When Ariel Jimenez’s father was detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents at a construction site last June, Ariel, who was 16, took charge.
He tracked his father’s cell phone location to determine he was being held at the Bishop Henry Whipple Federal Building at Fort Snelling. He called a Roseville school board member to help find a lawyer for his dad.
Ariel works for the same construction company as his dad. The day he was detained, he went to the construction site with his boss to pick up his father’s tools. As the summer progressed, he took over his father’s construction job, managing a team of workers and making sure they were paid. He also started a GoFundMe to help pay his family’s rent.
“I was stepping up doing all my dad’s work things, but then at the same time, I’m the one now taking care of my mom,” Ariel said.
Becoming the family breadwinner at 16 took a toll. And Ariel couldn’t get the memory of his dad crying on the phone out of his head. For the first two months, he soothed his anxiety with Costco rotisserie chicken every day. One day, he couldn’t eat at all. When he started school in the fall, his attendance suffered.
“It was very draining. I was constantly tired,” said the high school junior, who’s since turned 17. “My body didn’t know what to do.”
Since Donald Trump returned to office, thousands of kids across the country have had a parent detained by ICE. A ProPublica data analysis estimated that 11,000 U.S. citizen children had a parent detained by immigration authorities in the first seven months of Trump’s second term — double the rate of such detentions during Joe Biden’s administration.
That number represents an undercount due to data limitations. It also doesn’t include non-U.S. citizen children who saw a parent detained by ICE. And it doesn’t include the time period of Operation Metro Surge, when thousands of ICE and Border Patrol agents descended on Minnesota. During that time, ICE detained more than 5,000 Minnesotans, according to data reviewed by the New York Times. It’s not clear how many were parents.
The kids left behind after a parent’s detention often face increased adult responsibilities, as well as the trauma of separation from a parent, said Ana Mariella Rivera, a Minneapolis-based social worker and therapist who often works with Latino clients.
“Time and time again, you see this adultification happening in young teenagers and young adults, even children,” she said. “That robs kids of the childhood that they should have, and the innocence and the ability to deal with age-appropriate challenges.”
For teenagers suddenly thrust into adult responsibilities as a result of a parent’s detention, trauma may manifest as risky behavior, perfectionism or survivor’s guilt, Rivera said. Younger children, more emotionally dependent on their parents, may experience attachment trauma. That can lead to nightmares, startle responses, difficulties concentrating and fear of re-experiencing the traumatic event, she said. The trauma may lead to higher likelihoods of anxiety, depression and other psychological disorders, as well as adverse health outcomes later in life.
“A parent’s sudden disappearance is not just simply a family disruption, but it registers in that child’s body and mind as an imminent danger to their safety,” Rivera said. That can lead to a deep sense of abandonment and fear, she said. “It’s a loss of internal safety … which is so incredibly hurtful for a child.”
The collective trauma to Minnesota kids will require a long-term, culturally responsive mental health response, Rivera said. She noted that while many Minnesota children experienced the detainment of a parent during Operation Metro Surge, many more lived in sustained fear that a parent would be detained — itself a traumatic experience.
“Even if it doesn’t happen, it already impacts a young person’s brain, the ability to feel safe in their nervous system and their bodies, in their family system, and this causes tremendous chronic uncertainty and toxic stress,” she said.
A routine check-in leads to detention
When Jessy was detained at a routine immigration appointment on the morning of Feb. 5, she thought she was having a heart attack. Her heart hurt, she had trouble breathing, and she felt like she was drowning. She fell to her knees and begged the ICE agent to let her call her kids. But they didn’t allow her a phone call.
Jessy, whose family migrated from Ecuador to Minneapolis, has a 14-year-old son and a 7-year-old daughter. (Sahan Journal is referring to the family by their first names because of their immigration status.) They made the difficult journey after they faced extortion and racist bullying in Ecuador. She worried about what her detention would mean for her children.
“My son is big now, he understands differently,” she said. “But in the case of the little one, it’s different. She is a very, very attached girl.”
Her husband, Cristian, didn’t know what to do. The family had arrived from Ecuador in 2024, and they still didn’t know many people in Minneapolis.
Cristian called their older daughter, who is studying international relations in Russia, for help. She advised him to stay calm. He told 14-year-old Mickael, who cried at hearing the news. His son suggested calling their pastor; he’d seen her find legal support for another family in the same situation.
At first, Cristian didn’t want to tell 7-year-old Aythana what had happened to her mother. He thought the whole family would start crying even more. But by the afternoon, he felt like he couldn’t hide it from her anymore. She had started her daily routine of laying out her mother’s clothes for her night shift at work and wanted to know why her mother hadn’t returned from her appointment.
Mickael told his father they’d have to tell her — that it could be many more days before their mother returned.
“I couldn’t lie to her anymore,” Cristian said. They broke the news to Aythana.
She cried out: “My mommy, my mommy.”
“I started to cry,” Aythana told Sahan Journal later. “I was so sad.”
“My dad, well, all of us started to cry, because it was so sad,” Mickael recalled. “We had a terrible thought that they were going to deport her and that all of us would have to return to Ecuador.”
Separated from her family, Jessy was flown to Texas in shackles and arrived at Camp East Montana near El Paso. She recalls staying in a cold room for four days before being moved to a room full of bunk beds with 70 other women.
After Mickael suggested calling the pastor to find legal support, the family found a lawyer to file a habeas corpus petition on Jessy’s behalf the same day she was detained.
“There were some really, really hard moments, but we had to be strong because there was nothing we could do,” Mickael said. “The lawyers had to be in charge of that, and we just had to wait for a response from the lawyer or the judge.”
Aythana started to make cards for her mother, which she turned into a book made with notebook paper. Making the cards and drawings brought mixed emotions for the 7-year-old.
“I felt good, happy because it was for my mommy,” Aythana said. “And sad because my mommy wasn’t here.”
Every night, she wanted to pray for her mom. “She took our hands and started to pray,” Cristian recalled. “It was difficult, being with the two children more than anything. It was very hard for me to see how they were suffering.”
Cristian had his own immigration check-in the next week with the Intensive Supervision Appearance Program (ISAP), a third-party program ICE uses to monitor immigrants. It was at one of these appointments that Jessy was detained. He worried he would be detained, too, leaving the children on their own.
He asked the parents of a friend of Mickael’s to fill out a Delegation of Parental Authority form, so they could legally care for the children and return them to Ecuador if necessary. And he prepared Mickael with a list of people to call and instructions for what to do with the family’s belongings, if he didn’t return from his appointment.
Cristian’s appointment passed without incident. By then, the family knew Jessy would be released. On Feb. 10, a judge ordered her to be freed from detention. But they didn’t know when she would be released — or in what state. They hoped she would return to Minnesota, but knew it was possible she might stay in Texas.
On Feb. 12, Jessy boarded a flight, not knowing where it was going until the flight attendant announced the destination was Minneapolis. She decided to surprise her family. Volunteers outside the Whipple Building offered her coffee, tamales and money. She asked only for a ride home.
Aythana had prepared a sign to welcome her mother home, but she hadn’t known when to expect her.
“When she saw me arrive, she said ‘Mommy! Mommy!’” Jessy recalled. “It was as though for her it was a dream, like she was asleep.” She shouted and hugged her mother.
“I jumped up and cried right next to her,” Aythana said. “I was happy because Mommy was finally home.”
Two days later, Jessy celebrated her birthday. The family invited co-workers, friends, and neighbors — about 40 people, kids and adults.
“That’s the beautiful part, having people in your life who truly care about you,” Jessy said.
After a week in immigration detention, Jessy realized she hadn’t been spending as much quality time with her kids as she would have liked. She’d been working night shifts at a factory, sleeping during the day when her kids were home.
“You realize you’re wasting a lot of time and not enjoying it with your kids when you can,” she said. “We spend our time on silly things.”
As Operation Metro Surge receded, the kids returned to in-person classes, though it still makes Mickael nervous to see volunteers with whistles outside his high school. Jessy found a new job with daytime hours that allows her to spend more time with her family. And as the weather started to improve, the family started taking outings together again — going outside to play the first soccer of the season.
Aythana delivered her little book to her mother. Its title: “Estoy feliz que mi mamá está en la casa.” In English: I’m happy my mom is home.
But the future is still uncertain. Before Jessy was detained, none of the family had pending immigration court dates. Now, Jessy is expected in court in early 2027. The family may yet have to return to Ecuador.
Taking on adult roles
Thanh Nguyen was doing homework, two days into his final semester of college, when he heard his mother return home sobbing. He hadn’t heard her cry like that since his biological father left.
ICE had detained his stepfather, who was on his way to get a car fixed. The agents came prepared with a photo of him and a Vietnamese translator for Thanh’s mom.
“It was just very devastating. And she cried literally all day,” said Thanh, a 21-year-old sociology major at the University of Minnesota.
Thanh tried to comfort his mother without alarming her; he was worried his stepfather would be deported immediately. His mother’s partner (whom Thanh thinks of as his stepfather though he and Thanh’s mom aren’t married) had come into his life a few years earlier, and Thanh had never known his immigration status. From the time he moved in, he played a key role in the family: fixing up the basement, paying bills, filing taxes, and helping Thanh’s mother navigate English-speaking spaces. Those tasks had fallen to Thanh’s biological father before he left.
But after his parents divorced, Thanh and his twin brother, then sophomores in college, had to step up to perform the adult chores — while also taking challenging college classes and trying to navigate campus life as commuters. Around that time, Thanh’s mother was also diagnosed with breast cancer. Thanh accompanied her to many medical appointments, struggling to translate his mom’s concerns from Vietnamese, though he’s more comfortable in English.
When Thanh’s stepfather moved in, those responsibilities shifted off the shoulders of Thanh and his brother, which was “definitely a relief,” Thanh said. His stepfather worked as an Uber and Lyft driver, which helped supplement his mother’s income as a nail technician, making it easier to pay the bills. He purchased things the family needed they hadn’t had before, like home insurance.
“I remember one of the first things he did was buy us Burger King, which was really nice, because it’s nice to just not have to cook as a college student,” Thanh said.
His stepfather’s presence gave Thanh more space to be a college student and focus on his future. Thanh started working at an internship that helped him develop his career. He moved into his own bedroom in his family’s Brooklyn Park home, after sharing a room with his twin most of his life, and used his earnings from his job to purchase a television, which his stepdad promised to help install.
But his stepfather was detained hours before he could install the television. He was able to make a brief call from the Whipple Building, where he told the family he would be transferred to El Paso.
“I didn’t want to cry, so that my mom didn’t,” Thanh said. “But I kind of broke down a little after he told us that he was being moved.”
For two weeks after that, they did not know where he was. Thanh couldn’t find him on the ICE detainee locator system until he listed his stepfather’s combined first and middle name as his first name.
As Thanh tried to track down his stepfather and help find him a lawyer, he and his brother took on their stepfather’s responsibilities. A few days after his stepdad was detained, the family’s car broke down.
“That just put me into full panic mode,” Thanh said.
He and his brother pooled their savings to pay for the car repair, because they didn’t want their mom to have to deal with it. They also had to figure out how to cover bills without their stepdad’s income — which included figuring out how to log into the accounts. Thanh squeezed in time to address the bills late at night, when he was done with work and school for the day.
Then the heat went out in the house. Thanh’s stepfather tried to help out via videocall from the detention center, trying to demonstrate how to flick a flame onto a copper wire. But between spotty internet in the detention facility, language barriers with his stepfather who is more comfortable in Vietnamese, and limited videocall availability from the facility, they couldn’t figure it out.
The house was cold for days before they found a reasonably priced repairperson.
After two months in detention, Thanh’s stepfather remains in the El Paso Processing Center. Thanh’s mom has told him that she’d like to split her time between Vietnam and the United States if her partner is deported. Thanh isn’t sure how the family would afford it.
Thanh, who describes himself as a workaholic, has poured himself into his internship, which has served as a distraction. He’d hoped to take some time off after graduating. But now, that doesn’t seem like an option. He’s taken more hours at his job to help pay the family bills.
“I sometimes even feel guilty that I’m not thinking about him,” Thanh said. “The guilt about the guilt. Like, I’m trying to make sure everything is normal, when it’s not.”
He’s heard concerning reports from the El Paso Processing Center about injuries, a disease outbreak, and his stepfather sleeping on the floor in a room with 70 other people.
“Every morning or every night, I’m just hoping that nothing else is happening to him,” Thanh said.
Juggling high school and a second job
Ariel’s father returned home in mid-December. A judge ordered his release after a monthslong series of court dates, orders, appeals and a false alarm about a promised release. Ariel collected money for bond, but the online system wouldn’t accept his payment because he was a minor, so he had to ask an adult to do it. Finally, his dad was released on his mom’s birthday.
Ariel drove more than nine hours to western Nebraska to pick him up. His teachers at Roseville Area High School sent him off with an envelope of donations they pooled for the trip.
By that point, Operation Metro Surge was in full swing. Ariel organized a walkout at his high school in January, but his dad was nervous about his son attending larger protests in Minneapolis. His parents stayed hunkered down at home while Ariel continued supporting the family. His father, used to working with his hands, took to baking and tinkering with his cars. Meanwhile, Ariel took on a second job as a cook, while still finding time for school and volunteering at church.
As the surge of immigration authorities receded, Ariel’s father started to become more comfortable leaving the house. And in mid-March, nine months after being detained, he returned to work. Ariel’s still managing many family responsibilities, but his load is starting to lighten. He’s trying to recover from the year, taking naps and spending more time with friends.
“I’m feeling still kind of drained,” he said.
Court records show that an immigration judge ruled Ariel’s dad “inadmissible” in October and ordered him to leave the country by late December. Ariel’s dad appealed, a process that could take years. Ariel hopes that going forward, he can help his dad obtain U.S. citizenship. And he’s looking forward to summer as a chance to recover.
With his dad back, and Operation Metro Surge passed, will Ariel be able to return to just being a teenager?
“Oh no, definitely not,” Ariel said. “I’m like an adult at this point.”
