When people talk about ICE, they usually talk about it like it’s just another government agency. Just another three-letter acronym. Something distant. Something political. Something that doesn’t really affect “normal” people.

But it does.

Unlike the stories you see on the news, I wasn’t born crossing borders or hiding from immigration officers. I didn’t grow up wondering if my parents would disappear one day while I was at school. I’ve never had to memorize what to say if someone in uniform knocks on the door. I’ve never had to live with that kind of fear sitting in my chest 24/7.

But some kids do. Every single day.

And that’s what doesn’t sit right with me.

ICE is supposed to protect the country. That’s what they say. Law and order. Safety. Security. Big words that sound important. But somewhere along the way, protecting the country started meaning tearing families apart.

A dad drops his kid off at school and doesn’t come home.

A mom gets detained at work.

A family disappears overnight and nobody really talks about it the next day.

Not because they did something violent. Not because they were dangerous.

But because of paperwork. Because of a border. Because of a line on a map they didn’t cross the “right” way.

That feels less like protection and more like punishment.

The thing that bothers me most is how random it all seems. You can live here for years, build a life, make friends, work a job, pay taxes, and still have everything taken away in one moment. It’s like building a house on sand. No matter how hard you work, it can collapse without warning. How are you supposed to feel safe like that? How are you supposed to plan a future when tomorrow isn’t even guaranteed?

That isn’t living. That’s surviving.

And survival mode changes people. It turns childhood into anxiety. It turns parents into constant worriers. It turns something as simple as a knock on the door into pure panic. No one should grow up associating police lights or uniforms with the fear that their family might disappear. That kind of stress doesn’t just go away. It sticks with you.

It follows you.

I think about how lucky I am sometimes. I complain about school, sports, deadlines, normal stuff. I worry about tests or games or what I’m doing after graduation. But I’ve never had to worry about whether my family will still be together by the end of the week. That’s a privilege I didn’t earn. I just happened to be born on the “right” side of a line.

Someone else wasn’t.

And somehow that difference determines everything.

People say ICE is necessary, that it’s just enforcing the law. But laws aren’t automatically just because they exist. History has proven that over and over again. If enforcing a law means traumatizing kids and ripping apart families who are just trying to live normal lives, then maybe the system itself is the problem. Protection shouldn’t feel like fear. Safety shouldn’t come from someone else’s suffering.

A country shouldn’t have to break families to prove it’s strong.

To me, ICE doesn’t represent security. It represents control. It represents the idea that some people belong and others don’t, even if they work just as hard and care just as much. That mindset goes against everything this country claims to stand for. Opportunity. Freedom. A fresh start. You can’t preach those things while punishing the very people chasing them.

At the end of the day, most immigrants aren’t criminals or threats. They’re just people. Parents. Kids. Workers. People who want the same basic things everyone wants: stability, safety, and a chance to build a life.

The same things I wake up with every day without even thinking about it.

Maybe that’s why it bothers me so much. Because something that simple — being able to go home and know your family will still be there — shouldn’t be a luxury. It should be normal.

If an agency meant to protect the country creates more fear than safety, then it isn’t protecting anyone.

It’s just hurting the people who were already struggling the most.

And no country gets stronger by breaking the people inside it.

By Duncan St.john