Willem van Spronsen didn't just show up with a sign. On July 13, 2019, the 69-year-old musician and activist drove to the Northwest Detention Center in Tacoma, Washington, carrying a loaded rifle and several homemade incendiary devices. It was roughly 4:00 AM. He wasn't there for a vigil. He was there to ignite a conflict.
The attack on ICE facility grounds that morning remains one of the most polarizing and violent incidents in the recent history of American immigration protest. Most people remember the headlines, but the details of the manifesto he left behind and the specific tactical failures of that morning paint a much weirder, darker picture than just "a protest gone wrong." It was a calculated, albeit suicidal, attempt to disable a fleet of buses used for deportations.
Van Spronsen was a member of the Puget Sound Anarchists. He’d been arrested at the same facility a year prior during a different demonstration. This time, he wasn't looking for a mugshot. He was looking for a fuse.
The Chaos Outside the Northwest Detention Center
Security at these places is usually pretty tight, but 4:00 AM on a Saturday is a dead zone. Van Spronsen managed to set a vehicle on fire. He was actively trying to ignite a massive propane tank attached to the facility. Think about that for a second. If that tank had actually blown, the casualties wouldn't have just been "the system" or the guards—it would have been the very detainees he claimed to be liberating.
The police arrived fast. Like, four minutes fast.
When the Tacoma Police Department showed up, they found him wearing a satchel and carrying flares. He wasn't surrendering. According to the official police reports and subsequent body cam footage reviews, he pointed his weapon at the officers. Four officers—Johannes Orwall, Christopher Gustafson, Marcus Williams, and Hosung Cho—opened fire. Van Spronsen was pronounced dead at the scene.
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It’s easy to look at this as a localized incident, but it happened in a specific pressure cooker. At the time, the "Close the Camps" movement was peaking. Tensions were high. The facility in Tacoma, run by the private GEO Group, had been the site of hunger strikes and weekly protests for years. But the attack on ICE facility assets marked a shift from civil disobedience to what federal investigators labeled as domestic terrorism.
Why the Manifesto Matters More Than the Fire
Before he headed out, van Spronsen sent a manifesto to his friends. It’s a rambling, intense document. He wrote about "evil profit-seeking" and "concentration camps." He specifically mentioned that he was "not moving under orders" but felt compelled by a sense of moral duty.
"I am antifa," he wrote.
This sparked a massive debate in the following weeks. Was he a lone wolf? Was he part of a larger cell? The FBI jumped in, of course. They looked for ties to larger organizations, but honestly, he seemed like a man who had simply reached a breaking point and decided that property destruction was the only language left. He called his action a "call to arms," which is about as clear as it gets regarding intent.
The fallout was messy. Some activist groups called him a martyr. Others—the vast majority—condemned the violence, noting that it made the lives of the people inside the detention center significantly harder. Whenever there's an attack on ICE facility property, the immediate result isn't "freedom" for the detainees. It's a total lockdown. No visitors. No phone calls. Increased scrutiny.
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Security Shifts After the Tacoma Incident
If you look at how these facilities operate now, you can see the scars of 2019. The GEO Group and ICE didn't just shrug it off. They poured millions into perimeter hardening. We’re talking about reinforced fencing, more high-definition thermal imaging, and a much tighter coordination with local PD.
What changed on the ground:
- Rapid Response Drills: Local police departments in cities with large detention centers (like Tacoma, Aurora, and Adelanto) started conducting joint drills specifically for "civil unrest and facility breaches."
- Vehicle Barriers: You'll notice more bollards and concrete "K-rails" around the bus loading zones now. They learned that the transportation infrastructure is the most vulnerable point.
- Surveillance Overhaul: The shift went from "watching the gate" to "monitoring the perimeter" using AI-driven motion alerts that trigger long before someone reaches the fence.
The Northwest Detention Center is a massive building. It holds up to 1,575 people. When van Spronsen attacked, the facility was near capacity. The sheer logistical nightmare of trying to secure a population that size while the building is literally on fire is something that keeps DHS officials up at night.
The Political Aftermath and Public Perception
The attack on ICE facility sites became a talking point in the 2020 election cycle, but it also forced a conversation about the ethics of private prisons. The GEO Group, which runs the Tacoma site, has been sued multiple times over conditions. Washington State eventually passed a law (HB 1090) to ban private, for-profit detention centers, though it’s been tied up in legal battles for a while.
You've got to realize that the violence that morning actually hurt the legislative efforts for a minute. It’s hard to lobby for "humane reform" when the evening news is showing a guy with a rifle and a molotov cocktail. It gave the "law and order" side a lot of ammunition.
Actually, the Tacoma incident wasn't the only one. There were incidents in San Antonio and even an office in Phoenix that faced similar, though less lethal, threats. But Tacoma was the climax. It was the moment the tension turned into lead and fire.
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Navigating the Legacy of the Tacoma Attack
For those living in the Pacific Northwest, the Northwest Detention Center is a constant presence. It’s located in a heavy industrial area, surrounded by shipping containers and freight lines. It feels isolated. That isolation is what van Spronsen was trying to break, but his method—a violent attack on ICE facility infrastructure—ended up reinforcing the walls he hated.
If you’re researching this, you have to look at the court records of the officers involved. They were all cleared of any wrongdoing. The investigation concluded that they acted in self-defense and in defense of the facility's staff.
What you should understand about the current landscape:
- Direct Action vs. Reform: The 2019 attack is still used as a case study in radicalization. It shows how "direct action" can veer into lethal territory when the actor feels the political process has failed.
- Facility Resilience: ICE has moved a lot of its high-risk processing away from urban centers or into more fortified government-owned buildings where possible, though the private model still exists.
- The Role of Social Media: The manifesto didn't go viral by accident. It was distributed through specific anarchist networks, highlighting the role of digital "echo chambers" in mobilizing individuals for physical attacks.
Practical Steps for Understanding the Context
If you want to dig deeper into why this happened and how it affects policy today, you need to look at the primary documents. Don't just take a tweet's word for it.
- Read the Tacoma Police Department's Final Report: This gives the minute-by-minute breakdown of the engagement. It's dry, but it's the only way to see the tactical reality.
- Examine the Washington State HB 1090 Litigation: This is the legal fight to close the facility. It provides the "legal" context of the struggle that van Spronsen was trying to bypass.
- Review the DHS "Insider Threat" and "Domestic Violent Extremism" Bulletins: Since 2019, these bulletins have specifically referenced the Tacoma incident when discussing threats to federal infrastructure.
- Follow Local Journalism: Outlets like the Tacoma News Tribune have covered the facility for decades. They offer the nuance that national news misses, especially regarding the hunger strikes that preceded the violence.
The Tacoma attack on ICE facility wasn't a random act of madness. It was a specific, violent response to a systemic issue. Whether you see it as an act of "terrorism" or a "final stand" depends entirely on your politics, but the facts remain: a man died, the facility stayed open, and the security around immigration detention only grew tighter.
Real change in the immigration system has come from the courtrooms and the state house, not the flare guns. The legacy of July 13th is mostly one of tragedy and the further hardening of an already rigid system.