When Violence Is Followed by Denial: Collective Trauma, Queer Loss, and the Killing of Renee Good

by Dr. Denise Renye

In the aftermath of the killing of Renee Good by an ICE agent in Minneapolis, many people are struggling not only with grief and outrage, but with something more destabilizing. The emotional impact has been intensified by the government’s response and the ways official narratives have conflicted with eyewitness accounts, community experience, and video evidence circulating publicly.

For many, this loss has also landed within a broader context of identity based vulnerability. Renee Good was part of the LGBTQIA+ community, and for queer people, state violence does not occur in a vacuum. It echoes a long history of being misrepresented, erased, or harmed by institutions meant to ensure safety. When a queer life is lost and the response feels dismissive or distorted, it can activate not only grief, but ancestral and collective memory.

When violence is followed by shifting explanations, partial disclosures, or language that minimizes harm, the injury does not end with the loss of life. It continues in the psyche and in the body. For many, this moment has evoked a familiar and deeply unsettling experience: being told not to trust what you saw, felt, or know to be true.

This is not only a political or legal issue. It is a psychological and somatic one.

The Emotional and Somatic Impact of Institutional Deceit

When institutions with power present a version of events that feels incongruent with lived experience, people often report symptoms that mirror relational gaslighting. Confusion. Self doubt. A sense of unreality. The question arises quietly but persistently: Am I misperceiving this, or am I being misled?

For LGBTQIA+ people, this dynamic can be especially charged. Many have spent a lifetime navigating environments where their identities were questioned, minimized, or denied. When institutional narratives once again contradict lived reality, the body often recognizes the pattern immediately. The response may be swift and visceral.

In personal relationships, gaslighting erodes trust in one’s perception over time. In the body, this often shows up as tension, collapse, agitation, or numbness. People may notice shallow breathing, a clenched jaw, tightness in the chest or gut, or a sense of being unmoored.

When similar dynamics occur at a systemic level, the nervous system responds as if the ground itself is unstable. For those with a trauma history, especially experiences of betrayal, abuse, marginalization, or identity based harm, this kind of public denial can reactivate old survival patterns. Hypervigilance, dissociation, or emotional shutdown are not signs of weakness. They are protective responses shaped by lived experience.

Grief Complicated by Invalidation

Grief needs truth in order to move. It also needs space in the body. When a death is followed by language that obscures responsibility or reframes the victim as the problem, grief becomes constricted. It can lodge in the throat, the chest, or the belly. It can turn into chronic tension or erupt as sudden rage.

Many people are not only mourning Renee Good. They are mourning the loss of trust in systems meant to protect life. For LGBTQIA+ individuals, this grief may be layered with earlier losses, moments when safety was promised but not delivered, or when identity itself was treated as expendable.

This grief often carries a bodily weight, a heaviness that words alone cannot resolve.

When emotional responses are dismissed or pathologized, people may unconsciously begin to override their own sensations. This is one of the most damaging effects of gaslighting, personal or institutional. The body learns not to speak.

How This Mirrors Personal Gaslighting

One of the most striking aspects of moments like this is how closely they resemble dynamics people experience in intimate relationships. A person knows something is wrong. Their body registers fear or alarm. Yet an authority figure insists nothing harmful occurred.

For those who have lived through identity based invalidation, this dynamic can feel hauntingly familiar. The message is not just that harm did not occur, but that one’s perception of reality is suspect.

Over time, this disconnect between internal knowing and external messaging creates distress. People may abandon their intuition, override discomfort, or disconnect from sensation entirely. This is true in relationships and in systems.

From a somatic perspective, healing begins when we reestablish trust in bodily signals. The body often knows before the mind has language. Tightness, heat, collapse, or activation are forms of communication, not problems to eliminate.

Embodiment Practices for Times of Collective Trauma

In moments of public violence and perceived deceit, grounding in the body can restore a sense of agency and orientation. These practices are not meant to bypass anger or grief, but to support the nervous system so those emotions can move rather than stagnate.

One simple practice is orienting. Gently look around the room and name what you see. Let your eyes land on objects that feel neutral or comforting. This helps the nervous system remember that you are here and now, not inside the moment of trauma.

Another practice is resourcing through contact. Place a hand on your chest or abdomen and notice the warmth and pressure. Allow the breath to deepen naturally without forcing it. This can support regulation when emotions feel overwhelming.

You might also experiment with tracking sensation. Instead of analyzing the situation, ask yourself what is happening in your body right now. Is there tightness, movement, heaviness, or heat. Stay curious rather than judgmental. Sensations change when they are witnessed.

For some, movement is essential. Gentle shaking, walking, stretching, or slow yoga can help discharge activation that has nowhere else to go. Rage and grief often need physical expression to complete their cycle.

Finally, communal embodiment matters. Grieving together, protesting together, or simply sitting in shared silence can be deeply regulating. Trauma heals in connection, not isolation.

Supporting Emotional Integrity

In times like these, returning to embodiment is an act of resistance. It is a refusal to abandon inner truth.

Name what you feel without needing to justify it. Let the body be part of that naming.

Limit exposure to repetitive media when possible. Continuous viewing can flood the nervous system and reduce capacity to stay present.

Seek spaces where your experience is mirrored and respected. Therapy, trusted community, and collective rituals all support integration.

Differentiate between uncertainty and denial. It is possible to hold unanswered questions while still honoring bodily and emotional reality.

When violence occurs and truth feels manipulated, people do not just lose faith in systems. They lose a sense of grounding in themselves. Healing begins when reality is named and when the body is invited back into the process.

This moment invites us to reflect not only on what happened to Renee Good, but on how denial and distortion harm the collective nervous system, particularly for communities already living with heightened vulnerability. It also invites a reparative practice: listening to the body, trusting perception, and allowing grief and anger to move rather than be silenced.

Staying embodied in times of injustice is not passive. It is a way of remaining alive, responsive, and anchored in truth even when power insists otherwise.

If this moment has stirred something in you, you are not meant to hold it alone. Stay connected to your body, to your community, and to spaces where truth is not minimized. Speak the names of what you are feeling. Seek support that honors both your emotional and somatic experience. This may look like therapy, collective grieving, creative expression, or showing up alongside others who refuse to look away. Collective trauma requires collective care. Healing begins when we witness harm honestly, tend to its impact in the body, and remain in relationship with one another rather than retreating into silence.

If you are part of the LGBTQIA+ community and this loss feels especially close, know that your grief is valid and historically rooted. You deserve care that understands both personal and collective wounding. Reach out. Stay visible. Let yourself be supported.

For clinicians, this is a moment to slow down, listen deeply, and resist the urge to normalize what should never be normalized. Bearing witness, naming reality, and supporting nervous system repair are powerful acts of care.

Staying engaged in this way is not about outrage alone. It is about preserving our capacity to feel, to discern truth, and to remain embodied in a world that too often asks us to disconnect.