A young woman, Renee Nicole Good, grips her steering wheel, attempting a simple three-point turn on a bustling street. Across from her stands Jonathan Ross, a federal agent clad in authority, his hand clutching a cellphone that captures the unfolding chaos. In seconds, the air cracks with gunfire, and Good slumps lifeless in her SUV. This isn’t a scene from a Hollywood thriller—it’s the harrowing reality of January 7, 2023, a day that ignited nationwide protests, exposed deep flaws in law enforcement tactics, and sparked a fierce debate over accountability. As confirmed by The New York Times in a bombshell analysis, Good did not “run over” Ross, debunking initial narratives pushed by high-profile figures. Yet, three years later, the echoes of those shots reverberate, fueling calls for reform and justice. In this exclusive deep dive, we dissect the incident’s timeline, the controversial policies at play, the public outcry that followed, and the lingering questions: Was this a tragic misjudgment or a systemic failure? Strap in as we navigate the stormy terrain of truth, power, and human cost— a story that demands your attention and challenges your perceptions of justice in modern America.

The Woman Behind the Wheel: Who Was Renee Nicole Good?

Renee Nicole Good was no stranger to resilience. Born in 1995 in a working-class neighborhood of Minneapolis, she grew up amidst the city’s vibrant yet turbulent cultural tapestry. A 27-year-old African American woman at the time of her death, Good was a dedicated community organizer and aspiring entrepreneur. Friends and family describe her as a beacon of positivity—always quick with a smile, deeply involved in local activism, and passionate about social justice issues. “Renee was the kind of person who lifted everyone around her,” her sister, Tamara Good, shared in a 2023 interview with local media. “She volunteered at food banks, mentored young girls, and dreamed of starting her own nonprofit to empower women of color.”

Good’s life intersected with broader societal tensions in Minneapolis, a city still healing from the 2020 murder of George Floyd by police, which had sparked global protests against racial injustice and police brutality. As a vocal advocate for reform, Good participated in peaceful demonstrations and used her social media platforms to amplify voices from marginalized communities. On that fateful January day, she was simply running errands in her black SUV—a vehicle that would unwittingly become the focal point of a national controversy. Little did she know that her path would cross with Jonathan Ross, a seasoned federal agent assigned to a joint task force amid heightened security concerns in the region.

Ross, 42 at the time, was a U.S. Border Patrol agent with over 15 years of service. Stationed primarily along the southern border, he had been redeployed to Minnesota as part of a federal surge in response to ongoing civil unrest. Colleagues praised his dedication, but internal records later revealed a history of complaints regarding aggressive tactics—details that emerged only after the incident. The clash between Good and Ross wasn’t random; it stemmed from a routine traffic stop that escalated rapidly, highlighting the volatile intersection of everyday life and law enforcement authority.

The Moment of Impact: A Second-by-Second Timeline of January 7, 2023

To grasp the gravity of this tragedy, we must rewind to the precise sequence of events, reconstructed from cellphone footage, witness statements, police reports, and the pivotal New York Times investigation. It was around 10:15 a.m. on a snowy Saturday in Minneapolis’s Powderhorn neighborhood. Good, driving her SUV, approached an intersection where Ross and other federal agents were conducting vehicle checks as part of a broader operation targeting potential threats amid protests.

According to dashcam and bodycam footage released months later, Ross flagged Good’s vehicle for what he described as “suspicious maneuvering.” Good, complying initially, pulled over. However, tensions rose when Ross demanded she exit the vehicle—a request she questioned, citing her rights. Witnesses reported hearing raised voices: Good asserting, “I’m just trying to turn around,” and Ross commanding her to stop the engine. As Good attempted a three-point turn to reposition her SUV, Ross stepped directly in front of the vehicle, his stance blocking her path.

The critical 15 seconds, captured on Ross’s cellphone (which he held out as if recording for evidence), unfold like a slow-motion nightmare. The video shows Good’s SUV inching forward at low speed—estimated at under 5 mph by forensic experts. Ross leans toward the hood, his phone making brief contact with the vehicle’s grille. In that instant, he draws his service weapon and fires multiple rounds through the windshield, striking Good in the chest and head. She slumps forward, her foot slipping off the brake, causing the SUV to lurch slightly before coming to a halt. Ross, unscathed except for a minor bruise on his hand from the phone impact, radios for backup: “Suspect attempted to run me over—shots fired.”

Initial reports from federal officials echoed this narrative. Then-President Donald Trump, in a tweet storm that afternoon, condemned Good as having “weaponized her vehicle” against a “brave agent,” praising Ross as a hero. Administration spokespeople amplified the claim, suggesting Good’s actions were deliberate and linked to anti-government sentiments. Media outlets, hungry for details, ran with the “run-over” angle, painting a picture of a chaotic assault on law enforcement.

But cracks appeared almost immediately. Local activists and Good’s family demanded the full video’s release, accusing authorities of selective editing. By February 2023, under pressure from civil rights groups like the ACLU and NAACP, the unedited footage surfaced. It revealed no aggressive acceleration from Good—only a cautious maneuver. Enter The New York Times’ investigative team, who in a March 2023 exposé, dissected the video frame by frame with experts in forensics and vehicle dynamics. Their conclusion: “Good did not run over Agent Ross.” The contact was incidental, resulting from Ross’s positioning, not Good’s intent. “The agent placed himself in harm’s way,” the report stated, citing similar cases where such tactics justified force.

The timeline extended beyond the shooting. Paramedics arrived within minutes, but Good was pronounced dead at the scene. Ross was placed on administrative leave, pending investigation by the Department of Justice. Protests erupted that evening, with thousands marching through Minneapolis, chanting “Justice for Renee” and “End the Surge.” By January 10, the federal government announced an influx of 1,000 additional agents to “maintain order,” a move critics decried as intimidation rather than peacekeeping.

The Policy in Question: Border Patrol Tactics Under the Microscope

At the heart of this tragedy lies a controversial U.S. Border Patrol policy, one that has drawn fire from experts and reformers alike. Dubbed the “vehicle intervention protocol,” it permits agents to step in front of moving vehicles during stops, ostensibly to prevent escapes. However, a 2022 internal review by the Police Executive Research Forum (PERF)—a nonprofit dedicated to advancing policing standards—flagged this as a dangerous practice. The report, based on analysis of over 200 fatal incidents, revealed:

Agents frequently positioned themselves deliberately in vehicles’ paths, creating justifications for deadly force.
In 85% of reviewed cases, stepping aside could have de-escalated situations without harm.
Lack of body cameras and thorough post-incident investigations perpetuated a “culture of impunity.”

PERF’s recommendations were clear: “Officers should avoid confronting moving vehicles head-on; prioritize safety over immediate apprehension.” Yet, these guidelines were non-binding, and Border Patrol, under the Department of Homeland Security, had resisted reforms. Ross’s actions aligned perfectly with this policy—he leaned into the path, phone extended, creating the contact that preceded the shots.

Critics, including former officers and legal scholars, argue this tactic is a relic of border enforcement, ill-suited for urban settings like Minneapolis. “It’s a recipe for disaster,” says Dr. Maria Gonzalez, a criminologist at the University of Minnesota. “In high-tension environments, it escalates rather than diffuses.” The Good case isn’t isolated; similar incidents include the 2018 shooting of Claudia Patricia Gómez González at the Texas border and the 2021 killing of a motorist in Arizona, both involving agents stepping into vehicle paths.

The federal response? A tepid acknowledgment. In April 2023, DHS announced a “review” of protocols, but no substantive changes materialized. Ross faced no criminal charges, cleared by an internal probe that deemed his actions “reasonable under threat.” Civil suits from Good’s family, however, dragged on, settling in 2025 for an undisclosed sum—money that funded scholarships in her name but offered little closure.

The Ripple Effect: Protests, Politics, and Public Outrage

The shooting of Renee Nicole Good didn’t occur in a vacuum; it amplified existing fractures in American society. Minneapolis, still scarred from George Floyd’s death, became ground zero for renewed protests. By January 8, 2023, crowds swelled to 5,000, blocking intersections and demanding Ross’s arrest. Hashtags like #JusticeForRenee and #EndFederalSurge trended globally on X (formerly Twitter), with viral videos of the incident amassing over 50 million views. Celebrities weighed in: Alicia Keys tweeted, “Another Black life stolen—when will it end?” while athletes like LeBron James called for federal oversight reforms.

Politically, the incident polarized the nation. Trump’s administration framed it as an attack on law enforcement, using it to justify the agent surge—a move Minnesota Governor Tim Walz blasted as “federal overreach.” State officials, including Attorney General Keith Ellison, launched parallel investigations, concluding that “aggressive federal tactics” were the primary escalator. Bipartisan calls for bodycam mandates and de-escalation training gained traction, leading to the 2024 Police Accountability Act, which required federal agents in joint operations to wear cameras—though enforcement remains spotty.

Social media amplified the discourse. On TikTok, user-generated recreations dissected the video, with forensics enthusiasts using slow-motion edits to debunk the “run-over” myth. Reddit threads on r/TrueCrime and r/PoliceReform ballooned to thousands of comments, debating everything from racial bias (Good was Black; Ross is white) to policy flaws. Facebook groups like “Remember Renee” organized virtual vigils, sharing stories of similar encounters to humanize the statistics: Over 1,000 people killed in police interactions annually, per Mapping Police Violence data.

The surge of 1,000 agents only fueled the fire. Reports of increased arrests and clashes peaked in February 2023, with Amnesty International condemning the deployment as “militarization of protest.” By summer, the movement evolved, linking Good’s death to broader issues like immigration enforcement bleed-over into domestic policing.

Voices from the Frontlines: Expert Insights and Family Perspectives

To understand the deeper implications, we turn to those closest to the case. Tamara Good, Renee’s sister, has become a tireless advocate. In a 2025 podcast interview, she shared: “Renee wasn’t a threat—she was a sister, a daughter, a fighter for what’s right. That agent chose violence over stepping aside.” Her words resonate with PERF’s findings, which emphasize de-escalation as key to preventing such tragedies.

Dr. Gonzalez adds: “This case exemplifies ‘contempt of cop’—where non-compliance, even minor, leads to lethal force. Reforms must prioritize life preservation.” Legal experts like Professor Jamal Greene of Columbia Law School argue for stricter liability: “Agents should face consequences for creating danger, not just reacting to it.”

Ross, now retired, has remained silent, his story told through official statements. Supporters in law enforcement circles defend him, citing the split-second decisions officers face. Yet, a 2024 whistleblower report from within Border Patrol revealed internal doubts, with one anonymous agent stating: “We were trained to dominate, not diffuse—it’s costing lives.”

A Call to Action: Lessons Learned and the Path Forward

As we mark the third anniversary of Renee Nicole Good’s death, the incident stands as a stark reminder of unchecked power’s perils. The New York Times confirmation dismantled a false narrative, but justice feels elusive. Good’s legacy lives on through the Renee Nicole Good Foundation, which funds community programs and legal aid for victims of police violence.

What can we do? Advocate for binding reforms: Mandatory de-escalation training, independent oversight, and bans on risky tactics. Support organizations like the ACLU and Black Lives Matter. Share stories like Renee’s to keep the conversation alive.

In a nation divided, this tragedy unites us in a quest for humanity. Renee Nicole Good didn’t deserve to die on that cold street—her story demands we build a safer, fairer future. Will we heed the call?