Anyone who happens to cross our path right now is fair game
Across the Latino neighborhoods of New York and New Jersey, a pattern has emerged that raises ancient questions about who is seen as belonging and who is treated as suspect: federal immigration agents have arrested people off ordinary streets at a rate that far outpaces the demographic reality of undocumented life in the region. An investigation spanning more than 1,200 court filings reveals that 93 percent of those seized were Latin American, though Latinos represent only 66 percent of the undocumented population — a disparity that federal judges have begun calling unconstitutional. What is unfolding is not merely an enforcement story but a reckoning with how power moves through communities, and what it costs a society when the ordinary moments of daily life become sites of fear.
- ICE agents conducted 430 street arrests over five months, concentrating their operations in Latino neighborhoods and stopping people based on appearance alone — sometimes seizing the wrong person entirely and detaining them anyway.
- The arrests have turned violent in at least 29 documented cases, with agents accused of using tasers, smashing car windows, fracturing ribs, and shouting racial slurs — all incidents involving Latino individuals.
- Families have been shattered across state lines: one man was transferred through four states over four months while his children called on Christmas, and his wife lost thirteen thousand dollars to a legal scam before finding real help.
- Federal judges, including one appointed by the current administration, have condemned these tactics as a gross abuse of authority inflicted on a widespread basis — yet outcomes remain a lottery of jurisdiction, with Texas courts far less likely to order release than those in New York.
- Entire communities have reorganized daily life around the threat: residents write phone numbers on their arms, churches empty, day laborers stay home, and activists now race to surround ICE vehicles the moment agents are spotted.
On a November evening in Corona, Queens, Florencio was watching dominoes on the street when masked agents emerged from unmarked cars. His thirteen-year-old son recognized them first. Within moments, Florencio was on the ground — ankle twisted, forehead bleeding — then gone, shoved into a vehicle and transferred across four states over the next four months.
An investigation drawing on more than 1,200 lawsuits reveals that 93 percent of ICE street arrests in the New York and New Jersey region targeted Latin Americans, even though Latinos make up only 66 percent of the undocumented population there. The 430 arrests identified by researchers clustered in neighborhoods like Corona, Passaic, Plainfield, and Hempstead — places where people were seized while buying groceries, walking dogs, or loading laundry. Court records show agents frequently stopped individuals based on appearance alone, sometimes acknowledging in their own reports that they had the wrong person but arresting them regardless. In one sequence of arrests, three men from Guatemala and Mexico were each described as "a male who was believed to be the intended target." The actual target was never found.
The encounters have frequently turned violent. In 29 documented incidents, agents are accused of using tasers, firearms, smashed windows, and physical force — all involving Latino individuals. A woman from El Salvador suffered fractured ribs. A man from Guatemala was punched and tased repeatedly. A 21-year-old in the Bronx, after being tripped and tased six times while on the ground, says the supervising agent called him a "maldito Mexicano." Medical records confirmed the taser's use. The Department of Homeland Security has denied all allegations of racial profiling, insisting that unlawful status — not ethnicity — determines who is targeted. But federal judges have grown increasingly skeptical, with one Trump-appointed jurist writing that ICE had "grossly abused" its authority and that such practices were "seemingly being inflicted on a widespread basis."
For Florencio's wife Fidelina, the aftermath was its own ordeal. She searched desperately for legal help, eventually paying thirteen thousand dollars through Zelle to what she believed was a nonprofit — only to discover it was a scam. By the time she found a legitimate attorney and filed a habeas petition, her husband had already been moved across state lines. His release ultimately came down to geography: a judge in New Mexico ordered him freed. He was dropped at an airport near the detention center and left to find his own way home.
The fear has remade daily life across the region. In Sunset Park, residents began writing emergency phone numbers on their arms. A church saw Sunday attendance fall. Day laborers stopped going to work. In Bushwick, community volunteers surrounded an ICE vehicle and blew whistles until a detained man's lawyers secured his release within a week — but most street arrests happen too fast for anyone to intervene. Even those freed through habeas petitions remain in deportation proceedings, their futures contingent on which judge, which state, which moment. In neighborhoods where ICE returns again and again, people have learned that any ordinary instant — a game of dominoes, a trip to the pharmacy — could be the one that changes everything.
On an ordinary November evening in Corona, Queens, Florencio was watching a game of dominoes on the street when masked figures emerged from unmarked cars. His wife, Fidelina, was just corralling their three children toward the door for a grocery run when their thirteen-year-old son recognized what was happening. "Mama, it's ICE," he said. Within moments, Florencio was on the ground, his ankle twisted, his forehead bleeding across the asphalt. He was shoved into a vehicle and disappeared.
This scene, repeated hundreds of times across New York and New Jersey over the past five months, forms the backbone of an investigation that reveals a starkly disproportionate pattern in how federal immigration agents conduct street arrests. A review of more than 1,200 lawsuits filed by detained immigrants shows that 93 percent of people grabbed off area streets were from Latin American countries—despite Latinos comprising only 66 percent of the undocumented population in the region. The 430 street arrests identified by researchers were concentrated in predominantly Latino neighborhoods: Passaic and Plainfield in New Jersey, Brentwood and Hempstead on Long Island, and Corona in Queens, which had the highest number of any New York City neighborhood.
What distinguishes these street arrests from other immigration enforcement is their speed and opacity. They unfold in minutes, often on quiet residential blocks, out of public view. Many immigrants had no expectation of being detained. They were buying milk, walking their dog, taking out trash, picking up children from soccer practice. According to court records and interviews, ICE agents frequently stopped people based solely on appearance, sometimes admitting in their own reports that they had grabbed the wrong person but arrested them anyway because they lacked legal status. In one case, agents surrounded a 36-year-old from Guatemala named Isaias, then a 21-year-old named Juan, also from Guatemala, then a 47-year-old from Mexico named Alejandro—all described in separate arrest reports as "a male who was believed to be the intended target." The actual target, a 25-year-old named Julio, was never found. Isaias and Juan both decided to leave the country after their experience. Alejandro was released after a judge reviewed his habeas petition.
The encounters have often turned violent. In 29 incidents identified across the region, federal agents are accused in court records of using force—tasers, firearms, smashed car windows, forcible dragging from vehicles. All of the documented claims of violence involved Latino individuals. In Plainfield, New Jersey, a woman from El Salvador was loading laundry into her car when agents allegedly pulled her to the ground so roughly that she suffered fractured ribs. A man from Guatemala accused ICE officers of punching him repeatedly and shooting him with a stun gun multiple times during his arrest in Corona. In one case, a 21-year-old in the Bronx alleged that after providing identification, an agent tripped him and he fell face-first to the pavement, breaking a tooth. As he lay on the ground, ICE supervisor Brenden Cuni allegedly discharged a Taser on his legs six times. The man begged the agents to stop. According to his account, Cuni told him to shut up, then later allegedly called him a "maldito Mexicano"—a fucking Mexican. Medical records confirmed the use of a Taser. "This is when I realized that the man had arrested me just for being Hispanic," the man said in his court filing.
The Department of Homeland Security has denied allegations of racial profiling, calling them "disgusting, reckless and categorically FALSE." The agency maintains that its agents are properly trained and that what makes someone a target is being in the country illegally, not skin color. Yet federal judges in New York have increasingly condemned these tactics as unconstitutional. In one case, a Trump-appointed federal judge wrote that ICE agents "grossly abused their authority" when they arrested a 24-year-old from Honduras without asking questions, later admitting they had arrested the wrong person. The judge added: "The abhorrent and illegal practices identified in this opinion are not limited to this case but are seemingly being inflicted on a widespread basis. This isn't how things are supposed to work in America."
For those arrested, the aftermath extends far beyond the initial detention. Florencio was transferred from New York to New Jersey to Texas to New Mexico over the course of four months. His children called on Christmas asking if he was coming home. He had to take a deep breath to stop himself from crying. His wife, Fidelina, frantically searched for lawyers after his arrest. Most said they couldn't help. She found what she believed was a nonprofit legal service through Catholic Charities and began paying what she thought were administrative fees through Zelle. Two weeks and thirteen thousand dollars later, she realized it was a scam. By the time she connected with a legitimate attorney and filed a habeas petition, Florencio had already been moved across state lines. The outcome of his case depended entirely on jurisdiction: had he been held in Texas, where some federal judges uphold the administration's policy of mandatory detention without bond, he might still be locked up. A judge in New Mexico eventually ordered his release. Four months after he was taken, he was dropped off at an airport near the detention center, left to find his own way home.
The fear has reshaped daily life in Latino neighborhoods across the region. In Sunset Park, Brooklyn, some residents started writing family phone numbers on their arms in Sharpie marker in case they were stopped. A school offered escorts for parents and students walking home. A church saw attendance at Sunday mass drop. Day laborers avoid work. Sisters plead with brothers to share their locations. One woman, Julia, was driving to a pharmacy to pick up medication in New Jersey when she noticed immigration officers following them. After they pulled into their driveway and agents ordered them out of the car, one officer smashed a window. Julia was so frightened she had trouble breathing. Her husband was deported. The sound of sirens still makes her skin prickle with fear. "It's an act of abuse," she said. "They treat you like animals."
Activists have begun organizing in response. In Bushwick, Brooklyn, when agents were spotted outside an apartment building in February, volunteers arrived within minutes and surrounded the ICE vehicle, blowing whistles and pounding windows. The detained man's family was connected to lawyers who rapidly filed a habeas petition, and a judge ordered his release in just over a week. But on many occasions, street arrests have eluded activists entirely. The uptick has put Latino neighborhoods across the city on edge, with local officials reporting multiple calls a day about arrests in their areas. Even for those released through habeas petitions, it is only a temporary reprieve. They remain in deportation proceedings, navigating a byzantine immigration court system that is being reshaped at breakneck speed. The outcomes vary dramatically by jurisdiction and judge. For now, in neighborhoods where ICE has been observed showing up again and again, people prepare for the worst, knowing that the next ordinary moment—heading to the store, watching dominoes, loading laundry—could be the one that changes everything.
Citações Notáveis
The abhorrent and illegal practices identified in this opinion are not limited to this case but are seemingly being inflicted on a widespread basis. This isn't how things are supposed to work in America.— Federal Judge Gary Brown, in ruling on ICE street arrest case
They have all the power. They have all the authority. It doesn't matter to them how many families they destroy.— Fidelina, wife of detained immigrant Florencio
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does the racial disparity matter so much if ICE is just enforcing immigration law?
Because the law is supposed to apply equally. If 93 percent of street arrests target one group that makes up only 66 percent of the undocumented population, that's not equal enforcement—that's targeting. And the agents themselves admit it sometimes. They stop someone, realize it's the wrong person, then arrest them anyway because of their immigration status. That's not law enforcement; that's opportunity.
But couldn't agents genuinely mistake people for each other?
Maybe once. But when it happens repeatedly in the same neighborhoods, when agents are circling blocks looking for one person and grabbing three others instead, when they're stopping people and saying "you look like one of them, do you know these guys?"—that's not mistaken identity. That's using appearance as the entire basis for detention. One agent allegedly told someone, "Anyone who happens to cross our path right now is fair game."
What about the violence? Is that part of the pattern or separate?
It's part of the same pattern. All 29 documented cases of alleged force involved Latino individuals. Tasers, smashed windows, people allegedly beaten. And it happens fast, in unmarked cars, on quiet streets. People don't know if they're being arrested or kidnapped. One man said he was so terrified he ran from the masked agents. Another woman couldn't breathe from fear. The violence isn't accidental—it's how the system operates when there's no accountability.
What happens to someone after they're arrested?
They get moved. Florencio went from New York to New Jersey to Texas to New Mexico in four months. His family has to file a habeas petition immediately, while he's still in the state, or they lose jurisdiction. But most families don't know this. They're panicked, searching for lawyers. Some get scammed out of thousands of dollars. And even if they win the habeas petition and get released, they're still in deportation proceedings. The fear doesn't end.
Is there any accountability for the agents?
Almost none. One supervisor, Brenden Cuni, was named in multiple lawsuits for allegedly beating people and using tasers repeatedly. When asked for comment, he declined. The DHS says its officers are trained in use of force. But there's been little oversight nationally. A couple of states have passed laws allowing people to sue for damages. New York just added one. But most of what's happening is still legal, according to the administration. The courts are starting to push back, but it depends on which judge you get.