On a sweltering August afternoon in Minneapolis, a dramatic scene unfolded near the Walker Art Center. Immigration agents, acting swiftly and decisively, pulled an undocumented man named Javier Yanez Morales from the passenger seat of a car. The incident, caught on camera and watched by alarmed bystanders like Cynthia Daggett, reignited a fierce nationwide debate over the role of federal immigration authorities in so-called "sanctuary cities."
Morales, according to Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), has been illegally entering the United States since 1998. Despite being deported to Mexico previously, ICE officials say he continued to return and commit crimes, including domestic assault and false reporting. In July 2025, Morales was charged with driving while intoxicated, with a blood alcohol level of 0.08. When agents attempted to detain him on August 15, he resisted arrest, and a passenger's attempt to interfere only escalated the situation. ICE later stated, "For more than two decades, illegal alien Javier Yanez Morales, has put the public at risk for repeatedly and selfishly choosing to drink and drive, showing reckless disregard for the safety of others. This same disregard extends to immigration law which Morales has violated for just as long."
While some, like immigration attorney Gloria Contreras Edin, note that "ICE has the authority to arrest someone without any written documentation handed to an individual before the arrest," others in the community remain skeptical. "They may have had a warrant, it may have been a legitimate stop, but very hard to trust that," Daggett observed as she watched the scene unfold. The incident highlighted the tension in Minneapolis, where a 2017 city ordinance prevents local police from proactively enforcing immigration laws. Yet, as President Trump’s border czar Tom Homan bluntly put it, "Sanctuary cities are sanctuaries for criminals." Homan warned that such cities would see "more agents in the communities and more worksite enforcement" because, as he argued, "they won't let one agent arrest one bad guy to jail."
Just five days later, hundreds of miles away, another high-profile immigration enforcement action gripped the nation’s capital. On August 20, federal agents and D.C. police detained David Perez-Teofani, a 36-year-old Mexican national, on the National Mall, in full view of tourists and families. The arrest, witnessed by News4 reporters and dozens of bystanders, was jarring. Perez-Teofani, visibly distraught, screamed in Spanish, "I don't owe anything! I don't owe anything! Please! I'm not a criminal! I work here! I want to be with my family!" As six law enforcement officers pinned him to the pavement, his cries for his family echoed across the Mall. Eventually, masked agents loaded him into an unmarked vehicle, his pleas—"My family has papers! My family and my children! Please! Please!"—still ringing out.
ICE officials told News4 that Perez-Teofani had a final order of removal and had entered the U.S. illegally three times. He had previously been arrested in Fairfax County in January 2024 on charges of aggravated sexual battery against a minor under 13 and felony indecent liberties, but those charges were dropped by prosecutors later that year. Despite the dropped charges, a Department of Homeland Security spokesperson said, "Glad he is off of Washington DC’s streets thanks to President Trump, Secretary Noem, and ICE." The arrest came days after D.C. Police Chief Pamela Smith issued an executive order allowing officers to notify ICE about immigrants without legal status during traffic stops—another sign of the Trump administration’s intensified crackdown on crime and illegal immigration in the capital. The deployment of National Guard troops to patrol Metro stations and bus stops, and their conspicuous presence during Perez-Teofani’s detention, underscored the administration’s new approach.
Meanwhile, in New York City, a different kind of immigration drama was unfolding. On a morning during the week of August 11, Martha, a mother from Ecuador, attended a mandatory ICE appointment in Lower Manhattan with her 6-year-old daughter and 19-year-old son. The family was separated almost immediately: the teenage son was driven to a detention center in New Jersey, while Martha and her young daughter were flown to the South Texas Family Residential Center in Dilley, Texas. By August 19, Martha and her daughter had been deported to Ecuador, leaving behind two other children in New York.
Their case, which drew a rare rebuke from New York Governor Kathy Hochul—who called the arrest "cruel and unjust"—illuminated a practice the Trump administration revived in March: the detention and deportation of families with children. According to federal data obtained by the Deportation Data Project at the University of California, Berkeley, ICE detained about 50 children under 18 in the New York City area from January through July 2025, most of them from Ecuador. At least 38 were deported. Mariposa Benitez, a volunteer with the grassroots group Mi Tlalli, said, "We offer our support every day, including Saturdays and Sundays, and it’s been more and more families being arrested with children enrolled in schools."
ICE has defended the family detention policy as a way to deter illegal migration and ensure that families appear for immigration court hearings. Spokeswoman Tricia McLaughlin said the detention center in Texas had been "retrofitted for families," offering "safety, security and medical needs." She noted that the agency was even offering parents living in the country illegally $1,000 and "a free flight to self-deport now." Yet, lawyers and advocates say conditions at the South Texas Family Residential Center are far from ideal, citing inadequate access to clean water and medical care, limited recreation for children, and difficulties accessing legal counsel. The Trump administration, recently armed with $45 billion from Congress to expand detention capacity, is also seeking to terminate legal agreements that set basic standards for children in custody, arguing that such rules limit their ability to expand detention efforts.
For families like Martha’s, the consequences are immediate and wrenching. Their asylum claims had been denied in 2024, and all had received final orders of removal. Martha’s daughter had been a student at the Jose Peralta School of Dreamers in Queens. The arrests of at least four other migrant students enrolled in New York City public schools this year have prompted desperate pleas from educators and reassurances from school leaders. “Our schools are safe, welcoming places,” said Chancellor Melissa Aviles-Ramos, though the reality for many families remains fraught with uncertainty.
Despite the Trump administration’s stated goal of keeping families together during deportation, immigration lawyers argue that the surge in courthouse arrests is leading to the breakup of families on a daily basis. "We’ve just continued to see family units get, essentially, torn apart," said Allison Cutler of the New York Legal Assistance Group. The stories of fathers saying hurried goodbyes to their children in courthouse hallways are becoming all too common.
As the summer of 2025 draws to a close, the nation’s approach to immigration enforcement remains as contentious and personal as ever. From Minneapolis to Washington, D.C., to New York City, the stories of those caught in the crosshairs of policy and enforcement illustrate the profound human impact—and the deep political divisions—of America’s ongoing immigration debate.
