ICE - The Raiders of This Generation

Photo Credit: Mario Tama, Getty Images - ICE @ Dodger's Stadium

I remember the sound of my Mama Chiquita’s (great-grandmother) soft yet strong hands rinsing beans in a metal pot. The way she used to say, “El trabajo dignifica”, work gives dignity. She came from a lineage of farmers, healers, and resistance. She never said “immigrant” like it was something to be ashamed of. She wore her indigeneity like a badge sewn into her apron, something proud and rich with history. Her work ethic, commitment to family, and generous nature were examples of it.

But today, our dignity is being dragged out of homes at dawn.

ICE raids aren’t unusual or rare occurrences highlighted on national news once or twice a year with grainy video footage anymore. They have become daily scheduled terrorist acts upon hard working people. One knock on the door can implode a household. One missing father can unravel an entire neighborhood economy. One detained Mami or Abuelita can fracture a family’s spiritual center.

As someone who has spent more than two decades organizing in Black, Brown, and Indigenous communities across Los Angeles from South Central to San Pedro. I’ve seen how policy isn’t just paper. It’s the missing chair at the dinner table. It’s the child who doesn’t return to school. It’s the small business that quietly shutters. It’s the mural that never gets painted because the artist fled in fear.

According to the Institute on Taxation and Economic Policy undocumented immigrants contributed 96.7 billion in federal, state, and local taxes in 2022. These are not just numbers they’re taqueros, construction workers, hospitality staff, truck drivers, tios, tias, padrinas, padrinos, and mom-and-pop shop owners who keep our cities corazón beating.

When ICE raids a home, they don’t just remove a person. They remove payroll. They remove rent money. They remove a customer from the corner store and a parent from a community. Smaller businesses, particularly those owned by immigrant families, often rely on community networks for staffing and support. Tear apart that network, and you’re not just breaking up a family, you’re dismembering the local economy.

I've worked in youth development programs in Watts where children’s drawings reveal more than any test score. Sad faces painted in cages. A mother with wings, flying away. Black paper-mache hearts dripping paint. These aren’t isolated moments, they are patterns. Recurring grief cycles that show up in silence, in aggression, in apathy. Children who’ve lost their parents to a raid carry invisible backpacks heavier than any textbook.

Studies show that children in mixed-status families experience significantly higher rates of anxiety, depression, and PTSD. They sleep less. They trust less. They hope less. And still, they show up to school, until they don’t.

When we talk about building the workforce of tomorrow, we must also ask ourselves what kind of psychic scars we are etching into this generation. If the pipeline for deportation is wider than the pipeline for college or sustainable employment, what are we really cultivating?

It’s not just the physical presence of ICE that terrorizes…it’s the haunting knowledge that you don’t belong. That at any moment, you can be cast out like your family never fed this land, never labored under its sun, never sang in its kitchens. We are witnessing spiritual and cultural erosion that is not only unconstitutional…it’s sick.

Indigenous, Afro-Latino, and undocumented youth grow up straddling two worlds and ICE raids rip both apart. These are young people with roots in Mexica traditions, Salvadoran folklore, and Zapotec dialects, who are suddenly taught that their very existence is a crime. How can a child believe in their sacredness when their family is treated like contraband?

And when fear enters a home, art is the first to leave. Danza circulos stop rehearsing. Poets are reluctant to share their voices from the fear of losing their families. I’ve been told that when storytelling dies so will our existence. We’re living in a world where speaking the truth isn’t only a crime it’s a death sentence. I fear a world where mere thoughts will be illegal and new gen colonizers will major in Thought Law….

What happens to one community ripples across all others. Black and Brown futures are not in competition; they are braided together. Every dollar removed from an undocumented worker’s pocket is a dollar not spent in a Black-owned shop in Leimert Park. Every student traumatized by raids is one more mind our education system must attempt to heal. And every family torn apart by ICE is another reason for us to rise up and speak our truth because like my abuelo Lazaro would say, “ la verdad nunca se pudre, mijo.”

I believe in a future where borders no longer define our worth. Where cultural exchange is celebrated, not criminalized. I believe in sanctuaries not just in policy, but in practice. In our classrooms, workplaces, studios, and homes. But belief alone is not enough.

We must speak out. Organize. Build coalitions across race, class, and status. Push for policies that center humanity over fear. Invest in the mental health of children living with trauma. Protect our artists. Defend our laborers. Honor our elders. The cost of silence is generational!

My Mama Chiquita was right. “El trabajo dignifica.” Work does give dignity. But only if we let people live long enough to pass it on.

P.S. Where’s the A-Team when you really need them?!

#fuckice