In Florida, the consequences of federal and state immigration policies have become a daily reality for thousands of families, as new waves of enforcement continue to reshape lives and communities. Nearly a year into President Donald Trump’s second term, the landscape for migrants—especially in the Sunshine State—has grown increasingly fraught with fear, uncertainty, and heartbreak, according to reports from the Associated Press and WLRN.
During Trump’s first term, the zero-tolerance immigration policy famously separated more than 5,000 children from their families at the Mexico border. Now, with border crossings at a record low, the focus has shifted to enforcement within U.S. borders. Federal officials, in partnership with local law enforcement, are detaining tens of thousands of asylum-seekers and migrants inside the country. In November 2025, the federal government was holding an average of more than 66,000 people, the highest number on record, according to data cited by the Associated Press.
This strategy has led to a new kind of family separation—one that’s not just about the border, but about parents being arrested and detained while their children remain in the U.S., or about families making the agonizing decision to have their children stay behind after a parent is deported. The ripple effects are profound, as illustrated by the stories of three families in Miami whose lives have been upended by recent enforcement actions.
Antonio Laverde, who left Venezuela in 2022 and crossed into the U.S. illegally before requesting asylum, had begun to build a life in Miami. He worked as an Uber driver, obtained a work permit and driver’s license, and supported relatives in both Venezuela and Florida. His wife, Jakelin Pasedo, and their two sons joined him in December 2024, securing refugee status. But in June 2025, Laverde was arrested by federal agents—apparently a case of mistaken identity during a search for another suspect in their shared housing. Pasedo and her children recall agents cuffing Laverde at gunpoint. “They got sick with fever, crying for their father, asking for him,” Pasedo told the Associated Press. Laverde spent three months at the Broward Transitional Center before requesting to return to Venezuela, while Pasedo remains in Miami, fearful of returning to her home country due to her political activism.
Another Miami family, originally from Nicaragua, has faced similar turmoil. Yaoska, whose husband was a political activist, fled with their son in 2022 to escape threats and violence under the regime of Daniel Ortega and Rosario Murillo. After settling in Miami, they applied for asylum and welcomed a second son, a U.S. citizen. But in August 2025, during a routine appointment at the local Immigration and Customs Enforcement office, Yaoska’s husband was detained and eventually deported after three months at the Krome Detention Center. Yaoska, now five months pregnant, is under 24-hour GPS surveillance. “It’s so hard to see my children like this. They arrested him right in front of them,” she said, describing how her children are struggling emotionally and physically without their father. “I’m afraid in Nicaragua. But I’m scared here too.”
For Edgar and Amavilia, both undocumented migrants from Guatemala, the ordeal began with a routine traffic stop. Edgar was detained on a 2016 warrant for driving without a license in Homestead and subsequently turned over to immigration officials, who transferred him to Krome and deported him in June 2025. Amavilia, who crossed the border in September 2023 without seeking asylum, now supports their two children by selling homemade food and treats. She describes the daily anxiety her daughter feels around police and her own determination to persevere: “I’m afraid to go out, but I always go out entrusting myself to God.”
These personal stories are set against a broader backdrop of aggressive immigration enforcement in Florida, driven in part by state-level policies. Since January 2023, Republican Governor Ron DeSantis has repeatedly extended a state of emergency on immigration, with each 60-day decree systematically renewed. The DeSantis administration has said this measure will remain in effect as long as undocumented immigrants are present in the state. Critics, particularly Democratic lawmakers, have called the repeated extensions an abuse of power that allows the governor to circumvent more than 20 state laws, including those on competitive bidding, public transparency, licensing, and security.
Democratic Senator Tina Polsky has highlighted how these executive orders have enabled the creation of new detention facilities, including one nicknamed “Alligator Alcatraz.” Democratic lawmakers have responded by introducing several bills: one to end the immigration executive order (SCR 704), others to limit the number of possible renewals (SB 700/HB 621), and another to establish a database for tracking enforcement measures (SB 708). Senate Democratic leader Lori Berman described the practice as “unchecked abuse of executive power,” accusing the governor of suspending rules he does not want to enforce. However, it remains uncertain whether Republicans, who hold the majority, will support these legislative efforts.
Concerns about the treatment of detainees have been amplified by a 48-page Amnesty International report, which accuses two Florida detention centers—the federal Krome center and the state-run “Alligator Alcatraz”—of serious violations of international law that may amount to torture. The report details allegations of prolonged solitary confinement at Krome and describes a punitive “box” at Alligator Alcatraz where detainees are chained, exposed to the sun, and deprived of food and water. Other abuses reported include inadequate medical care, violence, racism, overflowing toilets, and constant lighting. Some detainees said they were punished for seeking help or asserting their basic rights. In response, Florida authorities and the Department of Homeland Security have categorically denied these accusations, insisting that the centers comply with federal standards and that there have been no deaths or inhumane treatment.
The impact of these policies has been especially acute for children. On December 4, 2025, seven children aged 3 to 15—three of them U.S. citizens—departed Miami Airport to join deported parents or to avoid being separated from their families. They are among 58 children assisted this year by the Guatemala-Maya Center, which has also established power of attorney for 200 others whose parents fear arrest. Volunteers described the departures as a “sad and cruel” situation in which only the children “lose.”
In southeastern Florida, particularly in Lake Worth Beach, Palm Beach County, arrests are on the rise, forcing families to make heart-wrenching decisions. Many children, despite being U.S. citizens, are leaving the only home they have ever known because their parents face deportation. According to municipal officials, families are increasingly forced to choose between separation and self-deportation, a dilemma that underscores the human cost of current immigration enforcement strategies.
As Florida continues to grapple with these challenges, the stories of families like those of Antonio, Yaoska, and Amavilia offer a sobering glimpse into the realities behind the headlines—realities marked by loss, resilience, and the hope for a future where families might one day be reunited.
