Opinions
Do not forget that Renee Good was queer
Far-right media link shooting victim’s sexuality to her protest of ICE
Please do not forget that Renee Nicole Good was a queer woman.
Last week, Good, a 37-year-old American citizen, was shot and killed by a United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent in Minneapolis. Her wife Rebecca Good was present when the ICE agent shot her, standing outside their car. In the immediate aftermath, Minneapolis erupted with protests aimed at ICE in the city and Republican officials, including President Donald Trump and Vice President JD Vance, who argued the shooting was justified as an act of self-defense.
In a press conference held this past Thursday, Vance told reporters that Good was “a victim of left-wing ideology.” “I can believe that her death is a tragedy,” Vance said,” while also recognizing that it is a tragedy of her own making.” Many criticized Vance’s statement, especially given how he blamed “left-wing extremism” for Charlie Kirk’s death in September on a Utah campus and Vance himself doubled down on condemning those who were celebrating the far-right podcaster’s fatal shooting.
Department of Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem implied that Good was a domestic terrorist while Fox News host Jesse Watters said that “the woman who lost her life was a self-proclaimed poet from Colorado with pronouns in her bio.”
Laura Loomer, another far-right Trump supporter, tweeted, “‘She/her.’ Literally every time,” in response to what is believed to be Good’s Instagram account. Loomer and Watters both pointed out her pronouns are somehow part of the reason she was tied to ICE-related violence.
As these comments from far right pundits show, far-right media coverage was quick to connect Good’s queerness to her work to inhibit ICE activity in Minneapolis.
But while far-right news outlets highlighting Good’s queerness, centrist and even leftist news outlets also erased her wife’s experience, featuring interviews with Good’s mom and ex-husband but not her wife who was present for the shooting, feeding into the narrative that she was an “innocent” white mother while denying Good’s own agency in mobilizing for immigrants in her community.
Nobody should be shot by government agencies ever, and these news outlets do not need to play into the construction of an “innocent” white woman for people to be outraged by her death. In fact, in doing so and denying Good’s queerness, they deny the way in which Good’s identity likely affected the way she interacted with the police. For queer and trans people, police are not safe people–in fact, Good’s last words deescalating the situation reflect the ways that homophobia and misogyny prime queer women, and all women to placate men’s emotions.
And it still didn’t work. After shooting her, the ICE agent called her a “fucking bitch,” in front of her wife who was kept away from Good while she bled out in her car.
When the media reinforces the narrative that she was an “innocent” mother, it reinforces the same sexism and racism that allows police brutality to continue.
In an interview, author of the book After Purity released this past December, Sara Moslener said that “White womanhood has been constructed to require that white women sort of maintain purity within themselves as a way to maintain the purity within themselves as a way to maintain the purity of, the innocence of, the nation state. When the purity movement resurfaced in the 1990s, it was this recapitulation of the 19th century nation of sexual purity that was highly racialized.”
“It wasn’t something that was accessible to enslaved women, to other women of color, to immigrant women. It was this ideal of true womanhood that became connected to this idea of a strong nationstate. That rhetoric was then used to justify racial terror lynchings. If white women were threatened, you know, physically, bodily, culturally, they have the right to claim things. This was often used as a guise to justify violence and murder, especially against Black men. It even ties to the concept of Karen and the entitlement of white women, where they can weaponize their vulnerability,” Moslener said.
Good’s shooting for many people was a breaking point for this very reason — because it represented the first time that they had witnessed a white person killed by an ICE agent or a member of the police.
For some, their whiteness had been a source of safety because of the privilege of their skin color, or so they thought until Good’s murder this past week. In the aftermath, they are rethinking if this privilege will continue to protect them and what it can mean in a world where violence against white women’s bodies has long caused social backlash.
This is not a reason to stop fighting — Good was not the first person killed by ICE, not even the first person killed by ICE in 2026, but her whiteness is one of the central reasons that it incited outrage — because of a society that privileges and protects white women’s bodies. To describe Good as solely an “innocent” white woman, to deny her queerness, is to play into this performance of outrage about the brutalization of white women’s bodies.
If discussions of Good’s queerness — and persistent queerphobia against queer women — is not considered in our outrage, in our protests, we feed right into the same narratives that mean some police brutality, especially that against queer and trans people and people of color, goes completely unreported and unchallenged.
This is state-sanctioned violence, and in the immediate aftermath of Good’s death, the Trump administration has demanded that people deny the evidence of their eyes and ears, has pushed the narrative that Good weaponized her vehicle against an ICE agent and that agent fatally shooting her was an act of self defense. This is categorically false but denying what we know to be true, what we can witness ourselves and understand, is the final step in fascism armed and funded by the government.
But let’s be frank: This is not the first time that the American police or a government agent has murdered an unarmed person. Just under six years ago, George Floyd was murdered by police officers in the same city — his death was a breaking point for many who had witnessed police brutality against people of color.
While people are eager to say Good’s name, we cannot say or remember her without remembering and saying the names of Black and Brown men and women, especially disabled people of color, who have been murdered in the hundreds by the police. Their names are often said, their murders often go unquestioned.
People have been and will continue to say Good’s name largely because she was a white woman but the names of Black and Brown people go unsaid and unrecognized because of a system that performs outrage about violence against white bodies. What Good’s murder realized was how a system built on the protection of white women — a Christian nationalism committed to Social Purity — will still sacrifice white women who refuse to fall in line.
Six federal prosecutors in Minnesota resigned this week over the Justice Department’s push to investigate Good’s widow. Among them was Joseph Thompson, a career federal prosecutor, who objected to investigating Good’s wife as well as the department’s refusal to investigate whether the shooting was lawful.
In the signs, in the protests, in the prayers and pleas that you say and make in the aftermath of Good’s murder, do not deny her queerness, do not deny who she was and do not deny the work she did because in performing outrage against the murder of an “innocent” white mother we replicate the same systems of harm that hurt us all.
Emma Cieslik is a museum worker and public historian.
I was a “chubby” kid. A “husky” kid. Horrible terms that still make me cringe. Food issues stem through the family tree. I remember hearing a family member vomit when I was in elementary school; the residual scraps left floating in the toilet. I tried sticking my finger down my throat as a teen — an easy purge after a buffet binge. “Easy” being a sick way of looking at such a violent act to oneself, but the swiftness of an occasional act turning to addiction is frighteningly simple.
I was in my early 20s when I went on another diet in a series of crash diets, but this one hit different. I barely ate and worked out intensely each day. I decided to reward myself at the end of the week with a large pizza and breadsticks. Devouring a whole pizza (and more) was not new to me. I could down an alarming amount of food and hit the pillow in a haze. I didn’t know about nutrition, calories, or balance for many years to come. The meal went down the toilet, and I resumed my starvation diet. The calorie deficit pushed me closer to addiction’s ledge, and the hunger sent me over.
The sporadic binge turned to several a week — running to the local country store for a smattering of chips, candy, soda, honey buns, cookies, anything to fill me up. Soon, it was a regular appointment, arranging a home buffet to mindlessly stuff my body for hours ‘til I knelt over the ceramic bowl.
The binge-n-purge cycle turned twice daily. If I couldn’t binge at home in private, I would gorge at buffets or in my car — throwing up in restaurants, grocery stores, lobby restrooms. I lived in a house with a septic tank at the start of my illness. I clogged the tank, causing vomit to rise to the surface of the soil. Fearing further damage, I started throwing up in trash bags, collecting them in large bins, and driving them to public toilets to dispose of them. This went on for seven years, all through college, internships, and my first corporate job.
The older man I was with was losing himself at the same time, falling deeper into the abyss of severe depression he’d battled lifelong. We saw the best in each other at the start, and the worst by the demise. His bouts of darkness were beyond my repair, no matter how hard I tried to tackle the impossible fix. How is a 21-year-old supposed to convince a 46-year-old to seek treatment, talk him down from suicidal tendencies, get him to understand people love him? I couldn’t navigate it, and food seemed to be the one thing in my control.
It also became my reward and my excuse to treat myself in the face of any stress or accomplishment. He wants to kill himself: binge. I aced a test: binge. Work was rough: binge. Food was all I lived for. Friends, family, love all took a backseat. I was ruled by a hidden hunger I kept secret from nearly everyone, though my emaciated frame didn’t go unnoticed.
I was productive through the battle, working full time, graduating college summa cum laude, landing a solid job and moving up the ladder. All common addict attributes. Bulimia consumed me ‘til I was nearly 30 — four years after splitting from my first love, two years after he killed himself, and three years into a relationship with the man who would become my husband, and later my ex-husband.
They say the difference between privacy and secrecy is that privacy is about respect, whereas secrecy has shame attached. So, let’s drop the shame and the secrets held far too long. It’s been 12 years since I spent my days, nights, and thousands of dollars gorging and purging for hours. Twelve years since I was face down in a toilet at my own will.
I was a TV producer for a decade, booking more than 15,000 segments through the years. I often received pitches for February’s Eating Disorder Awareness Month and made a point to share these stories every year. Still, every pitch and every spokesperson I booked was with a woman. The stigma surrounding body dysmorphia in men continues despite men representing up to 25 percent of people with eating disorders, with members of the LGBTQ+ community at a higher risk, according to the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders. Men are also more likely to not recognize a problem, and their cases tend to be more severe by the time they see a doctor.
Living in secret and hiding is not living. It’s shame-based and the ultimate red flag that something needs to change. It will haunt you ‘til you are unrecognizable to yourself and everyone around you. You don’t need to share your story with the world, but opening up to someone is a crucial step in recovery and healing. Living in lies and maintaining deception is the heaviest of burdens
Addiction is blinding. You are unable to see the joys, the freedoms, and opportunities awaiting when you’re solely focused on soothing your addiction’s rage. Living for the fix pushes every other interest out of focus. When you start to release the devil on your back, you make room for wings to spread and space to fly into passions suffocated far too long.
It’s taken a lot of work, therapy, reflection and learning. Not to say I’m recovered, not to say I’m healed. I’ll forever have this devil on my back. It’s about learning to quiet his rage, soothe his anxiety, and ensure his safety and love. It’s a lifelong path of healing more with each day, each year.
And there is always hope. Even in the deepest depths of despair and isolation and ‘I’ll-never-get-better-ness.’ Whatever your circumstances, those tinges of hope are worth clinging to. They’ll carry you through.
I don’t know where I’ll be next year, let alone a future once so clear. And I’m okay. You’re okay. The other side isn’t perfect. Nothing is. But what a gift to make it there and experience life unshackled from your ghost.
There’s so much to see.
Kyle Ridley is an Emmy Award winning journalist with more than two decades in print and television.
Opinions
Why trans suffering is more palatable than trans ambition
We are most readily accepted when framed as victims
In the current media and political climate, stories of trans suffering move quickly. Stories of trans ambition do not.
A trans teenager denied healthcare. A trans woman attacked on public transit. A trans man struggling with homelessness. These narratives circulate widely, often accompanied by solemn op-eds, viral posts, and carefully worded statements of concern. The pain is real. The coverage is necessary. But there is a quieter pattern beneath it: trans people are most readily accepted when they are framed as victims—and most resisted when they present themselves as agents with desire, confidence, and upward momentum.
This distinction has sharpened in recent years. As anti-trans legislation has proliferated across statehouses and election cycles have turned trans lives into talking points, the public script has narrowed. Trans people are legible as objects of harm, but far less comfortable to many audiences as subjects of ambition. Survival is tolerated. Aspiration is destabilizing.
The reason suffering travels more easily is not mysterious. Pain reassures the audience. It positions trans people as recipients of concern rather than participants in competition. A suffering subject does not threaten status hierarchies; they confirm them. Sympathy can be extended without requiring a recalibration of power, space, or expectations. In this framing, acceptance remains conditional and charitable.
Ambition disrupts that arrangement. A trans person who wants more than safety—who wants money, authority, visibility, creative control, or institutional influence—forces a different reckoning. Ambition implies permanence. It implies entitlement. It implies that trans people are not passing through society’s margins but intend to occupy its center alongside everyone else.
You can see this discomfort play out in real time. When trans people speak about wanting success rather than safety, the response often shifts. Confidence is scrutinized. Assertiveness is reframed as arrogance. Desire is recoded as delusion. The language changes quickly: “unstable,” “narcissistic,” “out of touch,” “ungrateful.” In public discourse, confidence in trans people is frequently treated not as a strength, but as a warning sign.
Media narratives reinforce this dynamic. Even ostensibly positive coverage often relies on redemption arcs that center suffering first and ambition second—if at all. Success is framed as overcoming transness rather than inhabiting it. A trans person can be praised for resilience, but rarely for dominance, excellence, or command. Achievement must be softened, contextualized, and made reassuring.
This is especially visible in cultural reactions to trans people who refuse modesty. Trans figures who express sexual confidence, professional competitiveness, or political authority routinely face backlash that their cis counterparts do not. They are accused of being “too much,” of asking for too much space, of wanting too much too fast. The underlying anxiety is not about tone; it is about proximity. Ambition collapses the safe distance between observer and observed.
Politically, this preference for suffering over ambition is costly. Movements anchored primarily in pain narratives struggle to articulate futures beyond harm reduction. They mobilize sympathy but have difficulty sustaining leadership. A politics that can only argue from injury is perpetually reactive, always responding to the next threat rather than shaping the terrain itself.
This matters in a moment when trans rights are no longer debated only in cultural terms but in administrative, legal, and economic ones. Influence now depends on institutional literacy, long-term strategy, and the willingness to occupy decision-making spaces that were never designed with trans people in mind. Ambition is not a luxury; it is a prerequisite for durability.
Yet ambition remains suspect. Trans people are encouraged to be grateful rather than demanding, visible rather than powerful, resilient rather than authoritative. Even within progressive spaces, there is often an unspoken expectation that trans people justify their presence through pain rather than through competence or vision.
This is not liberation. It is containment.
A society that can tolerate trans suffering but recoils at trans ambition is not offering equality; it is managing discomfort. It is willing to mourn trans deaths but uneasy about trans dominance, trans leadership, or trans desire that does not ask permission. It prefers trans people as evidence of harm rather than as evidence of possibility.
None of this is an argument against documenting suffering. That work remains essential, particularly as legal protections erode and violence persists. But suffering cannot be the only admissible register of trans life. A politics that cannot imagine trans people as ambitious cannot sustain trans people as free.
Ambition does not negate vulnerability. Desire does not erase harm. Wanting more than survival is not ingratitude—it is the baseline condition of citizenship. The question is not whether trans people deserve ambition. The question is why it remains so unsettling when they claim it.
Until that discomfort is confronted, acceptance will remain conditional. Sympathy will remain cheap. And trans futures will continue to be negotiated on terms that stop just short of power.
Isaac Amend is a writer based in the D.C. area. He is a transgender man and was featured in National Geographic’s ‘Gender Revolution’ documentary. He serves on the board of the LGBT Democrats of Virginia. Contact him on Instagram at @isaacamend
First what isn’t. That would be snow removal in D.C. I understand the inches of sleet that fell on the nearly four inches of snow, and historic days of freezing weather, make it very difficult. But it took three days until they brought out the bigger equipment. Then businesses and homeowners were told they wouldn’t be fined for not clearing their sidewalks, which they have to do by law. That clearly made things worse. The elderly and disabled have an exemption from that, others shouldn’t be given one. Then there was no focus on crosswalks, so pedestrians couldn’t get around, and no apparent early coordination with the BIDS.
Then there are about 2,200 National Guard troops strolling D.C., yes strolling, at least before the snow. Why weren’t they given immediate snow removal duty. If the president gave a damn about our city he would have assigned them all to help dig out the city. We could have used their equipment, handed out shovels, and put the Guard to use immediately. Maybe the mayor put in her request for the Guard a little late.
I have met and chatted with many Guard members across the city. A group from Indiana regularly come to my coffee shop, though I haven’t seen them since the snow. I always thank them for their service — I just wish it wasn’t here. Nearly all agree with me, saying they would rather be home with their families, at jobs, or in school. I’ve met Guard members from D.C., West Virginia, Indiana, Mississippi, and Louisiana. My most poignant meeting was with one Guard member from West Virginia the day after his fellow Guard member was murdered. Incredibly sad, but avoidable; she should never have been assigned here to begin with. The government estimates it costs taxpayers $95,000 a year for each deployment. So, again, instead of strolling the streets, they should have been immediately assigned to assist with snow removal. Clearly the felon, his fascist aides, and incompetent Cabinet, are too busy supporting the killing of American citizens in Minneapolis, to care about this. I thank those Guard members now helping nearly a week after the snow began to fall. I recognize this was a difficult storm. I hope the city will learn from this for the future.
Now for something happening in D.C. that shouldn’t be. A host of retreads have announced they are candidates for office in both the June Democratic primary, and general election. Some are names you might remember but hoped were long gone. Two left the Council under ethical clouds. One is Jack Evans. He announced his candidacy for City Council president. I like Jack personally, having known him since he served on a Dupont ANC. This race is a massive waste of time and money, as he will surely lose. Even before his ethics issues were made public, and his leaving the Council under a cloud in 2020, he ran for mayor in 2014. At that time, he received only 5% of the vote, even in his own Ward. At 73, he should accept his electoral career is over. Another person who left the Council over questionable ethics, Vincent Orange, who is nearly 70, announced he is running for mayor. He did that last in 2014, when he got only 2% of the vote in the primary. He is another one who will surely lose. Both will likely qualify for city funding, wasting taxpayer money. I know I will be called an ageist. But reality is, in most cases, it’s time for a new generation to take the lead. Another person who has served before, was defeated for reelection, is now trying for a comeback on the Council. I think the outsized egos of these individuals should not be foisted on the voters. If they are really interested in serving the community, there are many ways to do it without holding elective office.
Then there is ICE and the continuing situation in Minneapolis. I applaud Democrats in Congress for holding up long-term funding for ICE for at least two weeks and getting the felon to negotiate. Now not every ICE agent behaves like the gestapo, but their bosses condone the behavior of the ones who do. Secretary of Homeland Security, Kristi Noem, who shot her dog, and Trump’s Goebbels, Stephen Miller, seem to think nothing of causing the deaths of American citizens.
Now the felon’s FBI and DOJ are arresting journalists; then going to Georgia and removing stored ballots from the 2020 election, all because the felon is still obsessed with that loss. His disappearing DNI, Tulsi Gabbard, was involved in that for some reason. The felon is a sick, demented, old man. They must all be stopped before they completely destroy our democracy.
Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist.
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