13 January 2026
Renee Nicole Good was a 37-year-old mother, poet, partner, daughter, and neighbor—killed at close range by a federal immigration agent in Minneapolis on January 7, 2026. What happened to her should not be spoken of as an “unfortunate encounter,” a “split-second decision,” or an anomaly. It should be named clearly, conscientiously, and without dilution: this was gender-based violence enacted by a man in a position of institutional power against a woman whose life was cut short in a moment captured on video and witnessed by her wife.
Naming matters. It shapes how we understand violence and, critically, how we prevent it. When we fail to name misogynistic harm as such, we fail everyone—especially women whose deaths become sanitized events rather than urgent calls for systemic change.
Renee was a mother of three. She graduated from Old Dominion University, loved writing poetry, and was described by her wife and family as kind, radiant, and deeply compassionate. In the hours before her death, Renee had been driving peacefully with her wife in Minneapolis; neither was engaged in criminal activity.
By every account from those who knew her, she was not a threat. She was a person with relationships, responsibilities, and a future that will now never fully unfold.
And even if Renee Good were not, by all accounts, a “good” person, her death would remain unjustified. No one must earn their right to live. Safety is not conditional on likability, compliance, or moral perfection.
Federal officials have characterized the agent’s use of force as self-defense. However, video evidence and eyewitness accounts present a more complex and troubling picture—one in which commands from agents were conflicting and escalating in tone and demeanor; where Renee’s vehicle was moving away when multiple shots were fired into her SUV; and where audio from the scene captures the use of a misogynistic slur immediately following the shooting.
Conflicting narratives about intent, threat, and justification must not distract us from naming the harm itself: a woman was shot and killed by a law enforcement agent who held overwhelming physical, legal, and institutional power over her.
Too often, violence against women—whether domestic, workplace-adjacent, or state-sanctioned—is treated as an outlier unless it conforms to a narrow and familiar narrative of “rage,” “loss of control,” or “self-defense.” This framing mirrors the same patterns that dismiss coercive control as a “relationship issue” and excuse intimate partner violence as inevitable or private.
Here, the escalation did not stem from Renee’s behavior. She was unarmed, in her own vehicle, and attempting to create distance and safety when lethal force was applied. The dynamic reflects a well-documented power differential rooted in gendered authority: a man in uniform exerting dominance over a woman in a way that ended her life.
This is not solely an immigration enforcement story. It is a story about how a culture of masculinity—entwined with institutional authority—can lethalize a woman when she does not submit quickly enough, quietly enough, or convincingly enough to a man’s control. Whether we label it misogyny, gender bias, or gender-based violence, the outcome remains the same: a woman was killed, and the systems surrounding the man who killed her moved swiftly to justify his actions.
Renee Good complied with every behavioral expectation women are taught will keep them safe. She remained calm, polite, non-confrontational, and focused on self-protection. Her death exposes the persistent and dangerous lie that women can avoid violence by behaving “correctly.”
I want to be transparent about the lens I bring to this analysis.
As an Afro-Boriqua woman and an activist, I am deeply familiar with systemic misuses of power, institutional coercion, and structural violence. While Renee Good’s death is not a Black Lives Matter moment, it must illuminate the violence that women and femmes—particularly those in the LGBTQ+ community—face, as well as the chronic hypervigilance rooted in trauma that many women and femmes live with daily.
An intersectional analysis requires nuance. It means acknowledging the compounded harm Black women experience in the United States while also recognizing the specific vulnerabilities faced by LGBTQ+ individuals across racial identities. Intersectionality does not flatten difference; it clarifies how power operates across it.
As a woman of color, Renee Good’s death immediately called to mind Breonna Taylor’s. In both cases, a woman was killed, and the systems responsible demanded public grace while extending none to the woman whose life was taken. In far too many cases of law enforcement killing civilians, the public is asked to accept a margin of error—while the sanctity of the victim’s life is treated as negotiable.
It is striking how often those who invoke “pro-life” rhetoric fail to recognize the inherent worth of life once state power is involved. It is as if a badge comes with fine print that permits dehumanization.
The reality is this: federal policies increasingly target marginalized groups—and marginalization can coexist with privilege depending on one’s intersecting identities. That is not a contradiction; that is the function of power.
Renee Good’s death is a stark and sobering reminder that no woman is truly safe within systems rooted in dehumanization and unaccountable power. We are living in a moment where broader structures are communicating—explicitly—that some lives matter more than others.
This killing hit me hard. I needed time to process the depth and magnitude of what was taken. I extend strength and care to Renee Good’s family as they navigate an unimaginable reality—one where her physical presence has been violently erased.
If we refuse to name this violence clearly, we ensure its repetition. Accountability begins not with punishment, but with truth.
As someone who has served survivors of gender-based violence for over a decade, I write this not only as an advocate, but also as a survivor.
My professional journey—from frontline advocacy to founding L.I.F.E. Recovery, Training, & Coaching—has been driven by a singular conviction: gender-based violence will remain pervasive as long as we allow systems to operate in silos. I founded my business to disrupt those silos and to bring conversations about domestic and sexual violence into spaces where they are too often ignored, minimized, or avoided.
My work centers survivor-led, culturally humble, trauma-informed approaches to training, coaching, and expert consultation. I serve agencies, attorneys, and organizations committed to accountability, prevention, and meaningful reform. This case—like so many others—reinforces why advocacy cannot be reactive, and why reform cannot wait.
For more information, visit life-recovery.net or contact klopez@life-recovery.net.