It is a tale as old as time, or at least as old as modern politics, which is basically the same thing but with worse lighting and less interesting costumes. Vice President JD Vance recently took a trip to Minneapolis. He did not go to enjoy the lakes or to sample the local cuisine. No, he went there to perform the sacred ritual of the American politician: The Great Finger-Pointing.

The script for this particular play is very simple. A high-ranking official from the federal government flies into a city run by the opposing political party. He stands in front of a camera, puts on his most serious face—the one that says, "I am deeply concerned and also very tough"—and proceeds to tell everyone that the sky is falling and it is entirely the fault of the people currently in charge of the city hall. In this specific episode, the villain of the story, according to Mr. Vance, is the local Democratic leadership. The hero? Immigration and Customs Enforcement, better known as ICE.

Vance’s mission was to defend the work of ICE agents. Now, usually, one might think that a federal agency with a massive budget and the full weight of the United States government behind it wouldn't need a cheerleader to fly in and give them a pep talk. But this is 2024, and everything is a performance. The Vice President stood there and argued that the reason dangerous criminals remain on the streets is not because the justice system is a tangled mess of bureaucracy and incompetence. No, he claims it is because local officials in Minneapolis simply refuse to play ball. They are not "cooperating."

Let us pause to appreciate the absurdity of this. We have the federal government, which is supposed to be the most powerful entity on the continent, complaining that the local government is being mean to them. It is like a giant complaining that an ant won’t help him carry a crumb. Vance’s argument is that by not handing over suspects to ICE on a silver platter, the local Democrats are effectively rolling out the red carpet for crime. It is a simple story. It is an effective story. It is also a story that conveniently ignores the fact that the entire immigration system in America has been broken for decades, under the watch of both parties.

The term "sanctuary" gets thrown around a lot in these arguments. It sounds very noble, like a church in a medieval story where a knight can rest. In reality, it usually just means that the local police and the federal agents are not speaking to each other. It is a bureaucratic standoff. The local police say, "It is not our job to do your paperwork," and the federal agents say, "You are letting the bad guys win." Meanwhile, actual human beings are caught in the middle, and the voters are left wondering why two branches of the same country's government act like rival high school cliques.

Vance’s trip to Minneapolis wasn't really about fixing the problem, of course. If politicians actually fixed problems, they would have nothing to campaign on during the next election. If the border was secure and the crime rate was zero, what would they put in their television ads? Puppies? No, fear is the currency of the realm. Vance needs the image of the "uncooperative Democrat" just as much as the Democrats need the image of the "cruel Republican." They feed off each other. They need each other. It is a symbiotic relationship, like a shark and that little fish that eats the stuff off the shark’s teeth.

So, the Vice President points his finger. He lists the crimes. He tells the scary stories. And he is not wrong that there are scary stories to tell; there are real victims and real tragedies. But using those tragedies as a prop to score points against the mayor of Minneapolis feels a bit cheap, doesn't it? It reduces complex human suffering to a game of "I told you so."

The Democrats, for their part, play their role in this theater perfectly. They express outrage that Vance would dare to politicize the issue, while they stand atop their own moral high ground, often ignoring the very real frustrations of their own citizens who just want to feel safe when they walk down the street. Everyone is shouting, and nobody is listening. The local officials ignore the Feds, the Feds blame the locals, and the Vice President flies back to Washington, leaving the people of Minneapolis exactly where they were before he arrived: stuck in the middle of a loud, expensive argument.

In the end, this visit was a perfect microcosm of modern governance. A lot of noise, a lot of cameras, a lot of blame, and absolutely zero solutions. The stage lights turn off, the actors go home, and the theater begins to crumble just a little bit more.