Fear on Our Screens
In communities across the United States, we’ve been replaying the same images over and over. Immigrants from different backgrounds. Seniors. Women. Teenagers running as they’re chased. And images of children as young as 5 year old Liam Conejo Ramos and 2 year old Chloe Renata Tipan, both from Minnesota, being detained.
Immigrant families and their neighbors are living with more than uncertainty. They are living with fear. Many of us have witnessed it, even if it has not happened directly to us or in our own neighborhoods. Fear is no longer limited to the possibility of a deportation notice at the door. It’s fueled by the videos we scroll past on our phones, by protests documented in real time. The images, the screams, the panic in voices become ingrained in our minds.
Recently, Minneapolis became the center of national attention after multiple fatal shootings involving federal immigration agents during enforcement operations tied to Operation Metro Surge. Among those killed were U.S. citizens Renee Nicole Good and Alex Pretti. Video footage circulated widely on social media, showing violent confrontations and sparking protests across the country. Tens of thousands of people rallied in response.
For adults, these images are heavy and deeply disturbing. For teenagers across Latino and immigrant communities, watching them is something else entirely. They often carry emotions silently and may not talk about what they’re feeling. This kind of violence isn’t a political act for them. It’s trauma unfolding in real time.
Seeing Violence Online Isn’t Just News
Even for families who’ve never experienced a deportation knock, repeated exposure to violent and immigration related content can change how young people see the world. Psychologists call this vicarious trauma, the emotional distress caused by witnessing violence, especially when it feels like it could happen to anyone who looks like you, sounds like you or comes from where you come from.
Milton Capon, a clinical psychologist and co-founder of ABYA YALA Migrant Community, said many young people in immigrant families absorb the fear and anxiety they see in their parents, even when they don’t fully understand what’s happening. “Over time, this can lead to anxiety, depression, social withdrawal, identity based stigma and a sense of not belonging,” Capon said. “We’re facing a real emotional and community wide crisis.”
For immigrant youth, the trauma doesn’t exist in isolation. It gets compounded by daily life. Friends stop coming to school. Parents become afraid to drive. Families avoid doctors, soccer practices or parent teacher meetings because visibility feels dangerous. Fear doesn’t wait for legal definitions. It settles into hearts, dreams and the way children learn to move through the world.
That Fear Follows Them Into School and Everyday Life
Across Connecticut, declining enrollment is raising concerns among educators and advocates, particularly in communities with large immigrant populations. For the first time in years, statewide enrollment of multilingual learners has dropped. It’s a shift advocates say reflects families pulling back from public systems out of fear tied to immigration enforcement. Some parents are keeping children home or delaying school registration altogether, worried that routine interactions could expose their families to risk.
In Stamford, district officials report that enrollment has fallen below expectations for the current school year, with fewer kindergarten registrations than anticipated. “Enrollment in general is below the expectation for this school year,” Ryan Fealey, the district’s finance director, told the Stamford Board of Education, noting that Stamford is not alone and that other Connecticut towns and cities are experiencing similar declines. For immigrant families already living with heightened anxiety, schools can feel less like places of safety and more like another space where visibility carries consequences.
Reports from parents and educators show that children are being bullied, targeted and told they do not belong. In Iowa, 12-year-old Max, an American-born citizen whose mother is Thai, was told by an opposing soccer goalkeeper that he was an “illegal immigrant” and that then President Donald Trump was going to “send him back to where he used to live,” despite being born in the United States. This was not said by a stranger online. It was said on a field meant to represent teamwork, safety and belonging.
For a child already watching videos of people like them being chased, detained, or killed, moments like that reinforce a dangerous message: You’re not safe here. You’re not wanted here.
Fear Reaches Beyond Immigration Status and the Home
When Official Messaging Feels Like Exclusion. The emotional landscape becomes even heavier when exclusion appears not only to come from individuals but also from institutions.
A recent controversy involved a U.S. Department of Homeland Security Instagram recruitment post that used the phrase “We’ll have our home again.” Journalists later pointed out that the phrase is also the title of a song embraced in white nationalist spaces. After being publicly questioned about the connection, the post was deleted, though DHS denied any extremist intent.
But intent doesn’t erase impact.
For many Latino and immigrant families, seeing federal agencies use language that can be interpreted as exclusionary reinforces a message they’ve heard their entire lives: This country isn’t for you. When that message appears on official platforms where young people connect with friends, it deepens feelings of isolation and erodes self-worth.
Elizabeth, an American citizen, a Connecticut resident and high school teacher, works in a school with a highly diverse immigrant population. Although she isn’t at risk of deportation, the constant exposure to immigration raids and protests has reshaped how she understands safety and belonging.
“It’s depressing,” she said. “I’ve not only seen it online, but I’ve also seen it in person. A couple of weeks ago, a division was doing ID checks right in front of our school.”
Elizabeth explained that staff members now carry whistles as part of an informal alert system. If ICE or a related agency is seen operating near the school, the whistle is blown three times.
“It’s a fearful environment,” she explained. “We serve a highly immigrant, diverse population.”
She described the emotional impact as a double edged sword.
“On one hand, things are being recorded, so you can see what’s happening and understand different narratives. It makes us aware and active,” she said. “But at the same time, it’s overstimulating. You start living in a state of fear. It becomes all-encompassing. You can’t function. You can’t live your own life.”
Mariana has been living this reality for eight months. Her husband was detained last year, and as of last week, he’s under an order of deportation while being held at a detention center outside Connecticut. What began as fear quickly became a daily crisis.
Mariana said the impact on her children has been immediate and painful. Her husband’s arrest was recorded, and though she wanted to protect her family’s privacy, the footage spread while her oldest child was in school.
“The hardest part was that it became public,” she said. “My older child was affected not only by the situation itself, but by the fact that she saw it on social media before I was able to talk to her.”
Her younger child doesn’t fully understand what’s happening. In the months following the detention, the school contacted her daily, reporting that the child was distracted and struggling to focus. She felt she had no choice but to explain the situation. The child now meets with a school social worker once a week.
“It has been very difficult,” Mariana said. “It’s a sudden separation. An emotional imbalance for my youngest, for both children and for all of us. Managing schedules, working, keeping the household running and dealing with emotions all at once. It’s overwhelming.”
The weight of navigating life as a single mother came almost overnight, compounded by financial strain and uncertainty. “No matter how much we try to believe things will be resolved, the system keeps making it harder,” she said.
When asked about her own mental health, Mariana paused. There’s little time to reflect on how she feels.
“I don’t even have time to check on my own mental health,” she said. “When I start to feel down, I don’t have a choice. I have to stay strong for everyone and try to stay positive so it doesn’t affect my children. Someone has to stay standing. I can’t afford to fall apart.”
Research shows fear of immigration enforcement is linked to higher rates of emotional distress among children and adolescents. Even children born in the United States who live in mixed status households carry this weight from the ongoing fear that a parent could be taken away.
These are not teenage mood swings. They are survival responses.
Looking Ahead: What This Means for Our Future
When a generation grows up feeling watched, unwelcome or unsafe, it shapes who they become and how they see themselves. But it also places a responsibility on the adults, parents, educators and communities around them.
Young people internalize messages about belonging and value. When they repeatedly see violence against people who look like them, they learn lessons about power and worth. But when they’re met with protection, honesty and care, they also learn resilience. The psychological impact of fear doesn’t disappear with age. It follows them into college, careers, relationships and parenting. That makes what we do now matter.
Capon said reducing social media use and strengthening family functioning are important. Many dangers exist on social media. Families should look for shared activities, spend time together, have a family plan in case of emergencies and accept what’s happening. Creating spaces where youth feel heard, talking openly about fear and reminding them that they belong can make a difference. Community support, school engagement and visible acts of care send a message just as powerful as the images they see online. As a community, we can educate ourselves, build support networks, support one another and share resources.
The question is not whether our children are watching. It’s whether they feel supported when they do.
Sources:
• News From the States
CT multilingual student enrollment down; advocates cite ICE fears
• Stamford Advocate
Stamford enrollment below expectations as kindergarten registrations decline
• Audacy News
ICE recruitment post draws criticism for using phrase associated with white nationalist song.
• Wikipedia