On Feb. 18, two weeks after having her son via C-section, Monique Rodriguez was battling postpartum depression. The Black mother of two, who was born and raised in St. Catherine Parish in Jamaica, had come to the U.S. in 2022 on a six-month visa and settled in Florida with her husband. But after finding herself alone and overwhelmed from the lack of support, she spiraled. “My husband is American and a first-time dad and was scared of hurting the baby. He kept pushing the baby off on me, which I didn’t like. I was in pain and I was tired and overwhelmed. I got frustrated and I hit my husband,” she says. A family member called the police, resulting in Rodriguez’s arrest. Suddenly, a private domestic dispute led to more serious consequences: When Rodriguez’s husband arrived to bail her out the following day, Immigration and Customs Enforcement was waiting to detain her. Despite being married and having a pending Green Card application, she became one of thousands of immigrants deported this year because of contact with police.
Since Donald Trump took office for the second time, ICE has been raiding immigrant communities across the nation. Prior to the raids, Black immigrants, like Rodriguez, have historically been targeted at higher rates due to systemic racism. With a host of complications, including anti-blackness and colorism in the Latino community — which often leaves Black immigrants out of conversations around protests and solidarity — the future is bleak. And Black immigrants and immigration attorneys are predicting a trickle-down effect to Black communities in America, making them vulnerable even more.
On June 6, protests broke out in Los Angeles — whose population is roughly half Hispanic, and one in five residents live with an undocumented person. On TikTok, Latino creators and activists called on Black creators and community members to protest and stand in solidarity. But to their disappointment, many Black Americans remained silent, some even voicing that the current deportations were not their fight. “Latinos have been completely silent when Black people are getting deported by ICE,” says Alexander Duncan, a Los Angeles resident who made a viral TikTok on the subject. “All of a sudden it impacts them and they want Black people to the front lines.” Prejudice has long disconnected Black and Latino communities — but the blatant dismissal of ICE raids as a Latino issue is off base.
For some Black Americans, the reluctancy to put their bodies on the line isn’t out of apathy but self-preservation. Duncan, who moved from New York City to a predominantly Mexican neighborhood in L.A., was surprised to find the City of Angels segregated. “One of my neighbors, who has done microaggressions, was like ‘I haven’t seen you go to the protests,” he tells Rolling Stone. “I said, ‘Bro, you haven’t spoken to me in six months. Why would you think I’m going to the front lines for you and you’re not even a good neighbor?’”
Following the 2024 elections, many Black Democratic voters disengaged. Nationally, the Latino community’s support for Trump doubled from 2016, when he first won the presidency. Despite notable increases of support for Trump across all marginalized demographics, Latino’s Republican votes set a new record. “Anti-Blackness is a huge sentiment in the Latino community,” says Cesar Flores, an activist and law student in Miami, who also spoke on the matter via TikTok. “I’ve seen a lot of Latinos complain that they aren’t receiving support from the Black community but 70 percent of people in Miami are Latino or foreign born, and 55 percent voted for Trump.” Although 51 percent of the Latino community voted for Kamala Harris overall, Black folks had the highest voting percentage for the Democratic ballot, at 83 percent. For people like Duncan, the 48 percent of Latinos who voted for Trump did so against both the Latino and Black community’s interest. “The Black community feels betrayed,” says Flores. “It’s a common misconception that deportations and raids only affect Latinos, but Black folks are impacted even more negatively by the immigration system.”
The devastation that deportation causes cannot be overstated. When ICE detained Rodriguez in February, weeks after filing her green card application, there was no consideration that she’d just given birth two weeks prior. “I was just taken away from the child. I was leaking breast milk all over. I was still bleeding because I just had a baby and was on medication but I didn’t get those back.” Rodriguez thought her situation was unique until she was transported to a Louisiana detention center and met other detained mothers. “I was probably the only one that had a newborn, but there were women there that were ripped away from babies three months [to] 14 years old,” says Rodriguez.
On May 29, her 30th birthday, Rodriguez was one of 107 people sent to Jamaica. Around the same time, Jermaine Thomas, born on an U.S. Army base in Germany, where his father served for two years, was also flown there. Though his father was born in Jamaica, Thomas has never been there, and, with the exception of his birth, has lived within the U.S. all of his life. “I’m one of the lucky ones,” says Rodriguez, who is now back in Jamaica with her baby and husband, who maintain their American citizenships. “My husband and his mom took care of the baby when I was away. But there’s no process. They’re just taking you away from your kids and some of the kids end up in foster care or are missing.”
In January, Joe Biden posthumously pardoned Marcus Garvey, America’s first notable deportation of a Jamaican migrant in 1927. His faulty conviction of mail fraud set a precedent for convicted Black and brown migrants within the U.S.
“Seventy-six percent of Black migrants are deported because of contact with police and have been in this country for a long time,” says Nana Gyamfi, an immigration attorney and the executive director of the Black Alliance For Just Immigration. A 2021 report from the U.S. Committee for Refugees and Immigrants found that while only seven percent of the immigrant population is Black, Black immigrants make up 20 percent of those facing deportation for criminal convictions, including low-level, nonviolent offences. “If you’re from the Caribbean it’s even higher,” says Gyamfi. “For Jamaicans, it’s 98 percent higher. People talk about the Chinese Exclusion Act, but I’ve recently learned that the first people excluded from this country were Haitians.”
On June 27, the Trump administration announced the removal of Temporary Protective Status (TPS) for Haitians starting in September, putting thousands of migrants in jeopardy given Haiti’s political climate. Though a judge ruled it unconstitutional, the threat to Black migrants remains. “You have Black U.S. citizens being grabbed [by ICE] and held for days because they are racially profiling,” says Gyamfi, referring to folks like Thomas and Peter Sean Brown, who was wrongfully detained in Florida and almost deported to Jamaica, despite having proof of citizenship. “Black people are being told their real IDs are not real.” With much of the coverage concerning the ICE raids being based around Latino immigrants, some feel disconnected from the issue, often forgetting that 12 percent of Latinos are Black in the United States. “A lot of the conversation is, ‘ICE isn’t looking for Black people, they’re looking for Hispanics,’” Anayka She, a Black Panamanian TikTok creator, said to her 1.7 million followers. “[But] It’s not just Mexican people they are looking for, it’s all immigrants that are obviously not white.”
“A lot of times, as Black Americans, we don’t realize that people may be Caribbean or West African,” she tells Rolling Stone. Her family moved to the U.S. in the 1980s, after her grandfather worked in the American zone of the Panama Canal and was awarded visas for him and his family. “If I didn’t tell you I was Panamanian, you could assume I was any other ethnicity. [In the media], they depict immigration one way but I wanted to give a different perspective as somebody who is visibly Black.” America’s racism is partly to blame. “Los Angeles has the largest number of Belizeans in the United States but people don’t know because they get mixed in with African Americans,” says Gyamfi. “Black Immigrants are in an invisibilized world because in people’s brains, immigrants are non Black Latinos.”
The path forward is complex. Rodriguez and Sainviluste, whose children are U.S. citizens, hope to come back to America to witness milestones like graduation or marriage. “I want to be able to go and be emotional support,” says Rodriguez.
Yet she feels conflicted. “I came to America battered and bruised, for a new opportunity. I understand there are laws but those laws also stated that if you overstayed, there are ways to situate yourself. But they forced me out.”
Activists like Gyamfi want all Americans, especially those marginalized, to pay attention. “Black folks have been feeling the brunt of the police-to-deportation pipeline and Black people right now are being arrested in immigration court.” In a country where mass incarceration overwhelmingly impacts Black people, Gyamfi sees these deportations as a warning sign. “Trump just recently brought up sending U.S. citizens convicted of crimes to prison colonies all over the world. In this climate, anyone can get it.”
