ICE: The mental health emergency we can no longer ignore

By Sindy Benavides, Dr. Cheryl Aguilar

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Last fall, families in Wilder, Idaho gathered for horse races when helicopters and armored trucks suddenly descended. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents — armed with guns, flashbang grenades, and rubber bullets — stormed the event, terrifying children and parents alike.

Agents zip-tied Juana Ro­driguez’s hands — and even kept her from feeding her three‑year‑old. “What happened turned our outing into a night­mare,” said the U.S. citizen. The government claimed it was targeting five people for illegal gambling. Instead, 105 people were arrested — all on civil im­migration charges.

Did anyone consider the chil­dren’s trauma before approving the raid?

Children’s mental health is deteriorating — and children from immigrant families are especially at risk. Economic in­stability, bullying, and hateful rhetoric from political leaders worsen the stress. When leaders demean people based on ethnic­ity, religion, gender or gender identity, or immigration status, it fuels hostility by others.

One in five child deaths now results from suicide. In 2021, pediatric and psychiatric associations declared a na­tional emergency in children’s mental health, and immigra­tion‑related fear has only inten­sified those concerns.

The suicides of Jocelynn Rojo Carranza and Gabriela Aparicio Ortega, 11 and 13 years, old and both bullied about their parents’ perceived immigration status, show the human cost. Latina adolescents now report some of the nation’s highest suicide attempt rates, according to the CDC.

Dreamers — people born abroad but raised in this coun­try from a young age — contin­ue to live with instability as the future of DACA, an Obama-era program to protect Dreamers from deportation, remains un­certain. Forced to reapply for protection every few years, they live life in four‑year increments, tied to a government applica­tion’s approval. That’s its own source of chronic stress.

Meanwhile, family separa­tions persist. Arlit Maria Marti­nez was detained by ICE on her way to work. Two days later, her 15‑year‑old son died of cancer. She never got to say goodbye. Her surviving children are liv­ing a nightmare.

ICE has detained more than 6,200 children nationwide, some as young as two years old. Each arrest inflicts lasting psycholog­ical harm. Even children who simply witness such actions in­ternalize the idea that safety is conditional.

Parents, too, carry trauma and guilt. Immigration enforce­ment functions as a communi­ty‑wide stressor, and fear seeps into everyday life — determin­ing where families go, what they say, and whether they seek help. When people are afraid to approach mental health profes­sionals, distress becomes struc­tural.

Our collective nervous system is under strain.

Latino communities have al­ways drawn strength from fam­ily, faith, and collective care. But our resilience should not replace public investments in mental health infrastructure. We must create systems that make help accessible, afford­able, and culturally responsive.

Local governments can invest in trusted community partner­ships. Prince George’s Coun­ty, Maryland, offers a model through The Hope Center for Wellness and the City of Hy­attsville — a collaboration that funds local providers, sim­plifies referrals, and ensures residents don’t face endless waitlists.

State governments must strengthen the bilingual, cultur­ally competent workforce by im­proving reimbursement rates, supporting training pipelines, and streamlining licensing.

The federal government must also protect loan forgiveness programs that keep social work­ers and therapists in commu­nity‑based roles, and invest in workforce development, com­munity‑based care, language access, and equity.

Let’s be clear: immigration policy is mental health policy. Reducing detention and priori­tizing family unity are not just moral or political acts — they are public health interventions. If we continue to tell people to “seek help” while maintaining systems that harm them, we aren’t closing the gap — we’re widening it.

If you or someone you love is struggling, support is available. Call the SAMHSA National Helpline: 1‑800‑662‑4357 (free, confidential, English & Span­ish, 24/7). Or text HELLO to 741741 to reach the Crisis Text Line.

Sindy Benavides is the Founding Executive Director of Aquí: The Accountability Movement. Dr. Cheryl Aguilar PhD, LICSW, is a nationally recognized mental health clini­cian, researcher, and advocate focused on the intersection of mental health, immigration, and culturally responsive care. This op-ed was distributed by OtherWords.org.

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