How police critics on the Minneapolis City Council responded to a police officer's killing

A Black man was gunned down.

A neighborhood was besieged by heavily armed police.

And a police officer — also Black — was killed trying to provide first aid.

In post-George Floyd Minneapolis, the overlapping narratives of last week's events have proved to be a challenge for leaders who have pushed for police reform.

Many hailed officer Jamal Mitchell as a hero, not just for his actions that day but for his strong-yet-cheerful demeanor with community members and for such acts as running into a burning house near Bde Maka Ska to rescue two elderly residents just days into his job — exactly the type of police officer that seemingly everyone wants as the MPD seeks to reinvent itself.

But others were silent on Mitchell's death.

The City Council member who represents the Whittier neighborhood released a seven-paragraph statement discussing the scourge of gun violence and the traumas of a massive police response — but never mentioned that a police officer was killed.

"Last night, three people tragically lost their lives to gun violence in our neighborhood," Council Vice President Aisha Chughtai wrote in a newsletter to constituents on May 31, when only Mitchell's name was public. "I'm heartbroken for their families and loved ones, who are first and most deeply impacted by this loss."

Here are the three people who lost their lives:

• Minneapolis police officer Jamal Mitchell, 36.
• Mustafa Ahmed Mohamed, 35, of Minneapolis, who killed Mitchell, according to authorities.
• Osman Said Jimale, 32, who was shot and killed inside an apartment in the 2200 block of Blaisdell Avenue S.

Harrowing events

The apartment shooting that left Jimale dead and another man wounded is what brought Mitchell to the area. He was the first to arrive, and investigators have said he spotted Mohamed sitting in the street, along with another man. Mitchell approached to offer medical assistance and, authorities said, Mohamed pulled out a gun and fatally shot Mitchell.

Two other officers who took fire from Mohamed shot him dead in a shootout that included at least 11 shots, according to cellphone video reviewed by the Star Tribune. One of the officers, Luke Kittock, was hit. Another man, Alexander G. Hage, 38, whom police have described as someone simply driving through the area, was critically wounded in the gunfire, and a firefighter was struck. Jimale was later found dead inside the apartment, where another man was found with a gunshot wound.

With reports of "officer down" ringing out on police radios, law enforcement swarmed the two-block area. Residents in the densely packed neighborhood were barred from returning home or trapped inside their homes for hours. Formations of officers broke down doors to dozens of apartments inside the building where the shooting had been reported, looking for those involved, residents said. In neighboring buildings, investigators knocked on door after door well past midnight, asking residents what they'd witnessed.

By the next morning, there were no police to be seen, only tatters of police tape, makeshift memorials, residents comparing harrowing tales, and tenants trying to find out when their doors could be fixed — amid a smattering of reporters looking to speak to, photograph or record just about any part of it.

Shows of support

That the outpouring of support for a fallen officer was swift, full-throated and widespread isn't surprising; it remains a political no-brainer for many elected officials.

In one show of bipartisan unity, U.S. Rep. Ilhan Omar, who represents Minneapolis and had supported efforts to dismantle the Police Department, led the entire Minnesota House delegation — four Republicans and four Democrats — in a remembrance and moment of silence for Mitchell on the House floor.

The most striking display of unity might have been at the city's first news conference, held at 10 p.m. on the day of the shooting, when Mayor Jacob Frey announced Mitchell had been killed. Joining Frey were Gov. Tim Walz, senior law enforcement officials, and all 13 City Council members — many of whom are outspoken police critics. When the remarks concluded, council members lined up to embrace a choked-up Assistant Police Chief Katie Blackwell.

Public statements that followed included Council Member Michael Rainville, one of the most pro-police members of the council, stating Mitchell had been "assassinated" and only momentarily mentioning "other victims." Council Member Aurin Chowdhury, a former police abolitionist, described Mitchell as "a father, fiancé, friend, and beloved by many especially those he worked side by side with."

Council Member Jamal Osman's statement hailed Mitchell as a "hero" and said the city's police "courageously serve under stressful and often dangerous conditions" — but the words weren't his. Osman later acknowledged to the Star Tribune that he copied and pasted most of his statement from an internal email sent to city employees hours earlier by Frey, Community Safety Commissioner Todd Barnette and City Operations Officer Margaret Anderson Kelliher.

In an interview, Osman said he felt pressure to get updates out swiftly to his constituents, who were pressing him for information after hearing rumors that those involved included Somali immigrants — and he agreed with the sentiments. "This was a very sensitive time, and we had just lost a hero," he said. "I felt like it was the right thing to communicate."

Fears of hypocrisy

Council Member Jeremiah Ellison, a longtime police critic who rose to political prominence protesting the police killing of Jamar Clark in 2015, was the only council member to not make a public statement.

In an interview, Ellison said he thought it was appropriate for the mayor and those with more direct knowledge to be the public voice — but he shares their sentiments.

"While I didn't know officer Jamal Mitchell, by all accounts he was an exemplary person and civil servant ... the type of person the city should be proud to have employed," Ellison said, emphasizing that his criticisms of the police system don't equate to criticisms of the people in the system. "He lost his life and has a family, and that stands on its own. All those criticisms, they still stand — and they're still relevant."

He also understands why some active in the police accountability movement might hesitate to express public sympathies out of fear of of being labeled as hypocrites — even though Ellison sees no contradiction. "In the political environment we're in, things that are not morally inconsistent can sometimes be framed as morally inconsistent," he said.

Indeed, various non-elected officials involved in police reform work were reluctant to speak about the shootings so soon after Mitchell's death.

Among the elected officials who notably didn't publicly mention Mitchell by name in the immediate aftermath were Hennepin County Attorney Mary Moriarty, who first acknowledged the death in a news release Sunday announcing that she was no longer pursuing charges against a state trooper who shot and killed a Black motorist. Moriarty did name Mitchell in an email to the entire County Attorney's Office the morning after he was killed, in which she said he was described as "a caring person committed to helping his community." Council Member Robin Wonsley released a four-sentence statement about a "tragic shooting" without noting an officer was killed. And Chughtai, the council member who represents and lives in the Whittier neighborhood, released her statement.

In a statement to the Star Tribune, Chughtai suggested she was trying to balance the outpouring of support for Mitchell with others who were affected but received less attention.

"I grieve the loss of Officer Jamal Mitchell and my thoughts are with his family," she said. "I also believe the tragic loss of Osman Said Jimale, and life threatening injuries to Alexander Hage and another unidentified victim, are not footnotes. As the Councilmember for Ward 10 and a leader in my neighborhood I know their stories also deserve to be told."

She added that the "violent loss of three people was traumatic for our community, and for many of our neighbors, the (law enforcement) response made it so much worse," because many in the neighborhood didn't know what was happening.

"My first responsibility is to my constituents," she wrote, "and I want all of them to feel safe, seen, and be treated with compassion as they process this trauma."

Star Tribune staff writer Zoë Jackson contributed to this report.