Faith’s life in suburban Maine was, until recently, defined by soccer practice and work – a comfortable rhythm of everyday life. That peace shattered with the arrival of ICE agents, clad in military gear, patrolling her streets. Suddenly, locking doors and holding her children’s hands became necessities, a stark contrast to the open, trusting atmosphere she once knew.
The change wasn’t about personal threat, but a chilling awareness of danger for her neighbors. A network of “angry moms” quickly formed, recognizing a desperate need for support. Faith now checks in daily with three families, housebound with fear, providing practical help like laundry and groceries – small acts of defiance against a growing unease.
She brings her young children along on these errands, a shield against the anxiety of those inside, a reassurance that it’s not ICE at the door. Beyond immediate needs, Faith connects families with resources for heating costs and rent, quietly mobilizing a community response to a crisis unfolding in their midst.
The surge in ICE activity began on January 21st, officially dubbed ‘Operation Catch of the Day,’ targeting “the Worst of the Worst Criminal Illegal Aliens” in Maine. Over 200 arrests followed, with reports focusing on the state’s Somali community, igniting fear and distrust throughout the region.
Faith has organized micro-fundraisers, channeling support to those directly affected and bolstering the local food pantry with $2500 worth of supplies. She challenges the narrative of migrants draining resources, pointing to their contributions as registered drivers, employed citizens, and vital members of the community.
A recent visit to a friend’s business was met with a visible ICE presence, a stark reminder of the pervasive surveillance. Faith’s concern isn’t for her own safety, shielded by privilege, but for the constant, gnawing anxiety of those targeted, those living under the shadow of potential separation.
The stories are harrowing – a nurse killed while protecting a woman from ICE, a five-year-old schoolboy detained. These headlines have reached even her children, forcing difficult conversations about safety and the world around them. She reassures them she will protect them, while simultaneously instilling a sense of responsibility to their community.
“No one told me fighting fascism would look like grocery shopping,” Faith reflects, a poignant realization of how resistance can manifest in everyday acts of kindness and support. She grapples with the question of staying, of whether they are simply acclimating to a dangerous new normal, but finds hope in the resilience of her community.
In Portland, restaurant owner Andrew Volk experienced a similar shift. His once-effortless commute now revealed ICE agents “waiting and looking.” Fear gripped his staff, prompting him to hold a training session on their rights if approached by federal agents.
He emphasized their right to privacy, the ability to refuse questioning, and the legality of recording interactions. Informing his team was his way of demonstrating solidarity, of assuring them they weren’t alone in facing this uncertainty. “People are scared,” he admits, “scared of the unknown.”
While his restaurant hasn’t been directly targeted, Andrew prepared for the possibility. He stressed non-confrontation, prioritizing the safety of his staff. The fear is particularly acute among his employees with darker skin, members of Maine’s established Somali community now facing renewed scrutiny.
He recounts stories of people he knows who have been taken, their whereabouts unknown. This isn’t about safety, he argues, but intimidation – a federal agency bullying its own citizens. The impact is already visible, with restaurants struggling to maintain staffing levels as employees fear leaving their homes.
Andrew’s children have reported dozens of absences from school, parents keeping their children home out of fear of abduction. “It’s not unfounded fear,” he insists. “It’s not paranoia. It’s actually happening.” The situation is disrupting lives, eroding trust, and casting a pall over the community.
A recent announcement from Senator Susan Collins claimed ICE had ceased “enhanced operations” in Maine. Andrew remains skeptical, viewing it as a “mealy-mouthed non-response” to a deepening crisis. The uncertainty lingers, a constant undercurrent of anxiety in a community bracing for what comes next.
