I Am a Mom, a Citizen, a Christian and I’m Saddened, Not Silent

I’ve been sitting with a heaviness that’s hard to name.

Not the everyday tiredness of motherhood, the world-shaking kind of sorrow that comes when you watch humanity treated as collateral in a system that should protect it.

This month has been devastating to witness. It’s used to be hard for me to imagine a thing like this happening in the United States, especially to children, to families, to people who are just trying to work, live, and belong. But here we are. Even now, right this second, I’m grieving deeply and drawing a firm line.

Minneapolis: The Latest

On January 24, 2026, federal immigration agents shot and killed a 37-year-old U.S. citizen, Alex Pretti, in Minneapolis, the second fatal shooting this month involving federal agents during a surge of immigration enforcement activity.

Video evidence and witnesses tell a picture that contradicts the official story. Pretti was not just a distant statistic. He was a human being, an ICU nurse, a caregiver, someone described by family as compassionate and devoted. What appears on video is a man trying to help others who had been pushed to the ground, only to be pepper-sprayed, wrestled, and then shot multiple times.

This is not a small detail. The betrayal of trust, of life, makes my chest tighten.

But That’s Not All

Just days earlier, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detained at least four children in Minneapolis-area communities, including a five-year-old boy who had just come home from preschool.

The images of that little boy, his tiny backpack, his stunned expression, the trauma of being separated from safety, went viral. School officials and witnesses say federal agents used the child to knock on the family’s door in an attempt to find other relatives in the home. 

School leaders pleaded with officers to let an adult in the house care for the child. They were refused.

These detentions aren’t isolated. Other students, ages 10 and 17, have also been taken amid a campaign of enforcement that has left communities shaken and families terrified.

There Is No Neutral Ground

Some people say “this is complicated. ”Some say “law enforcement is just doing its job. ”Some debate policy, timeline, legality.

But here’s what I feel in my soul, and this isn’t neutral:

Children should not be used as instruments of enforcement.

Children should not be separated from safe adults without consent.

Children should not be swept into fear and detention because the adults in their lives are seeking a better life or a legal pathway.

And people, U.S. citizens and human beings, should not die on the streets of a city because of how enforcement unfolded, whether they were protesting or in the wrong place at the wrong time.

There’s nothing “complicated” about the terror that trauma leaves in a child’s memory, or the heartbreak of families who cry, not simply for policy, but for human lives lost.

This Isn’t Policy on Paper

As a mother, “scared” isn’t enough of a word to describe how I feel when I see what’s happening.

I imagine my own children:

their little hands, their laughter, their excitement for school, their bedtimes, their days filled with learning and play.

I imagine the trauma of being torn from that, of seeing adults in uniform at the door, of not understanding why you’re leaving the place you call home, of being scared to go outside.

This isn’t theory for me. It’s one heartbeat away from mama grief, the kind that comes when the world feels unsafe not because it is lawless, but because systems that are supposed to protect have been given unchecked power.

That scares me.

As a Dominican American, This Is Personal

I’m not undocumented. I’m a U.S. citizen. But I am brown. I am immigrant-descended. I am someone who understands how fragile safety can feel.

My parents left the Dominican Republic seeking opportunity and protection, not terror. They worked, struggled, prayed, and sacrificed so their children could live in a place where a kindergarten backpack meant learning, not fear.

But when I see a 5-year-old taken from his driveway after preschool, the kind of thing you would expect in a war zone, I have to ask myself:

Are we losing sight of what it means to protect children?

Are we so focused on enforcement that we forget humanity?

There’s nothing abstract about this. These are souls. These are futures. These are children who deserve peace, not tactics.

I Love My Country, That’s Why I Speak Up

Some people will read this and think I’m “too emotional.”

Some will think I’m “too political.”

Some will think I’m “wrong.”

But here’s the truth: I love this country too much to be silent.

I love it enough to name pain when I see it.

I love it enough to grieve children being used as tools.

I love it enough to mourn lives lost unnecessarily.

That love doesn’t always look like agreement with every policy. It looks like crying out for justice and humanity.

Because when fear becomes justification for harm, especially harm to the vulnerable, that’s not protection. That’s cruelty.

And I refuse to bless cruelty.

Faith Calls Me to a Higher Standard

I am a Christian. That means I do not measure life by politics, I measure it by love.

Faith is not about excuses.

Faith is not about “hard choices. ”Faith is not about justifying harm in the name of order.

Faith is about compassion, even when it’s inconvenient.

Faith is about standing with the vulnerable, even when it’s unpopular.

Faith is about defending dignity, even when people want to debate semantics.

The Bible isn’t a policy textbook. It’s a mirror for justice.

And in that mirror, the value of a child’s life is not negotiable.

I Want Accountability, Not Simplistic Blame

I’m not here to tell people how to vote.

I’m not here to rage at every person who disagrees with me.

I am here to witness.

To say: this is wrong.

This is painful.

This hurts human beings.

And I am here to call for accountability and change at a fundamental level, not politics, not noise, not division.

Because when children live in fear, when families are traumatized, and when lives are taken in contested circumstances, we are all diminished.

We Cannot Normalize This

I refuse to let this become another news cycle that fades.

Let’s be honest: if this were any other population, any other community, the outrage would be deafening.

But when it’s immigrants and brown families, especially those with pending asylum cases, the media attention dwindles.

If a child were yours, if that were your little one with a backpack and a hat, coming home from school, you wouldn’t think twice about the horror of it all.

So this isn’t theoretical.

This is personal.

This is moral.

This is life and death.

And Still, I Hope

I do not want to end this with bitterness.

I hope for healing.

I hope for transformation.

I hope for a system that protects children and families, not terrifies them.

I hope for a nation that treats human life with dignity and not as leverage.

And I hope that in speaking my truth, others who feel this deep sadness will feel less alone.

We can disagree about policy, process, and enforcement. But we cannot disagree about the dignity of a child’s life.

That should be sacred.

That should be what unites us.

Final Thought: A Mom’s Cry

I am a mother.

I am a believer in compassion.

I am someone who loves this country, in all its promises and flaws.

Yes, I grieve fiercely.

Yes, I draw a line.

Yes, I will speak its name, cruelty.

But even in that naming, I stand with hope, not hatred; truth, not tempers; humanity, not fear.

Children deserve safety. Families deserve humanity.

And every life, no matter where it was born or what language it speaks, deserves mercy.