In March, while boarding a flight in Denver for a work trip to Mexico City, I was detained by an ICE agent. I wasn’t arriving from abroad. I wasn’t at a border crossing. I was simply walking up the jetway to board when the agent stopped me and demanded to know where I was going and the nature of my work.
When I said I worked in philanthropy, he appeared to grow tense, asked for my passport, and photographed it with his cellphone. Soon, a colleague from Hispanics in Philanthropy entered the jetway and got the same treatment. Then, the agent asked us where we worked.
“Are we required to answer that?” I asked. “No,” he said. “But we can search you.”
And they did. Two more ICE agents led us to a side hallway and went through our bags, flipped through our journals, and took photos of our notes. I knew it was illegal, but if we resisted, we’d miss our flight. So we stayed quiet.
I’m an immigration attorney, a vice president at Hispanics in Philanthropy, and a naturalized U.S. citizen who has lived in this country for more than 40 years. My colleague became a naturalized citizen over 35 years ago. Yet, we were both detained by ICE.
After 20 minutes, we were finally allowed to board, but my throat was tight. I felt tears welling. The agents had an unspoken but clear message: Don’t come back.
Since then, I’ve struggled to sleep. I hesitate when I leave the house with my kids. I brace myself for another officer stopping me again. I can’t shake certain questions: Who will they target next? Naturalized citizens? Nonprofits advocating for immigrants? Our children?
Like so many others, my colleague and I are now under threat from Trump administration policies. And while my detention was traumatic, it pales in comparison to the daily realities that many immigrants face, often with fewer resources and less visibility: Students taken from college campuses. Parents pulled violently out of cars. A mother and her three children detained without court proceedings. Videos and social media posts show that phone searches at borders and airports have become routine.
Social-justice activists are now treated — and monitored — like political dissidents. Meanwhile, the Trump administration’s use of the Alien Enemies Act to justify deportations only exacerbates the threat, targeting not just immigrants, but also anyone deemed to be from an “invading nation,” which could include immigrant-rights and pro-Palestinian leaders.
When I posted about my ICE detainment on LinkedIn, several colleagues, friends, and relatives expressed horror at what we’d endured. Many asked how to help, so I pointed them to local immigrant-rights and social-justice organizations.
But for those in philanthropy who responded with alarm, my message was different. I challenged funders to reassess their giving strategies to ensure they’re still funding immigrant-rights and movement leaders, as well as Latine-led and serving organizations. I implored them to push back against the fear, retaliation, and harassment immigrants endure, and to support nonprofit and philanthropic staff who may be harmed because of their immigration status or work.
All of this is critical because program officers from both big funders and smaller community foundations have told me that grant makers who once supported immigrants and refugees have halted such funding, fearing they’ll be targeted next. I’ve witnessed the helplessness of Latine program officers who are unable to get resources to their communities.
Retreat Has Consequences
At Hispanics in Philanthropy, we’ve seen firsthand the devastating consequences of funders’ hesitation to invest in racial equity and justice programs. The shift began in 2023 when the Supreme Court ended affirmative action in college admissions. Since Trump’s inauguration, the problem has accelerated, as once-reliable grant makers decrease funding, gut programs, and decline renewals. Some foundations have dismantled entire racial-equity and racial-justice portfolios, firing brilliant staffers with no warning. Rather than reallocating funds or reorganizing efforts, these foundations are surrendering to fear.
But giving up is the worst possible response. At a time of deep anxiety about what comes next for immigrants and those who serve them, grant makers should demonstrate their concern by taking concrete action. Here are a few suggestions:
Invest in safety. To help immigration advocates feel safe enough to do their work, provide their organizations with grants for cybersecurity and training as well as access to legal counsel. Grant makers can follow the model of Spark Justice Fund, part of Borealis Philanthropy, which funds physical and digital security for grassroots social-justice groups. Funders should also support organizations that provide legal services for detained immigrants and nonprofits targeted by this administration, such as the National Immigrant Legal Responder Alliance and CHIRLA.
Support mental-health services. The Trump administration’s policies have left Latine leaders like me in a constant state of hypervigilance and fear, allowing little time and energy to think creatively and come up with solutions to the ongoing crisis. In response, grant makers should consider funding professional coaching or mental-health support, sabbaticals, and retreats where leaders can disconnect from everyday stressors while connecting with those experiencing similar challenges. Rest tends to be ignored by philanthropy because it’s seen as a luxury. Grant makers should recognize that, more than ever, it’s a necessity.
Fund rapid-response networks. When ICE detains immigrants, these local networks help document what’s happening, advise people on their rights, and accompany them to immigration court. Although typically connected to a broader, national infrastructure that provides training and support, they’re still severely underfunded and rely on donations from local community members or smaller foundations to run their shoestring programs. Yet these groups significantly slow the pace of deportations by alerting immigrants of their rights in real-time and providing in-depth legal training for both observers and affected communities. More grant makers should support these networks. Hispanics in Philanthropy can connect those interested in doing so with the appropriate organizations.
Confronting Risk
In June, Hispanics in Philanthropy will hold its annual conference in New Mexico, where ICE recently detained 48 people during a raid — all of whom remain unaccounted for. As we make plans to come together, safety is a real concern. Both our international and domestic grantees are reluctant to travel because they fear being racially profiled or detained.
But we still plan to gather in New Mexico, just as we did in Miami in 2022, when our conference took place amid mounting anti-immigrant and anti-LGBTQ legislation in Florida. Then, as now, we recognized the risks of gathering a large Latine group in one place during a time of heightened tension. But cowering in fear isn’t an option.
Democracy — at least what’s left of it — is built on a system of checks and balances. Philanthropy is an essential counterweight in that system when other safeguards falter. Grant makers can’t simply observe from the sidelines as the organizations and people they support battle for their survival.
My recent ICE detainment proved yet again that no one is immune from Trump’s xenophobic policies. At any moment, one of us could face the same threats. Don’t wait until it’s too late.
