Minneapolis Has Three of Four Ingredients for a Turning Point

A cascade may be forming. But does it have anywhere to land?

Federal agents have killed two American citizens this month. The administration is labeling lawful gun owners “domestic terrorists”. DOJ prosecutors are resigning rather than participate in a cover-up. If there were ever a moment for a turning point, this would seem to be it.

But what would a “turning point” even mean?

Cross-partisan consensus—Americans united in demanding accountability and a wholesale rethinking of immigration enforcement—isn’t happening. Eighty-two percent of Americans say they have watched the video of Renee Good’s killing, but reached opposite conclusions about basic facts. Public opinion is shifting against ICE, but shifts in public opinion don’t automatically produce political change.

The turning point that would actually matter is a Republican turning point—officials breaking with their own administration in sufficient numbers to alter the political calculus. Are the fractures we’re seeing—at least five senators demanding investigations, gun rights organizations in revolt—early signs of a cascade? Or isolated defections that will be contained and absorbed?

So far, it’s looking like the latter.

As I’ve written, major political changes follow a “slowly, then all at once” pattern: problems persist through enforced silence, cascades form and collapse, the status quo becomes contaminated, and eventually a better alternative becomes imaginable. Minneapolis has the first three. But it’s missing the fourth—and the fourth is the one that matters.

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Known problems can persist far longer than they should.

Republicans had a problem before the Minneapolis shootings—they just weren’t talking about it.

Politically, ICE was becoming a liability. Approval had dropped 30 points in a single year. Immigration was supposed to be Trump’s best issue. It wasn’t working anymore.

And ethically? Federal agents were killing American citizens on video. Perhaps some true believers in the Stephen Miller mold felt fine about this. But could every Republican really watch that footage and feel good about what they were defending?

Even if they didn’t, they stayed quiet. Why? Because speaking out means Trump attacking you on Truth Social, MAGA trolls flooding your mentions, death threats to your office. People keep private doubts private when they can’t be sure others will join to provide the safety that only numbers can provide.

In moments of uncertainty, cascades form, collapse, and re-form.

Something shifted after Alex Pretti’s death. The administration called him a “domestic terrorist.” But he was an ICU nurse at a VA hospital with a legal concealed carry permit. And suddenly, gun rights organizations faced a choice they’d spent decades avoiding: federal law enforcement or Second Amendment absolutism?

Within 48 hours, the NRA called the administration’s defense “dangerous and wrong”. Gun Owners of America declaredthat the Second Amendment “protects Americans’ right to bear arms while protesting.”

Most elected Republicans are still in predictable silence or denial. A few predictable Trump skeptics in the Senate have spoken out. Cassidy, Murkowski, Collins, Tillis have been Trump critics for years. That's not new.

Then there’s Oklahoma Governor Kevin Stitt, a one-time Trump loyalist who has been having his doubts for a few months now. The chair of the National Governors Association went on CNN’s State of the Union the day after Pretti’s death and delivered a remarkable rebuke. “This is a real tragedy,” he said. “The death of Americans, what we’re seeing on TV, it’s causing deep concerns over federal tactics and accountability. Americans don’t like what they’re seeing right now.”

Stitt didn’t stop there. He questioned the administration’s entire strategy: “Americans are asking themselves, ‘What is the endgame? What is the solution?’ Nobody likes feds coming into their state. Is it to deport every single non-U.S. citizen? I don’t think that’s what Americans want.” When asked about Trump’s approach, Stitt was blunt: “He’s getting bad advice right now.”

Hours later, Stitt issued a joint statement with Maryland’s Democratic Governor Wes Moore—the NGA’s vice chair—calling for “a reset of strategy toward a unified vision for immigration enforcement.” Two governors, one Republican and one Democrat, united in urging “collaboration, communication, and respect for each other’s roles.” The bipartisan framing was deliberate: this wasn’t a Democratic attack, but an institutional plea from the nation’s governors.

The there is Joe Rogan, who endorsed Trump in 2024, watched the Good footage and asked: “Are we really going to be the Gestapo?” A week later, he was urging listeners to consider the ICE agents’ perspective. That’s what a forming cascade looks like—people testing the winds, not sure where to land.

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Once the status quo becomes contaminated, it’s hard to go back.

One ambiguous shooting can be rationalized. Two shootings, the second one clearer, the administration doubling down on “domestic terrorist” framing? The spin requires more and more torque.

Still, it’s always easier to squeeze new facts into old frames than to rebuild the frame around inconvenient evidence—especially when the frame is also your identity. Sixty-seven percent of Republicans watched the Good video and concluded her car hit an agent. Thirteen percent of Democrats saw the same thing. Same footage. Different priors. Different facts.

However, some frames are updating. Trump’s approval on immigration—which had been running about six points better than his overall rating, his least-bad issue—has converged downward. Google Trends shows ICE searches staying elevated, unlike other stories that spike and fade. The issue isn’t going away.

We don’t have post-Pretti polling yet. But the trajectory is clear: defending the status quo is becoming more expensive. Each incident forces defenders to stretch their arguments further. At some point, the story stops holding together.

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Change requires a clearly better alternative.

When Democrats needed to move on from Biden, there was a clear alternative: Kamala Harris. As I wrote at the time, once she became imaginable, the cascade accelerated. Within days, it was over.

For Republicans confronting Minneapolis, no such clarity exists.

It’s not that there’s no alternative. There are plenty. Abolish ICE? Reform it? Demand investigations? Support deportations but oppose the tactics? The problem is there is no single alternative. And the easiest path is always to wait—hope the news cycle moves on, hope the protests fade, hope the next outrage buries this one.

And besides, who really wants to step out of line and get into a fight with the administration? To say “these shootings were wrong” is to call Stephen Miller and Kristi Noem liars. That’s not splitting hairs on appropriations.

This is the doom loop in action once more. Midterms are coming. If Republicans say “these shootings were wrong” they are conceding a Democratic talking point. Why accept the enemy’s frame? So you stay quiet, or you defend the indefensible. Eventually, the moment passes, and the next carnival act distracts attention.

What would change the calculus? Another incident? A victim even harder to dismiss? Or simply: enough voices joining fast enough that the early dissenters stop feeling alone?

That’s the thing about cascades. There’s safety in numbers—but only if the numbers arrive in time. Cascades that build slowly tend to collapse. The counter-mobilization catches up. The enforcers make examples. The moment passes.

For the cascade to spread, enough Republicans would have to do the harder thing—rebuild the frame, not squeeze the facts. But frames aren’t modular. Question this shooting, you have to question the last one. Question ICE, you question what you’ve been defending for years. Keep pulling and eventually there’s nothing holding it together, and then you’re left with nothing.

My best guess: 80% chance the defections remain isolated, the news cycle moves on, and this becomes another data point in the polarization literature. 20% chance another incident—or enough voices joining fast enough—tips it into a genuine, bona fide historically significant turning point. I could be wrong. I’d love to be wrong. After all, change happens slowly. Then all at once.