Are We Safe Yet? 

Diya Ravi

January 30, 2026

The central promise of modern immigration enforcement has been posed around “safety”. Deporations, raids, and expanded federal police powers are often justified as “necessary to protect Americans”. However, looking closely at recent events, like a child’s death in Texas to a fatal federal shooting in Minnesota, the unavoidable question comes up: who is actually being kept safe, and at what cost? 

In Texas, an 11-year-old child, Jocelynn Rojo Carranze, committed suicide after enduring persistent bullying at her school tied to her family’s immigration status. It is reported that classmates told her that ICE would deport her parents, that she would be left all alone, and that her family might disappear at any moment. For a CHILD, these are existential threats. This poor kid lived in constant fear that her family would be torn apart, that no one could protect her. It is an indicator of how normalized immigration fear has become, unfortunately, even among children. 

Jocelynn’s story exposes how political rhetoric doesn’t just stay on the news or campaign stages. It slides into classrooms, playgrounds, and group chats. When deportation is framed as a tool for “safety,” children absorb the message that people like their parents, and by extension, people like them, are dangerous, disposable, and unwanted. Unfortunately, schools are often unprepared to deal with this kind of bullying and fail to intervene effectively. The result is a mental health crisis where children feel unsafe at home and school. Similar to what is happening in Minnesota, where children are now afraid to go to school, terrified that a word or uniform could destroy their families. 

That same culture of fear surfaced violently in Minneapolis in January 2026, when ICE agents fatally shot Alex Pretti, a 37-year-old U.S. citizen and ICU nurse. Initial government statements claimed Pretti approached agents with a gun in an attempt to harm them. But a preliminary report sent to Congress paints a different picture: agents initiated physical force during a chaotic street encounter, used pepper spray, and shot Pretti after an officer shouted that he had a gun. The report does not state that Pretti reached for his firearm, and local officials confirmed he was a lawful gun owner with a permit to carry.

These two stories are not isolated. They are connected by a system that equates enforcement with safety while ignoring the human fallout. When armed federal officers spill into city streets, and immigration threats become schoolyard weapons, fear replaces trust. Communities don’t feel safer; they feel watched, targeted, and traumatized.

So when leaders promise that aggressive deportation policies will “keep America safe,” we have to ask: safe for whom? Because Jocelynn Rojo Carranza was not safe. Alex Pretti was not safe. If safety is the goal, it cannot be built on fear, silence, and unchecked force. Until that changes, the question remains unanswered: are we safe yet?