Two women died under dramatically different circumstances, years apart.
Ashli Babbitt, a U.S. Air Force veteran, was killed on Jan. 6, 2021, during the breach of the U.S. Capitol. Renee Nicole Good, a mother of three, was killed days ago after allegedly blocking traffic as part of a protest against U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers in Minnesota.
Time separates these events, but tragedy does not. Before the politics, the punditry and the inevitable rush to judgment, it is worth stating plainly: both were human beings, not avatars for a cause. Both of their deaths were tragedies.
This column is not an attempt to equate their actions, their choices or the circumstances of their deaths. It is not a verdict. It is not an argument for innocence or guilt. It is an examination of something more unsettling: how quickly politics rushes in where justice ought to proceed slowly, cautiously and with humility.
Justice should not belong to the left or the right. It should not hinge on ideology, electoral consequences, or which narrative best fits the moment. Justice is supposed to be methodical, evidence-driven and often unsatisfying to those who crave immediate moral clarity. Yet increasingly, we see justice bent beneath the weight of competing political stories.
We have watched this dynamic play out repeatedly in recent years.
The national response to Derek Chauvin’s actions in the death of George Floyd, which resulted in a murder conviction, contrasts sharply with the response to the fatal shooting of Ashli Babbitt, who was unarmed when she attempted to enter the Speaker’s Lobby during the Jan. 6 breach of the Capitol. Together, these cases reveal a deep fracture in how similar questions of police use of force are treated depending on context and politics.
One officer was charged, tried, convicted and sentenced in the glare of public outrage. The other officer, Capitol Police Lt. Michael Byrd, was not. Reasonable people can debate whether outcomes in either case were right or wrong, but it is difficult to deny that narratives shaped public understanding long before legal processes concluded.
I have personally reviewed the available video footage of the ICE shooting of Ms. Good on Jan. 7. I want to be very clear about this: I cannot say with certainty what happened. The videos circulating online do not conclusively show whether Good’s vehicle ever struck the officer or whether the officer perceived an imminent threat. That uncertainty matters. It should temper rhetoric. It should slow judgment. And it should remind us that viral clips are not court records.
What is publicly known does add context. The ICE agent involved — identified by court records and multiple news reports as Jonathan Ross — had previously been dragged and injured by a vehicle during a 2025 immigration arrest attempt. During that incident, rather than firing a weapon, Ross unsuccessfully used a taser against the fleeing driver. News reports state that Ross received at least 20 stitches from the incident. That fleeing driver, Roberto Carlos Muñoz, was later convicted of assaulting the officer. It should also be noted that Muñoz had a prior conviction for sexual assault of a minor.
We do not know what psychological impact that earlier incident has had on Agent Ross. But it is reasonable to ask whether officers who have been seriously injured, especially in violent encounters, should automatically be placed on paid administrative leave for a thorough psychological assessment before returning to the field. Such practices are not universal, and they deserve serious discussion. Whether or not Ross suffered from PTSD, it is reasonable to ask whether the previous incident impacted how he responded to Good as she fled in her vehicle. Video evidence shows that Good initially drove toward Ross before eventually turning right in what may have been an attempt to avoid hitting him.
ICE officers, like all police officers, operate in volatile situations under intense pressure. As with any profession, there are good officers and bad ones. To pretend otherwise, either by demonizing all or sanctifying all, is intellectually dishonest. Being opposed to a policy enacted by politicians in Washington is legitimate. Protest is legitimate. Debate is legitimate. But disagreement with federal enforcement policy does not grant license to interfere with law enforcement as they execute their duties.
At the same time, reckless commentary from any political figure is harmful. When presidents, governors, mayors or media personalities rush to judgment, their words carry real-world consequences. Statements made from a podium do not remain abstract. They influence prosecutors, police departments and officers on the street making split-second decisions.
When leaders weigh in prematurely, whether it is Minnesota Governor Tim Walz or New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani or anyone else, they shape an atmosphere in which officers may hesitate to act even when lives are at stake. NYPD officers and others across the country are listening. They know their decisions will be dissected not only in court, but in the court of public opinion, often before facts are established.
That hesitation can be deadly.
But it is equally important to note that the blind deference expressed by President Trump, Vice President Vance and DHS Secretary Kristi Noem can also be deadly. Justice collapses when either extreme narrative dominates.
We should demand accountability when it is warranted. We should demand restraint when facts are unclear. And above all, we should demand humility, from the media, from politicians and from ourselves.
Tragedy deserves mourning before mobilization. Evidence should precede outrage. And politics should always stay off the scales of justice.
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