By The Editorial Board
It is a privilege to wake up every morning without thinking about an officer knocking at the door.
For millions of people living in the U.S., that fear is not hypothetical. It is a daily calculation; whether today is the day they will be separated from their children, removed from their homes or will disappear into a system they barely understand. For those of us who do not live with that fear, it is easy to forget how much security we take for granted — and how fragile that security becomes when enforcement replaces humanity.
Immigration and Customs Enforcement, as an agency, exists within the bounds of federal law. Acknowledging that fact does not require ignoring how its power is used. We are not trying to debate whether the U.S. has the right to enforce immigration law; we are concerned whether enforcement is carried out in a way that aligns with our democratic values, constitutional protections and moral obligations. Increasingly, the answer feels uncomfortable.
At its core, this is not only a political issue but a moral one. For Christians, the Bible is unambiguous about how to treat foreigners. Leviticus instructs believers to love the foreigner as themselves. Matthew’s Gospel reminds readers that welcoming the stranger is inseparable from faith itself. These Scriptures are not footnotes; they are foundational teachings. If religious language is invoked to justify harsh immigration policies, it must also be held accountable to the compassion those same Scriptures demand.
Loving one’s neighbor does not require open borders or the abandonment of law. It requires refusing to dehumanize. It requires acknowledging that immigrants — documented or not — are people before they are political symbols. When policy strips people of dignity, faith calls us not to look away.
Fear has become a tool of governance. When families avoid hospitals, schools and places of worship because of immigration raids, we are no longer talking about policy efficiency; we are talking about social harm. A democracy cannot function when entire communities are pushed into the shadows, afraid to participate in public life. Safety built on terror is not safety at all.
This is where perspective matters. The U.S. has deported people under every modern president. Under former President Barack Obama, more than 3.1 million people were deported — an uncomfortable and often painful statistic. But the distinction many people point to is not the number but the method. Immigration enforcement during that era largely operated through bureaucratic channels, not public spectacle.
Under President Donald Trump, immigration enforcement became performative. Raids were announced in advance. Militarized language was normalized. Immigrants were framed not as neighbors or workers, but as threats. The result was not simply stricter enforcement but a cultural shift that treated fear as a feature, not a side effect.
It seems every other headline is an account of someone murdered by ICE officers. In 2025, 32 people died in ICE custody. A 5-year-old boy was detained by officers. Is a kindergartener someone you truly fear is a violent criminal? These are not normal matters, and we should be worried.
It is tempting to believe that constitutional protections exist only for citizens. That belief is incorrect. Due process, freedom from unreasonable searches and protection against arbitrary detention are not privileges to be selectively applied; they are principles that define the nation itself. When enforcement agencies operate in ways that blur those lines, everyone’s freedoms become more precarious.
The most dangerous assumption is that if we are not directly affected, we are not implicated. Privilege has a way of insulating people from urgency. But democracy depends on the willingness of those who feel safe to speak up when others are not. Silence, too, becomes a form of consent.
You go to class with international students who read the terrifying headlines. International students are constantly reminded of how to maintain their status and continue to have the education they work so hard for. Every day, they are not just carrying documents to prove legal presence, but also the fear of what could happen if immigration enforcement confronted them.
This editorial is not a call to abolish immigration enforcement. It is a call to remember what enforcement is for — and what it must never become. A nation confident in its values does not need to rule by fear. A democracy secure in its foundations does not sacrifice humanity for control.
Waking up without fear should not be a privilege. It should be a promise. If you believe this is a problem worthy of solving, call your representatives and tell them. Be the voice for the people who aren’t able to speak up.
