Golden Globes Red Carpet Goes Political: Why Celebrities Wore Anti-ICE Pins
On a night usually dominated by couture, champagne, and carefully rehearsed acceptance speeches, a small piece of metal stole the spotlight. At the latest Golden Globes, several celebrities arrived on the red carpet wearing pins protesting ICE, honoring Renee Good, who was shot and killed in her car by an Immigration and Customs Enforcement officer in Minneapolis. What might look like a simple accessory quickly became one of the most talked‑about political statements of the evening.
This moment fits squarely into a longer tradition of awards‑show activism, from #MeToo and Time’s Up to Black Lives Matter ribbons. But the anti‑ICE pins cut into especially raw territory: immigration enforcement, state violence, and the dangers of turning real lives into symbolic “issues” on a televised runway.
The Story Behind the Pins: Who Was Renee Good?
According to NPR’s reporting, the pins were worn in tribute to Renee Good, who was shot and killed last week in Minneapolis by an Immigration and Customs Enforcement officer while in her car. Her death intensified long‑standing questions about ICE’s use of force and accountability, especially in local communities already wary of federal immigration raids.
In this context, the Golden Globes red carpet—a carefully choreographed spectacle—became a secondary stage for a very real and recent tragedy. The pins weren’t announcing a vague “awareness” campaign; they were a direct response to a specific killing that is still unfolding in the news cycle and, for Good’s loved ones, in real time.
As details about the shooting continue to emerge through local reporting and official investigations, the choice to highlight Good’s name and story on such a global platform underscores a familiar dynamic: Hollywood doesn’t just react to politics—it amplifies and reframes it for a massive audience.
From Black Dresses to Pins: The Evolving Language of Red-Carpet Protest
Red‑carpet politics has gone through its own fashion cycles. The all‑black dress code of the Time’s Up era, the white roses for #MeToo, and the “I Can’t Breathe” shirts in music spaces all turned the visuals of glamour into a kind of protest language. Pins especially have become Hollywood’s shorthand for “I’m paying attention.”
- AIDS ribbons in the ’90s normalized talking about HIV on mainstream stages.
- Time’s Up pins turned award shows into de facto forums on gendered power and harassment.
- Black Lives Matter imagery migrated from marches to televised events, forcing networks to acknowledge ongoing movements.
Anti‑ICE pins slot into this lineage, but with sharper edges. Unlike broader themes like “gender equality” or “diversity,” “abolish ICE” or anti‑ICE sentiment is explicitly about dismantling or radically changing a federal agency. That raises the stakes from general solidarity to a more pointed policy critique—albeit expressed through an accessory small enough to fit on a lapel.
Who Wore the Anti‑ICE Pins—and What They Said
NPR reports that “some celebrities” chose to wear the anti‑ICE pins; as of this writing, coverage has centered less on a single marquee face and more on the gesture as a collective statement. That in itself is telling: this wasn’t framed as one rogue actor getting political but as part of a coordinated, if loosely organized, moment of solidarity with Renee Good and broader criticism of ICE.
On the red carpet, these pins typically share a few characteristics:
- They’re visually simple—often monochrome—so the text or symbol is legible on TV and in photos.
- They’re positioned near the collar or upper chest, close to where microphones and cameras naturally land.
- They’re designed to invite a predictable question from reporters: “Tell us about the pin you’re wearing tonight.”
“If the red carpet is going to be this huge media machine, then we might as well use it,” one actor told a reporter, explaining why they chose to wear the anti‑ICE pin in tribute to Renee Good and others affected by aggressive immigration enforcement.
That logic is familiar: the red carpet as a Trojan horse. Viewers tune in for outfits and star power, but in the middle of that glitter, a name like Renee Good gets spoken into millions of living rooms. For activists, that visibility is invaluable; for critics, it can feel like serious politics reduced to a soundbite.
ICE, Hollywood, and the Politics of Visibility
ICE has existed in the crosshairs of political and pop‑culture debate for years now. Documentaries, prestige dramas, and even network procedurals have all tried to grapple with detention centers, deportation raids, and the human cost of immigration crackdowns. Anti‑ICE protests at the Golden Globes connect directly to that longer media narrative.
Hollywood’s relationship to immigration is layered:
- Many of its most bankable stars and creators are immigrants or children of immigrants.
- Immigrant labor—often undocumented—is woven into the industry’s off‑camera infrastructure.
- At the same time, film and TV historically trafficked in caricatures of migrants and border agents that helped normalize harsh enforcement imagery.
The anti‑ICE pins implicitly acknowledge that history while calling for a different future. They draw a line between the fictional narratives Hollywood puts onscreen and the real‑world violence that those narratives sometimes obscure or sanitize.
Do Red-Carpet Protests Actually Work?
The honest answer: red‑carpet activism is powerful at some things and pretty weak at others.
Where it’s effective:
- Visibility: Names like Renee Good reach audiences that may never read a policy article.
- Agenda‑setting: Entertainment media, from Variety to Entertainment Weekly, suddenly covers immigration enforcement alongside best‑dressed lists.
- Morale and solidarity: For organizers and impacted communities, seeing high‑profile support can provide a meaningful signal that they’re not alone.
Where it falls short:
- Policy change: Pins don’t rewrite laws, alter training protocols, or restructure ICE.
- Sustained attention: The news cycle moves quickly; what trends on a Sunday night can vanish by midweek.
- Depth of understanding: Viewers may register that “ICE is bad” without grasping the systems and legal frameworks involved.
As one critic noted in a post‑show column, “Hollywood is very good at raising awareness and very bad at deciding what should happen next.”
That doesn’t make the pins meaningless, but it does situate them as a first step rather than a solution. Their real test will be whether the conversation they sparked at the Golden Globes continues in more concrete arenas—city councils, courts, and community organizing spaces.
The Double Edge of Symbolic Solidarity
Awards‑show protests always invite a certain skepticism, and the anti‑ICE pins are no exception. Critics point out that it’s easier to wear a symbol than to engage with the slow, unglamorous work of policy reform or community support.
Some of the main critiques include:
- Performance vs. practice: Do the celebrities wearing these pins support specific legislative changes, or donate to legal defense funds and grassroots organizations working on immigration?
- Proximity to power: Hollywood has significant cultural capital; occasionally, its biggest names also have direct ties to political donors and decision‑makers. A pin can seem small next to that influence.
- Media fatigue: Viewers who feel bombarded by “politics everywhere” may disengage, writing off meaningful causes as just more celebrity branding.
Still, symbolic action doesn’t have to be the enemy of substantive action. The most effective moments are those where the pin, the speech, and the follow‑up all point in the same direction—toward concrete support for the people whose names are invoked onstage, including Renee Good.
What This Means for the Golden Globes—and Awards Shows Going Forward
The Golden Globes have long been a bit looser and more unruly than the Oscars—more jokes, more risk, more room for the unexpected. That looseness also makes them fertile ground for political gestures that might feel too risky elsewhere. Anti‑ICE pins this year continue that pattern, signaling that awards shows are unlikely to revert to “pure escapism” anytime soon.
From an industry perspective, this kind of activism has three notable ripple effects:
- Brand calculus: Networks and streaming platforms must decide how much overt politics they’re willing to platform, especially as they vie for global audiences.
- Talent expectations: Younger actors and creators often expect colleagues to “stand for something,” making silence its own kind of statement.
- Audience segmentation: Some viewers embrace politically engaged entertainment; others seek out awards shows precisely to avoid real‑world conflict. Balancing those segments is increasingly tricky.
Beyond the Pin: What Comes After the Golden Globes Moment?
The anti‑ICE pins at the Golden Globes are a reminder that pop culture and politics are now permanently entangled. Whether you see that as overdue responsibility or unwelcome intrusion probably depends on how you think about celebrity power in general.
For Renee Good and others affected by immigration enforcement, the hope is that this visibility doesn’t end when the red‑carpet photos stop circulating. The most meaningful legacy of this moment would be if viewers moved from noticing a pin to asking harder questions: How are immigration raids conducted? Who oversees ICE? What reforms—or deeper changes—are being proposed, and by whom?
Awards shows will continue to chase ratings with spectacle, but as long as real lives and government power are on the line, the red carpet will remain a political stage. The question isn’t whether celebrities will use it that way—it’s what the rest of us choose to do with the attention they generate.
