On October 19, 2025, families in Wilder, Idaho gathered for horse races and food when helicopters and armored trucks suddenly descended. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents — armed with guns, flashbang grenades, and rubber bullets — stormed the event, terrifying children and parents alike.

Juana Rodriguez, a U.S. citizen, was among those detained. Her hands were zip-tied, and she was prevented from feeding her three‑year‑old. “What happened turned our outing into a nightmare. My toddler was forced to witness an incredible amount of violence against people he loves and hear racial slurs about Latinos, experiences that no child should ever be exposed to,” she said.

The government claimed it was targeting five people for illegal gambling. Instead, 105 people were arrested — all on civil immigration charges. Did anyone consider the children’s trauma before approving the raid? If they had, it would never have happened.

For immigrant families, fear and uncertainty now shape daily life and mental health.

A Growing Mental Health Emergency

We’re just wrapping up Mental Health Awareness Month in May, but we think it should be called Mental Health ACTION Month. Across the nation, children’s mental health is deteriorating. Economic instability, bullying, and hateful rhetoric from political leaders worsen the stress. When leaders demean people based on ethnicity, religion, gender or gender identity, or immigration status, it fuels hostility in everyday life.

The results are devastating: between 2016 and 2021, youth emergency room visits for self‑inflicted injuries rose 169%. One in five child deaths results from suicide. In 2021, pediatric and psychiatric associations declared a national emergency in children’s mental health, and immigration‑related fear has only intensified the crisis.

Tragic cases like the suicides of 11‑year‑old Jocelynn Rojo Carranza and 13‑year‑old Gabriela Aparicio Ortega — both bullied about their parents’ perceived immigration status — show the human cost. Latina adolescents now report some of the nation’s highest suicide attempt rates, according to the CDC.

Children Carry the Weight

Dreamers — people born abroad but raised in this country — continue to live with instability as DACA’s future remains uncertain. Living life in four‑year increments, tied to a government application’s approval, is its own source of chronic stress.

Meanwhile, family separations persist. Maryland mother Arlit Maria Martinez was detained by ICE on her way to work. Two days later, her 15‑year‑old son died of cancer. She never got to say goodbye. Her three surviving children are living a nightmare.

According to government data, ICE has detained more than 6,200 children nationwide, some as young as two years old. Each raid and detention inflicts lasting psychological harm. Even children who simply witness such actions internalize the idea that safety is conditional.

Parents, too, carry trauma and guilt. Immigration enforcement functions as a community‑wide stressor, disrupting social networks, economic stability, and any sense of safety. Fear seeps into everyday life — determining where families go, what they say, and whether they seek help.

When people are afraid to approach mental health professionals, distress becomes structural, not just emotional. Our collective nervous system is under strain.

What Governments Can Do

Latino communities have always drawn strength from family, faith, and collective care. But resilience should not replace investment in mental health infrastructure. We must go beyond telling people to “seek help” and create systems that make help accessible, affordable, and culturally responsive.

Local governments can invest in trusted community partnerships. Prince George’s County, Maryland, offers a model through The Hope Center for Wellness and the City of Hyattsville — a collaboration that funds local providers, simplifies referrals, and ensures residents don’t face endless waitlists.

State governments must strengthen and expand the bilingual, culturally competent workforce by improving reimbursement rates, supporting training pipelines, and streamlining licensing so providers can serve across communities.

At the federal level, the government must protect loan forgiveness programs that keep social workers and therapists in community‑based roles. Weakening these programs shrinks the very workforce needed to meet the crisis. Federal policy must instead invest in workforce development, community‑based care, language access, and equity enforcement.

And we must be clear: immigration policy is mental health policy. Reducing detention and prioritizing family unity are not just moral or political acts; they are public health interventions.

If we continue to tell people to “seek help” while maintaining systems that harm them, we aren’t closing the gap — we’re widening it.

If you or someone you love is struggling, support is available.

(*) Sindy Benavides is the Founding Executive Director of Aquí: The Accountability Movement. Dr. Cheryl Aguilar PhD, LICSW, is a nationally recognized mental health clinician, researcher, and advocate focused on the intersection of mental health, immigration, and culturally responsive care.

The texts published in this section are the authors’ sole responsibility, and La Opinión assumes no responsibility for them.