In recent months, immigration enforcement efforts across the United States have come under intense scrutiny, with growing concerns about the detention of U.S. citizens and the impact of these policies on children and families—particularly in states like Florida and Idaho. Reports from Miami New Times, ProPublica, and firsthand accounts from educators paint a picture of fear, confusion, and, at times, questionable transparency from authorities overseeing these crackdowns.
On October 14, 2025, Florida’s Suspected Unauthorized Alien Encounters Dashboard—a tool managed by the State Board of Immigration Enforcement—showed that 21 U.S. citizens had been arrested as part of immigration enforcement operations. Another nine citizens had encounters with law enforcement but were not arrested. These figures, though startling, were publicly available until the Miami New Times reached out to state officials with a simple yet pressing question: Why were American citizens being swept up in operations primarily aimed at undocumented immigrants?
What happened next raised even more eyebrows. After the media inquiry, the dashboard numbers changed dramatically: the count dropped to just one U.S. citizen arrest and two encounters. The original figures vanished without public explanation. The Miami New Times reported that their requests for clarification from the State Board of Immigration Enforcement, the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, and Governor Ron DeSantis’s office went unanswered. This sudden revision fueled suspicions that state officials might be trying to minimize public awareness of the true scope—and potential errors—of their immigration enforcement activities.
Digging deeper, ProPublica found that the issue was not confined to Florida. Nationwide, more than 170 U.S. citizens—including 20 children—have been detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) in recent years. The reasons for these wrongful detentions vary, from mistaken identity to faulty databases, but the consequences are consistent: families are disrupted, children traumatized, and trust in public institutions eroded.
Florida’s aggressive approach is especially notable. Since August 1, 2025, state and local law enforcement agencies there have recorded over 5,800 encounters with suspected unauthorized immigrants and made 4,700 arrests. More than 2,400 of these arrests were carried out by officers operating under a controversial federal-state partnership known as the 287(g) agreement, which grants local law enforcement the authority to enforce federal immigration laws. While supporters argue that such measures are necessary for public safety, critics warn that they increase the risk of wrongful detentions and racial profiling—particularly when even U.S. citizens are not immune from arrest.
But the anxiety generated by these policies is not limited to those living in Florida. In Idaho, a state far from the southern border, similar fears have taken root among Hispanic families—many of whom are U.S. citizens or have children who are. Kim Erwin, a veteran school counselor with nearly 30 years in Idaho’s public education system, described the situation in stark terms. "I am absolutely horrified at the kinds of conversations I have had to have with Hispanic families lately who are panicking about ICE enforcement, whether they are U.S. citizens or not," Erwin wrote in a column reviewed by her newsroom. Her words reflect a reality that many families now face: the possibility that their children could be targeted by immigration enforcement while simply attending school.
Historically, schools, churches, and hospitals were considered "sensitive locations"—places where ICE agents refrained from conducting enforcement actions except in extraordinary circumstances. As Erwin noted, "During President Trump’s first administration, he still respected these places—as somewhat sacred." However, policy changes since 2017 have shifted that norm. On the very first day of Donald Trump’s presidency, ICE agents were given the green light to enter sensitive locations for enforcement, provided they used "common sense." This policy shift, according to Erwin and other educators, has eroded the sense of safety that schools once provided, especially for children from immigrant families.
The consequences of these changes are not merely theoretical. Over the past nine months, Erwin says she has spent hours comforting parents terrified that their children might not be safe at school. "By signing up to be educators and school leaders, we agreed to live by the core tenets of public school education. At the top of the list is protecting the safety and dignity of all students," she wrote. Yet, as she points out, the current reality often falls short of that promise.
One particularly disturbing development is a program known as "Operation Freaky Friday." Under this initiative, unaccompanied minors—some as young as ten—have received vaguely threatening letters from ICE, suggesting they accept a stipend and self-deport or face unspecified consequences. For children not yet old enough to pay rent, let alone navigate the legal system, the threat is both confusing and deeply frightening. Erwin argues that such tactics have nothing to do with genuine border security: "These children aren’t cartel leaders or criminals. This is about using federal resources to stoke fear and terrorize children based on the color of their skin."
The trauma inflicted by these enforcement actions is not limited to those directly detained. The mere possibility of ICE agents arriving at a school can cause anxiety so severe that some children avoid attending classes altogether. Erwin asks a pointed question: "If school children are under threat of detainment or choose not to attend school because of credible fear, what are we doing to the future of an educated population?" The answer, she suggests, is a grim one: policies that undermine education and sow distrust in public institutions will have long-term consequences for society as a whole.
The issue has also sparked debate within Idaho’s political circles. The Idaho Republican Party’s 2025 platform states that it "recognizes that children are a heritage of the Lord." Yet, as Erwin and others point out, current enforcement policies do not reflect that sentiment when it comes to immigrant children or those from Hispanic families. "If Idaho’s government and the party of the current administration truly see children as a divine blessing, does that not mean they are worthy of staying with their families who have not hurt anyone?" she asked. For now, the answer remains unclear.
As public pressure mounts, advocates are calling for a return to policies that prioritize the safety, dignity, and education of all children—regardless of their background or citizenship status. They argue that transparency from state and federal agencies is essential, not only to correct errors but to rebuild trust in a system that, for many, now feels unpredictable and unsafe. Whether lawmakers will heed these calls remains to be seen, but one thing is certain: the debate over immigration enforcement—and its unintended consequences for American citizens and children—shows no sign of fading away.
For families, educators, and communities across the country, the stakes could not be higher. The choices made today will shape not only the lives of those detained or frightened, but the very character of the nation’s schools, neighborhoods, and future generations.
