How to chip away at the ICE in our community

https://www.pressherald.com/2026/03/25/how-to-chip-away-at-ice-in-our-communities-opinion/

I circle the room, peeking over my students’ shoulders to check on the progress of their assignments. They are brainstorming careers that they might want to job shadow. I come to a group of boys who are laughing loudly but whispering quietly under their breaths in that cagey way teenagers are good at when they want you to know they are probably doing something they’re not supposed to, but they don’t want you to know what it is.

I glance at their papers and see that two of them have written “ICE agent” as their job shadow choice. I look at them, shocked, not only because I am stunned by their choice but because it widely diverges from the careers they have expressed interest in in the past — masons, mechanics, welders. 

“OK, interesting choice,” I caution, “but why do you want to be ICE agents?”

“There’s a fifty-thousand-dollar sign-on bonus,” one of them immediately chirps. 

“Yeah … that’s true,” I respond, “but remember that you’re not supposed to be thinking about salaries for the job shadow. It should really be careers that you are genuinely interested in and could see yourself enjoying on a daily basis.”

These are thoughtful and caring students; their demeanor wildly contradicts the videos of ICE agents I see circulating online. I point out that some careers are not possible to shadow because of confidentiality issues, not to mention the fact that, as a small-town high school teacher in Maine, I do not have any personal connections to the Department of Homeland Security. 

A few weeks later, the recent dramatic increase in ICE presence in Maine has got my classes abuzz with unfounded rumors, tense speculation and emboldened opinions on all sides. Our school is overwhelmingly white, but our diversity is ever-increasing, as we are a mere 20 minutes from the two largest, most diverse cities in Maine, cities whose immigrant populations have been in a de facto lockdown as ICE has steamrolled through in its cruelly named “Operation Catch of the Day.”

I try my best to hush the various conversations bubbling up around the room. I decide to pause my lesson plan today, as it seems like no one can talk about anything other than ICE and immigration.

It feels more important to address this head-on than charge through the curriculum as if nothing is happening. So I start by reviewing the facts — what is happening and why it’s happening. I go on to do my best to explain the various paths of immigration, break down the definitions of refugee, asylum seeker, chain migration and green card, dispelling the black-and-white rhetoric of citizens vs. illegal immigrants.

I point out that many of the people who are being detained are legal residents with no criminal history. One student states that it reminds him of when we learned about the Fugitive Slave Act last year, and free slaves were rounded up and shipped back down South. Yes, I agree, that feels like an apt comparison.

I try my best to field questions about what would happen if ICE came to our school and where the immigrants are taken when they’re detained. Another student later tells me discreetly that she is terrified for her best friend’s boyfriend, who is an asylum seeker. Another is anxious that ICE might storm the vocational school she attends in Portland.

We wrap up our conversation and return to our regularly scheduled programming. We are reading Phuc Tran’s book, “Sigh, Gone,” about growing up as a Vietnamese refugee in the 1980s. We discuss the difficulty of navigating two cultures and languages as a child. They make poignant reflections on identity, the allure of the American dream and the effects of intergenerational trauma. 

I leave school feeling lost and conflicted. I am heartbroken for the thousands of immigrants who are sheltering in place, in fear for their lives, and those whose families have been ripped apart. I am angry at the understandable temptation of $50,000 to a high schooler making minimum wage at McDonald’s.

I feel inadequacy and self-doubt at my handling of the conversation around immigration. Did I answer the questions correctly? Did I do enough to quell misconceptions and stereotypes? Did I create distance with some students in my attempt to close the gap with others? Did I stand on firm but objective ground, or did my inevitable emotions and biases shine through? 

There are protests going on around the state this afternoon, but I am not going. It is barely breaking 10 degrees today, and my body and mind are weary. I have young kids I need to pick up soon, but first I need to clear my mind.

The frigid temperatures have made glass out of the lakes and ponds around me, and so I drive to a nearby state park and lace up my skates. I circle the lake for miles on the mirror-like surface. The rhythmic scratching of the blades cuts through the eerie winter silence. This ice that is keeping me afloat feels worlds away from the ICE that is sending a flood of terror through communities just miles from here and creating shockwaves of confusion and division in my classroom.

I often feel helpless in reacting to national issues of violence and fear. Working full time with two young kids, my free time is measured in minutes. I go to protests when I can, donate money when I am able and call my representatives on my commutes, but nothing ever feels like enough.

Maybe, though, I am mounting small acts of resistance by interrupting false narratives, exposing young people to untold stories, fostering compassion across divides and prioritizing self-care in chaotic times. We all have our own role to play, and maybe this is mine.