From Kent State to Minneapolis

On May 4, 1970, rifle fire cracked across a college green in Ohio. Four students fell. Nine more were wounded. The images—young bodies on the ground, shock frozen on faces—traveled a divided nation already burning with anger over Vietnam. Within days, Neil Young put the grief and fury to music. The song he wrote with Crosby, Stills & Nash did not ask for calm. It demanded reckoning.

“Tin soldiers and Nixon coming,”
“Four dead in Ohio.”

Half a century later, on a residential street in Minneapolis, another American died at the hands of the state—shot by an agent of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement during a federal operation. Different uniforms. Different politics. The same terrible question: what happens when the government points a gun at its own people?

Both Kent State and Minneapolis involve government agents using lethal force against civilians, sparking immediate and widespread public reaction:

State Force Against Civilians
At Kent State, the National Guard — uniformed but still an arm of the state — fired on unarmed students. In Minneapolis, a federal immigration officer — an agent of the Department of Homeland Security — shot a civilian in broad daylight. In both instances, lines were crossed from authority into fatal violence.

Political Landscape
Kent State unfolded against the backdrop of a deeply unpopular war that already divided the country. The victims were student protesters exercising their right to dissent. The Minneapolis shooting occurs amid a highly charged immigration enforcement campaign, polarized national politics, and debates about federal power — not a mounted protest against a specific war.

Disputed Narratives
Then, the government tried to justify the Guard’s actions as necessary in a moment of perceived threat; critics saw it as a reckless overreach. Now, federal officials describe the ICE shooting as self-defense, while local leaders call it reckless and unnecessary. In both cases, conflicting stories quickly became part of the broader national conversation.

Outrage and Protest
Kent State triggered massive demonstrations nationwide. In Minneapolis, hundreds gathered at vigils and protests, and city officials demanded that ICE leave the city — a direct confrontation with the presence and purpose of federal enforcement.

In 1970, the immediacy of televised images and popular music like Ohio helped cement Kent State in collective memory. Today, social media video and 24/7 news mean images and perspectives spread instantly — but also through a fractured media ecology where competing narratives harden quickly on different sides of the political divide. The contexts are not identical. Kent State unfolded during a foreign war that had already split the nation; the victims were demonstrators engaged in dissent. Minneapolis occurred during a domestic enforcement surge; the victim was not a protester but a resident caught in a federal action.

Why Ohio Still Sings

Neil Young’s refrain endures because it names the cost without euphemism: “Four dead in Ohio.” No policy brief. No procedural caveat. Just the count—and the grief.

The Minneapolis killing adds another verse to the same American songbook, one that keeps returning whenever authority forgets its limits. The question Ohio poses is not partisan or nostalgic. It is civic and urgent: Who is protected when the state acts, and who pays when it errs? If lethal force can be justified on a campus green in a time of war, it can be normalized on a city street in a time of enforcement.

If memory is a form of resistance, then remembering Kent State is not backward-looking. It is a guardrail. When we hear echoes of Ohio today, we are being reminded that democracy depends on restraint—that the power to enforce must never outrun the duty to preserve life. If lethal force can be justified on a campus green in a time of war, it can be normalized on a city street in a time of enforcement.

Because the alternative to remembering and changing is a country that keeps relearning the same lyric, one name at a time.

AI Disclosure

This article was written by DC-based writer/podcaster/political/popculture critic Dave (that’s me) with assistance from an AI system named HAL 2025  (and yes, the reference to 2001: A Space Odyssey is intentional). 

Dave retains full editorial control and responsibility for all content; HAL was used for research support, synthesis, and clarity. Human judgment and values remain in command—and the pod bay doors stay open.