our people,' said Star Comes Out.
Local leaders expressed hope for a drawdown after the Trump administration said this week that it would pull back federal agents from the city, but they remain concerned about the pain that operations have already inflicted.
On a chilly morning, Dionne was out patrolling his neighborhood, keeping an eye on community members walking outside, waiting at bus stops, or walking to the grocery store. 'If there’s anyone that agents would deem an immigrant, I’m watching for them,' he said.
When he heard ICE agents were in the area, he ran back to his apartment building – only to spot his own children at the window, recording the scene with their phones. Later, he had a talk with his eighth-grade daughter about what she saw. 'We talked about how sad, in 2026, even our Native American population – the first group of people on this continent – feel unsafe in their own neighborhoods,' he said.
That week, Dionne’s wife, Rachel Dionne-Thunder – who is Plains Cree and the co-founder of a local advocacy group called the Indigenous Protector Movement – was also stopped and questioned by federal agents while driving along the Franklin Avenue corridor. Vin and others rushed over, and the agents left.
Down the road from Dionne’s apartment, Mary, 70, a US citizen and a citizen of the Lac Courte Oreilles Band of Lake Superior Ojibwe, said the pervasive presence of federal immigration agents near her home had been too much to bear. She asked the Guardian not to print her last name, because she was worried about federal agents tracking her.
'I have hardly slept in weeks,' she said. 'I ain’t going to fart around here anymore.'
Mary believed she would be safer at her sister's place at the Lake Superior Ojibwe reservation in Wisconsin, where the tribe recently issued a statement emphasizing that it 'does not support or cooperate with ICE'. The Oglala Sioux tribe has also banned ICE and US border patrol agents from the Oglala Sioux Pine Ridge Indian reservation.
For many Native elders, the sight of armed, masked federal agents has triggered dark memories and the generational trauma of violence from the US government against Indigenous people, said Jolene Jones, an organizer with NCDI. 'We’re having so much anxiety because it’s in our bones,' she said. 'We were still being chased, we’re still being snatched from our homes, our children are being snatched. It’s very triggering.'
A horrifying aspect of the recent immigration operation in the Twin Cities, she said, is that people detained by federal agents are being taken to an ICE processing facility located on Fort Snelling, where the US government in the mid-1800s imprisoned more than 1,600 Dakota and Ho-Chunk people in a concentration camp.
'History repeats itself,' Jones said. 'And as Indigenous people, we are trying to make sure we’re as prepared as we can be.'
Back at Pow Wow Grounds, a sign on the door signaled that ICE agents weren’t welcome, while another indicated that customers and volunteers should knock to be let in. A steady stream of locals politely did so – some bringing wheelbarrows full of diapers, pet food, and other supplies. Others served themselves some of the hot soup and fresh fry bread that the cafe is offering locals.
Volunteers organized the gear in the All My Relations art gallery behind the coffee shop. Fold-out tables piled with handwarmers and other supplies for patrollers had replaced the usual art installations.
Jones and other leaders discussed whether it was safe enough to send the local youth basketball league for a game in another part of town. They decided it wasn’t; there were simply too many federal agents on the streets.
'A lot of my daughter’s friends are from Mexico. A lot of our children out here, whether they’re Native or Hispanic, we’re all the same people. Many of us are First Nations people of this continent,' Dionne said. 'So we all are relatives. And that’s also why we stick up for our community members.'
Dionne motioned a fellow Many Shields member to a stack of gas masks and goggles, protection against the chemical irritants that federal officers have been using against observers. He took some handwarmers for himself and prepared to head back out on patrol.
