Immigration enforcement harms children, fuels global instability, and turns protest into tragedy
by Dana Romero Regaldo
It’s been 3,249 days since Roger Rayson, a 42-year-old man, took his last breath because the Trump administration failed to provide proper care. He suffered from dehydration, and upon further evaluation, he was diagnosed with Burkitt’s lymphoma. Since then, thousands of days have passed, yet the same system that failed him continues to fail others.
What was framed as “law and order” became a machine that separated families, overwhelmed borders, and fueled unrest far beyond the United States. This is not just a immigration crackdown; it is a policy era that treated human lives as collateral damage in pursuit of political control.
The pain of these policies is not abstract — it lives in the voices of families who have experienced it. When the Trump administration separated families at the border, one migrant father, later reunited with his child, told reporters, “They took my son from my arms, and I didn’t know where they were taking him or when I would see him again.”
Doctors who worked with separated children said the trauma was immediate and visible. Dr. Colleen Kraft, former president of the American Academy of Pediatrics, warned, “This kind of prolonged toxic stress can carry lifelong consequences.” These were not just administrative decisions. They were moments that reshaped childhoods forever.
Conditions inside detention facilities have also drawn widespread criticism. Human Rights Watch documented cases of overcrowded cells, lack of access to hygiene, and delayed medical attention. In some facilities, detainees reported waiting days or even weeks to see a doctor. Others described being denied basic necessities such as soap, clean clothing, or privacy. These are not luxuries; these are basic human needs. When they are denied, detention becomes something else entirely.
In 2026, Geraldo Lunas Campos died while in ICE custody. His death was initially reported as a suicide, but a medical examiner later ruled it a homicide caused by asphyxia, and witnesses said he had been restrained by officers before he stopped breathing. His death became a symbol of what many advocates say is a system with too little accountability and too much power over vulnerable people.
Families of those who died in custody have spoken with grief and anger. After her father died following time in immigration detention, one daughter told reporters, “He begged for help. He told them he was in pain. They didn’t listen.” The father of Jakelin Caal, a 7-year-old girl who died after being taken into U.S. border custody, said through tears, “They didn’t save her. They let her die.” His words reflect the devastation of a parent who trusted a system with his child’s life and lost her instead.
Supporters of strict immigration enforcement argue that detention is necessary to uphold the law and maintain order. But enforcing the law does not require abandoning humanity. A system can uphold borders and still uphold dignity. It can enforce rules and still protect life.
What is happening now forces a difficult question: how many deaths are acceptable in the name of enforcement? These are not just statistics. They are people who had families, futures, and lives that mattered. Their deaths challenge the idea that this system is working as intended. When people die from preventable causes while in government custody, it is not just a policy issue — it is a moral one.
Advocates and attorneys who have witnessed these cases say the suffering was preventable. Lee Gelernt, deputy director of the ACLU’s Immigrants’ Rights Project, said about family separations under Donald Trump, “There is no question that this policy inflicted extraordinary harm on children and families.” He and others argued that the government knew the damage it was causing but continued anyway. Even some detention staff later described the emotional toll. One worker told The Atlantic, “The children would cry themselves to sleep. They didn’t understand why their parents were gone.”
Inside facilities run under the authority of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, detainees themselves described fear and neglect. One man held in detention told The Guardian, “You feel like you don’t exist. Like if you die here, nobody will know.” That fear became reality for dozens of families who received devastating phone calls instead of reunions. Their stories reveal a system that, to them, did not feel like enforcement — it felt like abandonment.
One day, history will look back on this era and measure it not by how strictly laws were enforced, but by how human beings were treated. It will ask whether we chose enforcement at any cost — or whether we chose humanity.
