4 days ago
15
On 15 June 2025, the Trump administration issued an official statement directing US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) to begin what it described as “the largest mass deportation operation in American history”. Major cities such as Los Angeles, Chicago and New York were identified as primary targets. The stated goal was to keep communities “safe and free from illegal alien crime, conflict, and chaos”. Federal agents rapidly became a part of many residents’ everyday lives.
No stable state can protect its borders, public order and the legitimate interests of its citizens without immigration law and effective enforcement mechanisms.
The question is not whether the state has the right to enforce the law. The question is how the manner of enforcement shapes everyday life, feelings of safety and social trust. Do all forms of enforcement necessarily produce security, or do some of them – unintentionally – turn social fear into a lasting condition?
A few days after the statement was released, I received a brief but urgent message from a colleague at Georgetown University Law Center. He warned that ICE agents were expected to be widely present across Washington DC, and that the likelihood of detentions was high. The advice was clear and practical: “Stay home. Don’t go out.”
This warning was neither exaggerated nor emotional. It was a professional, precautionary recommendation of the kind that has become increasingly routine for many people in recent months. This subtle shift – from exceptional emergencies to the everyday management of fear – marks the point at which law enforcement moves beyond the legal domain and becomes a structuring force in daily life.
From a sociological perspective, fear is not just a personal feeling – it’s a social reality. When people shape their behavior not based on direct experience but on the constant possibility of intervention, fear becomes part of the everyday. In this situation, arrests don’t need to happen daily; just knowing that something might happen is enough to change how people act.
At this point, immigration enforcement goes beyond geographic borders. A knock on the door is no longer just a knock. Contacting a government office is no longer an ordinary administrative act. For certain groups and in certain spaces, these signals take on new meanings – meanings mixed with caution, silence, and anxiety.
Migration studies have long described this condition as “living on alert”: existing under the shadow of a possibility that is always there. The result is a series of small but ongoing behavioral changes: going out less, avoiding public offices, reporting problems less often and participating less in civic life. Each change alone may seem minor, but together they slowly wear down the social fabric.
For example, imagine a family with a child in school. After hearing reports about immigration officers in the neighborhood, parents may go out less themselves or not allow their child to go outside even for simple errands or trips to the park. Contacting the school to follow up on educational issues may be delayed, and over time, the family’s participation in school and community activities decreases. This simple example shows how fear can shape everyday behavior and social relationships in real ways.
Children of the Afghanistan diaspora in the United States are among the first to bear the psychological burden of heightened immigration scrutiny and the pervasive climate of fear, because they are deeply embedded in US schools and communities while remaining legally and emotionally tethered to parents whose immigration status is often uncertain, placing them at the front line of family anxiety and instability. According to the 2024 American Community Survey, approximately 46.6% of people in households from the Afghanistan diaspora in the U S – nearly 100,000 individuals – are children, many of whom were born in the US or arrived at a very young age. For these children, fear does not originate solely from home or family; news about ICE activities and rumors of mass deportations quickly circulates among peers and within school settings. Even without direct encounters with authorities, children absorb anxieties transmitted through classmates’ conversations and school-based chatter, leading to defensive behaviors such as speaking less, withdrawing from classroom participation and attempting to remain invisible. These experiences manifest in sleep disturbances, irritability, difficulty concentrating and declining academic performance, while also undermining trust in institutions and weakening their sense of social belonging. The normalization of fear in social and educational environments threatens both long-term social integration and the resilience of the next generation.
This pattern doesn’t just affect undocumented immigrants. Mixed-status families – where some members are citizens and some are not – show how fear spreads. Even a legally protected citizen adjusts their daily life with caution and self-censorship. Fear travels through social ties, not passports.
In recent months, I’ve repeatedly heard friends from Afghanistan in the US describe how their American friends – people with no immigration concerns – have warned them to “be extra careful these days” or “call me immediately if the police stop you”. These are neither political statements nor exaggerations. They show how fear has entered everyday language of care and solidarity. Here, fear is no longer just an individual experience or a legal condition; it becomes a shared social reality that reshapes human relationships.
For the Afghanistan diaspora and other Middle Eastern communities, fear has long been part of daily life, especially because of ICE’s presence and activities. Everyday routines, commuting, school participation and even simple social interactions are quietly shaped by the possibility of encounters with immigration authorities.
When an Afghan immigrant was accused of shooting two US national guard members – killing one – the incident did more than make headlines; it intensified collective anxiety and reinforced the everyday caution already driven by immigration enforcement. In the days and weeks following the event, I observed increased silence, hesitation and worry among members of the diaspora. Many feared the allegations against one individual could be unfairly generalized to the entire community. In everyday conversations, there was concern that they might again be labeled a “security threat”.
It must be emphasized that this act of violence was unethical and inhumane. The Afghanistan diaspora consists of people who have already endured war, displacement and the loss of home and security. The actions of one person cannot and should not define the moral character of an entire community that has suffered so much.
But in this environment, daily life – accents, appearance, travel routes, even ordinary jokes – becomes a matter of calculation. Fear, amplified by the logic of generalization and by the structures of enforcement, turns everyday existence into a constant state of vigilance and anxiety.
A common mistake is to see the current situation as simply an “immigration issue.” What is happening is a quiet redefinition of social belonging. Social belonging refers to the sense that individuals are part of a community, living alongside others and entitled to participate in society without fear or discrimination. When certain people or groups are considered “suspicious” or “outside” by default, this sense of belonging gradually erodes.
In such an environment, the logic of unfair generalization and labeling can extend to race, social class, accent, appearance and even visible signs of poverty or difference. The question is no longer merely who is at risk of deportation or restriction; it is who is allowed to live an ordinary life with security and a sense of belonging.
The issue is not the existence of the law, but how the law is experienced in society. Law enforcement is not just an administrative or security process; it is a social practice that can either build trust or make fear permanent. When fear becomes routine, it not only shapes behavior but also reshapes trust and social cohesion, undermining the very foundations of community life.
This piece deliberately avoids policy recommendations – not out of caution, but because until we clearly see and name the problem, any solution will remain shallow. The final question is simple, but not comforting: does a society truly become safer when part of its population learns to live in constant fear and when that fear becomes an unspoken rule of everyday life?
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Abdul Wahid Gulrani is a political sociologist from Afghanistan, whose work focuses on migration, gender and national security. He is currently engaged in teaching and research at Georgetown University and The George Washington University
