‘My own government attempted to execute me’: Victims of… — Transcript

As I struggle, I struggle every day with the physical pain and the suffering. I cannot close my hand yet to hold the pen.

I try to play with the children at my school and I am in a significant pain as I attempt to do things I was easily able to do before October 4.

I attend weekly physical therapy sessions to work on these issues and hope one day I can move in the same way I was able to move prior to October 4.

I know that what happened to me in a matter of seconds on October 4 will unfortunately be with me for a life for a lifetime.

The physical scars will always be there in the mornings and evenings when I get dressed and I stare at my body now permanently disfigured by the five lead bullets ex-on fire into me.

They will be there this summer when I head to the beach with my dogs and family. They will be there when I get down on the floor with my students and work with them on their motor skills.

And perhaps even worse, the mental scars will always be there as a reminder of the time my own government attempted to execute me and when they fell, they chose to vilify me.

I am Renee Good. I am Alex Pretty. I am Silverio Viega Gonzalez. I am Key Porter. They should all be here today.

I know each of them would trade my bullet wounds and a lifetime of mental distress in a heartbeat to be able to back to be able to be back with their loved ones this afternoon.

And we must also remember the countless other souls who lost their lives at the hands of these entrusted with authority.

I know I know that by being a survivor, a survivor, it is my duty to be here today to let you elected officials know what is happening on the streets of our country because silence is no longer an option. This needs to stop now.

Why do we continue to wait for more public executions when we have already seen the evidence in our TVs and computer screens? We have heard the testimonies. We have watched the pain unfold in real times. How many more lives must be lost before meaningful action is taken? The United States is and will always be a country of immigrants, built by immigrants. We are a country of love and tolerance. This is the land of the free, the land of the of the opportunity and a great nation that people around the world aspire to call home.

And prior to this recent war of on immigrants, we were a country where law enforcement acted lawfully and appropriately.

With respect of all human life. I am happy to see people of different nationality speak up. This is the spirit of love, unity and courage. This will makes America great.

I am asking you today, pleading with you to please help bring back the America I grew up loving and idolizing. An America that values human dignity, protects life and lives up to the ideals our funding fathers proudly proclaimed. If there's no justice for the people, let there be no peace for the government.

Thank you for your time.

Thank you, Miss Martinez. Uh, Miss Rahman.

And I'm going to suggest to the witnesses that we uh stay to five minutes because we're running a little bit behind. Thank you.

Thank you, members, for taking time to be here today and thank you staff for making this happen.

My name is Aliya Rahman, and I am a resident of South Minneapolis. I'm a Bangladeshi American, born in Northern Wisconsin,

and I'm a disabled person with autism and a traumatic brain injury.

Not all autistic brains do this, but mine fixates on sounds, numbers, and patterns. And while what the world saw happen to me exactly three weeks ago today on video was a terrible violation, it is still nothing compared to the horrific practices I saw inside the Whipple Center.

So I am here today with a duty to the people who have not had the privilege of coming home, and I offer this data because these practices must end now.

On January 13th, on the way to my 39th appointment at Hennepin County's Traumatic Brain Injury Center, I encountered a traffic jam caused by ICE vehicles and no signs indicating how to get around it. I had not wanted to pull into a blocked, chaotic intersection, but verbally agreed to do so and rolled down my window after an agent yelled, "Move! I will break your effing window!" His first instruction.

Agents on all sides of my vehicle yelled conflicting threats and instructions that I could not process while watching for pedestrians.

Then the glass of the passenger side window flew across my face.

I yelled, "I'm disabled!" at the hands grabbing at me, and an agent said, "Too late." I felt immersed in a pattern, and I thought of Genoa Donald, an autistic black man, killed by police during a traffic stop in 2021.

I remembered Mr. Silverio Viega Gonzalez, who was killed by ICE in his vehicle last year. An agent pulled a large combat knife in front of my face, which I thought was for cutting me, and later learned was used to cut off my seatbelt.

Shooting pain went through my head, neck, and wrists when I hit the ground face first, and people leaned on my back. I felt the pattern, and I thought of Mr. George Floyd, who was killed four blocks away. I was carried face down through the street by my cuffed arms and legs while yelling that I had a brain injury and was disabled.

I now cannot lift my arms normally.

I was never asked for ID, never told I was under arrest, never read my rights, and never charged with a crime.

Approaching the Whipple Center, I saw black and brown bodies shackled together, chained together, being marched by yelling agents outdoors.

"We're bringing in a body." "They're bringing in bodies, seven, eight at a time. Where do I put them?" "We can't use that room. There's already a body in there." "You have no reason to believe you will make it out alive if you are already being called a body."

Agents repeatedly had to stop and ask how to do tasks. I received no medical screening, phone call, or access to a lawyer. I was denied a communication navigator when my speech began to slur. Agents laughed as I tried to immobilize my own neck.

I asked for my cane and was told, "No." Pulled up my my arms and prodded forward in leg irons by agents laughing and saying, "Walk, you can do it, walk."

Agents did not know if the facility had a wheelchair. When I was finally placed in one to be taken to interrogation, an agent taunted, "You were driving, right? So your legs do work." I pleaded for emergency medical care for over an hour after my vision had become blurry, my heart rate went through the roof, and the pain in my neck and head became unbearable.

It was denied. When I became unable to speak, my cellmate pleaded for me. The last sounds I remember before I blacked out on the cell floor were my cellmate banging on the door, pleading for a medic, and a voice outside saying, "We don't want to step on ICE's toes."

When I opened my eyes at Hennepin County's emergency room, I learned I was brought there to be treated for assault.

The impacts of DHS detention on my physical, mental, and financial well-being and safety have been very severe, but I do not deserve more humane treatment than anyone else, US citizen or not. And I am here today with a strong spirit and a duty to the many people who haven't had the privilege to tell their stories or see their loved ones come home.

I am extremely distressed by the pattern that violence from law enforcement has been happening to black and indigenous communities for centuries, and to DHS survivors for over 20 years. We call ourselves a civilized nation, but we lack rules and accountability around what a person claiming to be law enforcement is permitted to do to another human being.

I am not afraid, and I'm not afraid to keep working on this problem even after ICE is gone. Thank you for your time.