The chilling scene unfolded on a snowy residential street in Minneapolis, where a Honda SUV found itself parked almost sideways against the flow of traffic. A federal officer positioned himself directly in front of the vehicle, creating a tense standoff amidst the wintery backdrop.

In a matter of moments, the encounter turned fatal. The officer discharged his weapon, resulting in the death of 37-year-old Renee Good, a mother of three. This tragic incident has since sparked a heated discussion regarding the circumstances and decisions leading to the fatal shot.

According to federal authorities, the officer’s actions were justified as self-defense. They assert that Good’s actions amounted to “an act of domestic terrorism,” suggesting that when she accelerated toward the officer, it left him with no choice but to respond with lethal force. Officials describe his survival as nothing short of fortunate.

However, this narrative has been met with skepticism and concern from policing experts. They question the officer’s tactical decisions, suggesting that his approach deviates from long-established protocols upheld by law enforcement agencies nationwide. These experts argue that confronting a vehicle head-on is a perilous choice, one that contradicts the fundamental strategies designed to minimize risk and preserve life during such encounters.

The incident has reignited debates about the policies and training that govern the use of force, particularly in situations involving vehicles, highlighting the critical need for careful examination and discussion. Ultimately, the tragedy serves as a poignant reminder of the complexities and dangers inherent in law enforcement, raising important questions about the balance between self-defense and the preservation of life.

Videos filmed by bystanders from several angles show the Honda stopped on Portland Avenue just before the shooting. It’s straddling multiple lanes, but not entirely blocking traffic: the driver-side window is open, the driver waving their left arm as if to signal cars to go around. One large SUV drives around the front of the Honda and down the street. Multiple unmarked federal vehicles are idling on the road nearby.

Some bystanders heckle officers: “Go home to Texas,” one woman shouts from the sidewalk. “Why won’t you let your faces be seen?” shouts another. Some blow whistles to alert neighbors immigration agents are in the area, others honk.

A grey four-door Titan truck comes to a stop facing the driver’s side of the Honda. Two officers climb out and approach the Honda. Both officers wear what appear to be wool hats and black masks covering their noses and mouths.

A woman can be heard saying “go around.”

One officer says, “Get out of the car. Out of the car. Get out of the f—ing car.”

The Honda’s reverse lights come on, and it begins to roll slowly backward as one of the officers grabs the driver-side door handle and tries to pull it twice, then puts his arm into the open driver’s window.

A third officer, who had been out of the way on the passenger side of the car then walks around the Honda’s hood, stands just in front of the driver and appears to be holding his phone up like he’s filming.

“Why would he do that? Why would he put himself in a more dangerous position than he was already in?” asked Geoffrey P. Alpert, an expert on policing at the University of South Carolina, who called it “absurd” for an officer to use his body to try to block a 4,000-pound SUV.

Darrel W. Stephens, former chief of the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department, also pointed to this moment as the baffling first step in a series of questionable actions that most police departments have discouraged for years. As a police chief, he prohibited officers from standing in front of cars in the early 1990s.

“I can’t explain why he would stand there and place himself in front of the car,” Stephens said. “That’s a dangerous decision to make.”

‘A 4,000 pound unguided missile’

Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem described the incident as an “act of domestic terrorism” carried out against ICE officers by a woman who “attempted to run them over and rammed them with her vehicle. An officer of ours acted quickly and defensively, shot, to protect himself and the people around him.”

President Donald Trump said in a post on Truth Social that the ICE officer shot the driver in self-defense. Trump said based on that video “it is hard to believe he is alive.” He said the driver “viciously ran over the ICE officer.”

But it’s unclear in the videos if the car makes contact with the officer.

The Honda starts to drive forward, its tires turning to the right as the officer stands in front.

“Why doesn’t he step out of the way? Why doesn’t he move?” asked Alpert.

The officer unholsters his gun. Within a second he shoots into the windshield and then lurches backward away from the car as it turns away from him.

Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem has not publicly identified the officer who shot Good. But she spoke of an incident last June in which the same officer was dragged by a fleeing vehicle. Court records from that case identify the officer as Jonathan Ross.

Most police departments long ago prohibited officers from shooting at moving vehicles except for very limited circumstances where there’s no other option to save lives, experts say.

“And the reason is a good one,” said Sharon Fairley, a law professor and criminal justice expert at the University of Chicago. “If the officer is successful at shooting the driver, then you have a motor vehicle, a two-ton vehicle that’s not being directed, and it creates a huge public safety risk.”

The officer shoots a second time. By then, he’s at the side of the car, an arm’s length from the driver-side window. A third shot immediately follows.

None of the other officers draw their weapons.

The officer who fired the shots watches the car careen down the road and re-holsters his gun. The street is quiet for a moment.

Three seconds later, the Honda crashes into a parked car with such force its tires fly off the street, the pile of cars lurches forward several feet and snow billows.

“Thank goodness no one was in the car she hit on the side of the road,” Alpert said, “and fortunately there were no kids playing out there and no one else got hurt.”

Alpert described the car at that point as “a 4,000 pound unguided missile.” People don’t hit the brakes when they’ve been shot, Alpert said.

There were pedestrians on the street. One video shows a woman walking a poodle.

Drops of blood stain the snow

A pedestrian in a flannel shirt runs toward the crash.

The officer who fired the shots walks slowly in that direction. Most of the federal agents remain with the unmarked vehicles.

Drops of blood stain the snow.

None of the agents immediately go to the Honda to render aid; a minute after the crash the pedestrian in the flannel shirt is seen in the video leaning alone into the open driver’s side door. A medic runs toward the crash site.

Bystanders begin screaming.

“Criminals!” shouts a woman. “What did you do?”

A man billows “murderers!” over and over.

Officers order everyone to get back.

One bystander trains her camera on the officer who fired the shots as he walks away from the crash and toward his colleagues at the parked federal vehicles, telling them to call 911. He does not appear injured.

“You,” she screams, “shame, shame.”

He climbs into an SUV as the bystander shouts, “don’t let the murderer leave!”

The SUV drives away.

Fairley, the University of Chicago professor, said the investigation into what happened here will have to examine whether the officer acted reasonably, both in firing his gun and in the moments leading up to it. It can weigh questions like whether the agent put himself in danger by stepping in front of the car, and if along the way there were other choices the officers might have made to avoid a death.

“The question is going to come down to is was the officer reasonable in their belief that the driver presented an imminent threat of death or bodily harm to himself or to someone else,” she said. “That’s really the legal question that has to be answered.

The car’s license plate, for example, was visible throughout the ordeal.

One alternative, Fairley said, was to have just let her leave, and go arrest her later.