Author Archives: Scott Bowles

Pretty Typical, Actually


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The Justice Department opened a civil rights probe into Alex Pretti’s killing Friday, three weeks after refusing to investigate Renee Good’s death under nearly identical circumstances.

Both were 37. Both were U.S. citizens. Both were shot by federal immigration agents in Minneapolis this month. Both were recording officers on their phones when killed.

The difference? Pretti was a white male Veterans Affairs nurse. Good was a woman in a same-sex relationship.

The disparity tells a story I recognized as a crime reporter: certain victims get federal investigations and presidential concern. Others get blamed, even in death. I learned early that I wasn’t getting on the front page unless a white victim was involved.

Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche announced the Pretti probe will examine everything leading up to the shooting.

For Good, his office did worse. Justice Department officials ordered prosecutors to stop drafting a civil rights investigation and instead probe Good herself for assaulting the officer who killed her. A federal judge refused the warrant request.

At least six Civil Rights Division prosecutors resigned. So did Minnesota’s acting U.S. Attorney Joseph Thompson, who built his reputation prosecuting major fraud cases. More resignations followed as agents were ordered to investigate Good’s widow for alleged ties to activist groups.

That message was clear: Good deserved what happened.

I spent decades covering homicides. Editor interest spiked when victims were white. A missing white woman meant daily follow-ups and front-page placement. A Black teenager shot in the same neighborhood might rate three paragraphs on B6.

The pattern holds at the federal level now. Iimmigration enforcement has admitted to 16 shootings since July 2025, declaring each justified before investigations finished.

The actual toll is worse. At least 30 shootings by immigration agents since January 20, 2025 resulted in eight deaths. Five victims were U.S. citizens. The Wall Street Journal identified 13 instances of officers firing at or into civilian vehicles, a practice most police departments banned years ago.

ICE disclosed six custody deaths already in 2026. Last year saw 31, the highest since 2004. These exclude people who die fleeing agents or those released from custody hours before death to avoid official counts.

Pretti’s status as a registered gun owner seems to have purchased credibility with federal officials. They claimed he brandished his handgun and charged officers.

Video showed otherwise. The gun remained in his waistband while he recorded on his phone. Officers tackled him. One agent removed the weapon. Another shot him in the back.

Good faced the same posthumous smearing. Officials said she tried to run over an ICE agent. Video showed her wheels turned away when the agent opened fire.

The gun ownership detail troubles me. Does carrying legally make someone’s death more worthy of investigation? Does it make their life more valuable?

The implication is ugly. Pretti mattered because he had the trappings of respectable citizenship. Good apparently did not.

Federal agents reportedly invoked Good’s death as a warning. One who pepper sprayed a legal observer reportedly said protesters needed to stop or end up like “that lesbian bitch.”

Her death was a threat. His triggered an investigation.

I get the calculation. Pretti had credentials, legal gun ownership, and demographics that made him harder to dismiss.

Good had neither shield.

But that calculation is the problem.

Both were Americans killed exercising constitutional rights. Both deserve the same scrutiny, the same pursuit of truth, the same accountability.

The fact that only one is getting it tells us whose lives we value and whose deaths we’re willing to excuse.

The Apex

Bagnolet The Apex

In the Mariana Trench, where light has never been,
something awakens.
Polyps pulse in unison, heartbeat without heart.

Calcium carbonate secretes in patterns
unnamed in biological text.
The darkness itself seems to recoil.

At first it is only a thickening,
a density where water should be empty.
Those who watch the depths take note.

The formation rises from abyssal plain.
Month by month it climbs against crushing pressure.
The colossus incorporates stone, sediment, bones of ancient things.

Word spreads among those who study sea.
An oddity, they say. A curiosity of deep ocean processes.
Year by year it continues upward.

Not drifting. Rising.
Moving slow and steady purpose.
Reports filed, largely ignored.

At 10,000 feet the shape suggests something sprawling.
A dome, perhaps, or great sloped mound.
At 7,000 feet extensions become visible, reaching outward like arms.

Some attempt to speak to it in click and sirensong.
The leviathan stops rising for six hours.
Then it continues upward and surfacebound.

Around it the water begins to change.
Fish return to regions long barren.
The ocean grows clearer in widening circles.

Those with weapons debate but find no threat to address.
What war do you wage against healing?
What pace the immovable?

At 3,000 feet light touches it for the first time.
The shape is vast and sloped, like a submerged hill.
Limbs extend from it, eight or more, draped and still.

Seasons pass in the world above.
Reefs begin recovering in patterns inexplicable.
Reports become routine, then footnotes, then forgotten.

At 1,500 feet the water around it teems with life.
At 1,000 feet sunlight refracts through coral in colors beyond.
Science notes correlation but people have stopped watching.

Swimmers enter the water at dawn.
Surfers paddle out beyond the break.
The ocean breathes deeper than it has in generations.

One morning, the seas begin to draw back.
Tidelines retreat beyond their boundaries.
Harbors empty, boats settle onto wet sand.

The emergence is steady and inevitable.
A massive dome breaking the surface, limbs spreading across the exposed seabed.
Water streams from coral lattice, from stone, from gathered bone.

Those on beaches see it first.
A shape on the horizon that should not be there.
Sloped and sprawling, rising into the sky, rooted in the deep.

The seas recede slowly, circling the form.
Weather bends around it.
Humanity watches and finds no category.

Coral and stone and bone,

vast beyond measure,
visible from every shore.

The ocean has rebuilt itself.
And in rebuilding has become something aware.
Something that has finally chosen.

The Apex stands in the Pacific.
Alone and absolute.