Minnesota Protests Intensify As ICE Faces Paramilitary Scrutiny

As the bitter cold of February 2026 settled over Minnesota, the state found itself in the national spotlight, not simply for its weather but for the intensifying federal immigration operations taking place within its borders. Operation Metro Surge, now entering its third month under the Trump administration, has sparked protests, legal battles, and a heated debate about the role of federal law enforcement—particularly Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE)—in American society.

On February 1, a federal judge denied Minnesota’s request to temporarily halt Operation Metro Surge, allowing ICE and other federal agencies to continue their expanded activities in the state. The denial came as protestors staged sit-ins at several Target stores, urging the Minneapolis-based company to “stand with Minnesotans” against what they characterized as heavy-handed federal tactics. The day’s events underscored a growing tension between local communities and the federal government, with many residents questioning not just the legality but the morality of the ongoing operations.

One of the most emotional moments of the weekend came with the release of five-year-old Liam Ramos and his father from a Texas detention center. A federal judge ordered their release, describing the father, Conejo Arias, as an "asylum seeker." According to ABC News, Arias and his son were detained after returning home from school. The family and Columbia Heights officials maintained that they had entered the country legally and had an active asylum case, while the federal government argued—without providing proof—that Arias was in the U.S. illegally.

The judge’s order was pointed: "That result should occur through a more orderly and humane policy than currently in place," the ruling stated, acknowledging that deportation might ultimately be required but criticizing the current approach. Upon their return to Minneapolis, the pair was greeted by Representative Ilhan Omar and an outpouring of community support. Columbia Heights Public Schools, where Liam is a student, released a statement expressing gratitude for the global support and called for the release of four other students still held at the Dilley, Texas facility. "Liam's release is an important development, and we hope it will lead to positive developments for other families as well," the school district said.

The emotional toll of these actions has not gone unnoticed by the youngest members of the community. In a video posted by Columbia Heights Public Schools, elementary students read letters to ICE, pleading for kindness and respect. "I hope you're respectful to everyone and show kindness. I also hope you respect all people from all different countries and around the world," one student wrote. Another added, "You are scaring schools, people, and the world. You should be kind, helpful, and caring like normal police, not dangerous, scary, and stealing people. I think you should make friends with the world." The heartfelt words of children underscored the human impact of federal enforcement policies, making the abstract debate over law and order deeply personal for many families.

Meanwhile, President Donald Trump doubled down on his administration’s approach. Warning that ICE, Border Patrol, and even the military would act forcefully to protect federal property, he said, "Please be aware that I have instructed ICE and/or Border Patrol to be very forceful in this protection of Federal Government Property. There will be no spitting in the faces of our Officers, there will be no punching or kicking the headlights of our cars, and there will be no rock or brick throwing at our vehicles, or at our Patriot Warriors. If there is, those people will suffer an equal, or more, consequence." Trump’s rhetoric left little doubt that the administration viewed the situation as a test of federal authority—and was prepared to respond with overwhelming force if challenged.

This approach has drawn fierce criticism from Minnesota officials. Attorney General Keith Ellison, speaking on MS Now, dismissed Trump’s warnings as self-aggrandizing. "That sounds like a petty child who will not tolerate any challenge to his massive and highly delicate ego," Ellison said. "As he's wearing his fancy tuxedo, going to whatever fancy ball he's going to, Minnesotans are standing in the 9-below weather, fighting for our very democracy and in some cases our lives, and certainly livelihoods." Ellison accused the administration of imposing "extreme hardship" while Trump enjoyed the trappings of power, a sentiment echoed by many local leaders and activists.

On the ground, the situation has remained tense. Reports of federal immigration activity circulated throughout the Twin Cities and greater Minnesota, including in Albert Lea, Austin, and St. Cloud. In Minneapolis, a clash erupted at Powderhorn Park, where observers alleged that federal agents arrested one person and used chemical irritants on bystanders. The Rogers Police Department declared an unlawful assembly after anti-ICE protesters gathered outside a local hotel, though the crowd dispersed peacefully following dispersal orders. In St. Peter, confusion over the role of local police in a federal incident led to official denials that the department had intervened in ICE operations.

Amid these local developments, a broader national conversation has emerged about the nature of ICE itself. According to The Conversation, politicians and journalists have increasingly described ICE as a “paramilitary force.” New York-based professor Erica De Bruin observes that ICE fits many of the characteristics of a militarized police force: it is highly centralized, equipped with military-grade weaponry, and operates under the direct control of the Department of Homeland Security. "There is no question that ICE fits the definition of a paramilitary police force," De Bruin notes, pointing to its organization, operational patterns, and cultural markers borrowed from the regular military.

What sets the United States apart, De Bruin argues, is that it is nearly alone among established democracies in creating a new paramilitary police force in recent decades. ICE, established after the September 11, 2001 attacks, is one of only four such forces created by a democracy since 1960. Both ICE and Customs and Border Patrol (CBP) have expanded rapidly, with ICE doubling its size in less than a year and cutting training length for new recruits. Concerns about professionalism and oversight predate the current administration; in 2014, CBP’s head of internal affairs warned of thousands of officers "potentially unfit to carry a badge and gun."

ICE and CBP are not subject to the same constitutional restrictions as other law enforcement agencies, such as the Fourth Amendment’s protections against unreasonable search and seizure. Within 100 miles of the border, for example, CBP can search and seize property without a warrant or probable cause. The Conversation reports that ICE and CBP have also been deployed in non-immigration contexts, such as protests in Washington, DC, and Portland, Oregon, and have gathered data on citizens’ political beliefs and activities. These actions, De Bruin suggests, give ICE and CBP some of the characteristics of informal paramilitaries used for political repression in other countries, even though they are official state agents.

The debate over ICE’s role and tactics is far from academic. Research shows that more militarized policing is associated with higher rates of violence and rights violations, and such forces are harder to reform. The events unfolding in Minnesota—protests, legal challenges, and the stories of families like the Ramoses—reflect a nation wrestling with the boundaries of federal power and the meaning of justice. As the winter deepens, so too does the sense that the choices made now will reverberate far beyond Minnesota’s borders.

In the end, the struggle over Operation Metro Surge and ICE’s role in American life is about more than law enforcement; it’s about the kind of country the United States wants to be. For families reuniting at airports, students writing letters, and communities braving the cold to protest, the answer remains deeply personal—and profoundly uncertain.