Despite widespread skepticism that the extensive deportations advocated by Trump during his presidential campaign would actually occur, the administration has evidently committed to its promises, employing all available methods to swiftly remove undocumented immigrants. Some of these deportation actions have been deliberately , such as the establishment of Alligator Alcatraz. Others have been , like the transfer of Kilmar Abrego Garcia to El Salvador. And all have led to , financial, and societal impacts that are expected to persist for many years.
Nevertheless, communities have not remained passive. From major urban centers such as Los Angeles to modest, rural localities like O’Neill, Neb., diverse groups have united, transcending racial, socioeconomic, immigration, and political divides, to oppose the harshness and disorder caused by large-scale deportations.
During the initial Trump presidency, I traveled to various towns across the nation that experienced extensive worksite raids—similar to the one that took place in ., where 475 employees were apprehended from a Hyundai facility on September 4, 2025. Alongside a small group of public health students, a colleague and I interviewed residents in these compact, predominantly white, rural communities.
Immigration raids, much like all methods of deportation, are . However, I encountered more than just narratives of disaster and downfall. I also heard tales of , self-sacrifice, and bravery—accounts that, despite overt efforts to characterize Latino immigrants as aggressive job thieves, underscored for me the resolve, ingenuity, and ambition inherent in immigrant households.
Our initial destination was Morristown, Tenn., a modest county with approximately 32,000 residents, situated close to where in April 2018. My experience there highlighted several core realities about deportation that, though retrospectively apparent, are often overlooked in the general discourse surrounding it.
Firstly, the implementation of immigration laws often leads to significant food insecurity. This can happen because a family’s main financial provider is deported, leaving the family unable to afford groceries; a surviving parent fears leaving their residence; or, as observed in Tennessee, children cease attending school and thus miss out on cafeteria meals.
Secondly, with rare exceptions, immigration raids on workplaces are conducted during daytime hours, when children and teenagers are attending school. Consequently, educators must inform their students that the parent who dropped them off might not be the one to retrieve them, a scenario we are of in 2025.
In Morristown, the extensive number of absences, by New Yorker journalist Jonathan Blitzer, provoked such strong indignation among teachers that they created their own food delivery service, bringing packed lunches straight to the residences of students who were not in attendance.
A paradox of immigration enforcement is that often, following detention, immigrants are released pending their deportation proceedings. This creates a dilemma: despite being legally prohibited from driving, the federal authorities require them to appear at various sites for tasks such as reporting to ICE, finishing documents, giving signatures and fingerprints, or submitting final medical approval forms. In less populated states, these required destinations can be more than an hour away, spanning county or even state borders.
In June 2018, ICE conducted raids at a plant nursery and a meat processing facility in two Ohio municipalities: and . Two hundred and sixty workers were apprehended. Almost instantly, activists established a rideshare network, primarily operated by retirees possessing the exact qualities required at that time: flexible schedules for long drives, a valid driver’s license, and the Caucasian appearance that would avert .
Gradually, white residents in rural areas collaborated with their Latino immigrant counterparts. For instance, mere hours after a raid, churches would welcome people, allowing congregants too frightened to return home to sleep on the pews. At one church I observed in Mount Pleasant, Iowa, an additional space transformed from a food pantry into a language laboratory, enabling those who sought refuge at the church to utilize computers for English language acquisition.
Many of these religious institutions evolved into vital gathering points that attracted numerous volunteers, and soon attorneys departed their urban centers, driving for hours to these churches, where they would spend weekends camping and working through the night to ensure all individuals knew the whereabouts of their detained family members and had legal counsel. When community members presented unrelated immigration concerns, the lawyers also provided assistance. These resistance approaches initially emerged out of necessity for survival, but the structures expanded, developed, and eventually cultivated positive relationships across racial, socioeconomic, and, in numerous instances, political divides.
The , possessing a population of roughly 3,500, with merely 500 being Latino, mirror countless other small localities scattered across the U.S. interior that also face concentrated deportation activities. These more modest communities, having fewer immigrants and fewer individuals acquainted with immigrants, frequently lack the sufficient human resources to organize the extensive demonstrations observed in .
Furthermore, while progressive cities such as New York feature elected representatives if they are denied access to examine ICE detention facilities, rural towns within conservative districts are more prone to having sheriffs who readily collaborate with ICE. Predominantly white towns also commonly lack the diverse cultural groups found in major cities, such as mariachi bands, who have ingeniously of ICE officers intending to apprehend their families the following morning.
Extensive deportation initiatives are escalating. However, resistance efforts are also increasing, aimed at maintaining the well-being, contentment, and integrity of families and communities.
