Within hours, four journalists were arrested for reporting on a protest at a Minneapolis church whose pastor is accused of having ties to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement: Georgia Fort, a journalist reporting on police violence. Trahern Crews, a seasoned community organizer. Jamael Lundy, a Black candidate for the Minnesota State Senate. And Don Lemon, a journalist and former network news anchor. Each was detained while performing the kind of public work on which democracy depends.
Each had raised questions—directly or indirectly—about the federal killings of Renée Nicole Good and Alex Pretti, two civilians shot by ICE agents. Their arrests weren’t random. They were coordinated. And they signaled a new stage in the erosion of democratic norms: the public targeting of people who hold the power to hold others accountable.
These weren’t routine arrests. They disrupted essential democratic functions. They cut short the work of people engaged in civic life. And they happened in rapid succession, as if testing the limits of what could go unnoticed. We have seen this dynamic building. Since Trump’s second inauguration, protest leaders have been charged under racketeering statutes. Bail fund volunteers have been investigated. Student organizers have faced suspension. Clergy have been detained for leading prayer services at sites of government violence. Reporters have been arrested on assignment.
None of this is theoretical. These measures are being used now. They carry the weight of law, but their intent is political. They aim to chill protest, discredit organizing, and isolate those who challenge government authority.
The events in Minneapolis marked a step further in the escalation of state power. A journalist was arrested during a live broadcast, a political candidate was taken into custody without explanation, a well-known newsperson was removed while covering a major cultural event, and an organizer with decades of community experience was pulled from the street. Their arrests sent a message about what happens to people who refuse to look away from government violence, and how far the state is willing to go to suppress the questions it doesn’t want answered.
When authoritarianism grows, it doesn’t always come in grand pronouncements. It unfolds in procedural steps, packaged in bureaucracy, enforced through silence. It becomes visible not through the headlines, but through the coordination. Legal mechanisms are deployed to remove visible threats to state power. Familiar language is used to justify unfamiliar actions. And communities are left to piece together a truth they already know in their bones.
Don Lemon’s arrest took place while he was in Los Angeles, in town to cover the upcoming Grammy Awards following a high-profile party leading up to the event. Georgia Fort was detained while reporting. Jamael Lundy’s campaign was interrupted in the middle of his run for office. Trahern Crews disappeared from the streets of Minneapolis without any public explanation. The timing was precise. The effect was chilling. And the message was unmistakable. This is how authoritarianism builds: by raising the cost of participation and waiting to see who steps back.
We know this tactic. Our communities have seen it before. We’ve watched as protest is rebranded as a threat, as truth-telling becomes dangerous, as journalists, faith leaders, and organizers are surveilled, harassed, and charged. We’ve lived through cycles where the law is used not to ensure safety but to impose control. And we’ve survived by staying organized.
That’s why we’re launching the LOVE FREE campaign—a national effort rooted in the Black faith tradition to confront authoritarianism with clarity, strategy, and collective power. We are gathering clergy, artists, journalists, organizers, and everyday people here to protect the roles democracy depends on. We are calling our institutions into alignment. And we are refusing to let fear redraw the boundaries of what’s possible in public life.
What happened because of the answers being sought in Minneapolis was not an isolated event. It was a signal. One that must be met with action. Authoritarianism tests a nation’s resistance by targeting its truth-tellers. Our answer must be organized, principled, and loud.
Democracy is not sustained by institutions alone. It is sustained by people bold enough to practice it, disciplined enough to defend it, and loving enough to build it back when it’s under threat. Black communities have always known what to do in moments like this. We don’t flinch. We don’t run. We organize.
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