Minneapolis gripped by ICE terror as residents hide for weeks
Fear has become a constant companion for thousands of Minneapolis residents as federal immigration agents continue aggressive operations throughout the city. The atmosphere has grown so tense that many individuals, including long-term residents and American citizens, now refuse to leave their homes, creating a climate of widespread anxiety and disruption.
Living in self-imposed confinement
Maria, a pseudonym for a woman who has lived in the United States for twenty-five years and has an American-born son, represents countless others in her predicament. She has not ventured outside her apartment for five consecutive weeks, paralyzed by the fear that Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents might detain her during one of their frequent operations. "I was scared he was trying to get in. I am terrified. I can't sleep at night," she confesses, describing her reaction to an unexpected knock at her door.
Her financial situation grows increasingly precarious as she cannot work, having been unable to leave her residence since December. "One man I know was grabbed from his job inside McDonald's. His son can't even get his medicine to him inside the detention centre," she reveals, highlighting the human consequences of these enforcement actions. "I feel like I'm in jail here. Sometimes I cry and hide so my son doesn't see me."
Community response and religious support
Pastor Sergio Amezcua of Dios Habla Hoy Church has become a crucial lifeline for those trapped by fear. His congregation now provides food to approximately 150,000 people, most of whom are too frightened to venture outside despite possessing legal documentation or American citizenship. "They're racially profiling people, especially Latinos. This is the huge problem," Pastor Amezcua states bluntly.
The pastor notes that attendance at Latino churches across Minnesota has plummeted by eighty percent as people avoid public gatherings. "But half of my congregants are born in the U.S, and they are still afraid to come out. That is not just immigrants this affects the entire community," he emphasizes. The situation has grown so severe that he describes it as feeling "like ethnic cleansing."
Educational institutions under siege
Schools throughout Minneapolis have implemented extraordinary measures to protect students and families. The case of five-year-old Liam Ramos, photographed being taken by ICE agents during school drop-off while wearing a bunny hat and Spider-Man backpack, sparked national outrage and prompted immediate action from educational authorities.
Zena Stenvik, superintendent for Liam's school district, reports that teachers now chaperone children to school, organize ride-shares, ban outdoor recess, and patrol streets near school grounds. Twenty percent of students have switched to online learning from home. "We feel hunted. We are under siege," Stenvik states, describing armed ICE patrols circling school perimeters.
Jason Kuhlman, principal of Liam's school, recounts the heartbreaking moment when staff had to deliver two children to a detention centre after their asylum-seeking mother was arrested. "All we could do was pack their backpacks with food and supplies. We were crying with them," he remembers emotionally. "We don't take children to jail. That's not our job. Our job is to educate."
American veterans targeted
The crackdown has extended beyond immigrant communities to include American citizens performing legal observation. Skye, a disabled Marine veteran in her thirties, experienced violent detention while monitoring ICE activity in January. Mobile phone footage shows agents smashing her car window, dragging her head-first from the vehicle, and aggressively pinning her to the ground.
"They had me on my stomach, kneeling on me," Skye recounts, showing bruises still visible on her arm weeks later. "My arm was wrenched back right up my head, my ankles in a lock." Her experience occurred just four days after Renee Good, a mother of three, was shot dead while acting as a legal observer of ICE operations in the same neighborhood.
Skye, who identifies as a white female veteran, offers a stark warning: "I am a white female veteran: if it can happen to me it can happen you." She adds quietly that she fears she might "end up in a concentration camp."
Somali community under pressure
At Karmel Mall, the largest Somali shopping centre in the United States, even American passport holders hesitate to move freely through what was once a bustling commercial hub. Businesses stand shuttered, and remaining store owners speak reluctantly about the climate of fear.
Khalid, a twenty-four-year-old Somali-American student, explains that his mother, a U.S. citizen, has not left their house in a month. "Most of us are American-born citizens. But when the President calls your community 'garbage' and targets people based on how you look, you worry," he states, referencing derogatory comments made about Somalia and its diaspora.
Jaylani Hussein, executive director of the Minnesota chapter of the Council on American-Islamic Relations, confirms that Minnesota hosts over 120,000 Somali residents, the largest population outside Somalia itself. "There has been mass panic since Somali refugees were suddenly targeted two weeks ago - despite arriving legally and being on lawful pathways to citizenship," he reports.
Volunteer networks and resistance
In response to the escalating situation, an underground network of volunteers has emerged. Using encrypted messaging applications and coded communication, they track federal agents' movements to warn vulnerable communities and deter enforcement activity. Others, like the volunteers at Dios Habla Hoy Church, work to keep those too afraid to leave their homes supplied with food and essentials.
Laura, a sixty-four-year-old Minneapolis resident volunteering sixty hours weekly, believes the operations represent more than immigration enforcement. "This is about terrorizing, not only undocumented people, but documented people and residents. This is authoritarianism," she asserts, suggesting the crackdown targets Minneapolis as a center of political dissent since protests following George Floyd's murder.
Pastor Amezcua concludes with a plea for governmental intervention: "We want our kids to be able to go outside and play or go to school. We need checks and balances of the executive branch. [Congress] needs to stop being cheerleaders of this agenda. So we can continue to keep the American Dream alive."
The Department of Homeland Security has hailed the Minnesota operation as a "huge victory for public safety," claiming more than 3,000 "criminals" have been arrested, including "vicious murderers." However, Minnesota's Attorney General has unsuccessfully sought to block the operations, and a federal judge recently declined to issue a halt order despite growing controversy and nationwide protests.
