Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) is a federal agency with a deceptively bland name and an extraordinarily sharp bite. Tasked with enforcing immigration laws in the United States, it enjoys a unique combination of expansive authority and startlingly little oversight. Armed with military-scale funding and a mandate that blurs domestic policing with national security, ICE operates in a legal and moral grey zone—where the consequences are all too real for the communities it targets.

The premise is simple and deeply unsettling: ICE is a creature of systemic unaccountability. It disproportionately affects marginalised populations—undocumented immigrants, Indigenous peoples, and communities of colour—while remaining largely immune to the consequences of its actions. In Europe, where the rule of law is at least nominally upheld, such a rogue enforcement arm might be the stuff of dystopian fiction (for now). In the United States, it is disturbingly real.

Structural unaccountability in ICE operations

ICE operates without meaningful checks and balances

Due process, that quaint notion upon which democratic systems supposedly rest, becomes more of a suggestion than a guarantee when ICE gets involved. Consider the case of Davino Watson, a US citizen held by ICE for nearly three years despite having repeatedly provided evidence of his citizenship. His Kafkaesque ordeal—detained, ignored, and shuffled between jails without legal representation—epitomises the agency’s operational impunity.

This is not an outlier. Detainees, including minors and US citizens, frequently face proceedings without guaranteed legal counsel or timely hearings. The bureaucratic indifference is not merely cruel; it is systematised. Worse still, the erosion of constitutional protections is not confined to border crossings. Within the so-called “constitution-free zone”—a 100-mile swathe from any US border, home to two-thirds of the population—Fourth Amendment rights are regularly suspended in practice. ICE agents detain and question individuals on the basis of appearance, language, or proximity to perceived “suspicious” areas, with racial profiling masquerading as operational efficiency.

Litigation remains the only real recourse for those wronged, and even then, justice is a costly, uphill slog. Local governments, not ICE, foot the bill. Allentown, Pennsylvania, for example, was forced to pay a $145,000 settlement after an ICE-triggered wrongful detention, while the agency walked away with its authority intact and its practices unchanged.

Budget and power without proportional oversight

ICE operates with a budget that would make most defence ministries blush. In 2023, it clocked in at $9.13 billion—more than the budget of the US Marine Corps. One might assume such resources would support humane, well-trained personnel and robust accountability mechanisms. One would be wrong.

Instead, these funds have been funnelled into expanding detention centres, deploying unmarked vehicles for raids, and hiring officers under training standards lower than those imposed on local police. Use-of-force protocols are notably lax, and oversight mechanisms—internal or external—are conspicuous by their absence. The result is a militarised force with extraordinary latitude, insulated from public scrutiny and political consequence.

Marginalised communities in the crosshairs

Racial profiling and the criminalisation of identity

In the United States, immigration enforcement is as much about identity as it is about documentation. Latino communities are disproportionately targeted, and not subtly. Under Section 287(g) agreements, ICE deputises local police forces to enforce immigration laws—often without sufficient training and always without appropriate safeguards. The Department of Justice has documented how these agreements incentivise racial profiling, where local officers stop individuals based on ethnicity, not behaviour.

The impact is not abstract. Families are torn apart on the basis of suspicion, children left parentless by a system that mistakes cruelty for deterrence. The trauma radiates through communities—fostering mistrust in local institutions and ensuring that victims of crime, abuse, or exploitation often remain silent rather than risk contact with authorities.

Indigenous communities, too, face the brunt of this enforcement net. The Tohono O’odham Nation, whose lands straddle the US–Mexico border, routinely experiences ICE raids that defy the sovereignty promised by treaty. Tribal members are questioned, detained, and even denied birthright citizenship—all in direct violation of federal obligations. In effect, Indigenous people become foreigners on their own ancestral lands.

The human cost: families and psychological trauma

The numbers are staggering. An estimated 16.7 million people in the United States live in “mixed-status” households—where at least one member is undocumented. For these families, daily life is lived under the constant threat of separation. A knock at the door, an innocuous traffic stop, or even a school run can trigger a chain reaction leading to detention, deportation, and irrevocable damage.

Children are not spared. Studies show that witnessing the arrest of a parent leads to long-term developmental harm, including anxiety, academic decline, and behavioural regression. The rescission of “sensitive location” protections—which once nominally shielded schools, hospitals, and places of worship—has compounded the harm. Now, even a hospital visit can become a point of arrest, pushing families further into the shadows and exacerbating public health crises that disproportionately affect immigrant communities.

ICE has thus turned public spaces into hunting grounds, weaponising them against those who are already most vulnerable. It is not enforcement. It is a siege.

Political weaponisation and escalating threats

Project 2025 and the normalisation of extreme measures

What was once whispered at the fringes is now shouted from the political stage. Project 2025, a sweeping blueprint for a second Trump administration, outlines a draconian immigration agenda with chilling clarity. It proposes the construction of 100,000 new detention beds, the expansion of expedited removal processes far beyond border zones, and the coercion of local governments into compliance—even where public sentiment and legal precedent object.

This is not a plan for reform. It is a roadmap for authoritarianism, disguised as administrative efficiency.

Anti-sanctuary rhetoric fuels the fire. Far-right figures and media outlets routinely characterise ICE as a last line of defence against an imagined immigrant onslaught—invoking Gestapo comparisons as a badge of honour rather than a cautionary tale. This has emboldened vigilante groups, encouraged extrajudicial actions, and contributed to a toxic political climate where cruelty is not only tolerated but demanded.

Resistance and the fight for accountability

Against this backdrop of state-sponsored impunity, resistance persists. Advocacy groups across the United States—many led by directly impacted individuals—document ICE abuses, file lawsuits, provide “Know Your Rights” training, and mount public campaigns to end contracts with local law enforcement.

Yet legislative change remains sluggish and incomplete. Key demands include reinstating protected-area policies, repealing 287(g) agreements, defunding ICE’s enforcement arm, and establishing independent oversight bodies with real investigatory powers.

The political will to do so, however, remains uncertain. In the absence of reform, the burden of accountability continues to fall on those least equipped to bear it.

Reckoning with a system designed to brutalise

At its core, ICE is not a broken system. It is a system working exactly as designed: to instil fear, suppress dissent, and control through coercion. It undermines democratic norms, violates human rights, and perpetuates cycles of trauma under the guise of law enforcement.

Europe must not turn away. We know too well the dangers of bureaucracies unmoored from justice. The fight for transparency, oversight, and human dignity must cross borders, just as ICE’s abuses do.

Structural change is not optional—it is essential. This means defunding ICE’s enforcement capabilities, restoring due process protections, and embedding impacted voices at the heart of policy reform. It also means confronting the uncomfortable truth that institutions built on exclusion cannot be reformed without radical reimagining.

What solidarity from Europe can look like

Solidarity must be more than sentiment. It must be a demand. If we in Europe are serious about standing with those brutalised by ICE and its machinery of unaccountability, then passive outrage is not enough. We must act—not as distant observers, but as participants in a global resistance to state violence. Here is what that can look like:

Spread the word—strategically

Most Europeans have no idea what ICE is, and even fewer grasp its full scope. Use your voice to make visible what is routinely hidden.

  • Share survivor testimonies, legal challenges, and verified reports—not just headlines or outrage memes.
  • Translate key resources into local languages and disseminate through schools, unions, and community groups.
  • Draw the connections between ICE and European parallels—such as Frontex pushbacks, detention centres in Lampedusa, or the outsourcing of EU border control to Libya.

Disrupt the normalisation of cruelty

Cruelty dressed up as “security policy” must be called out for what it is: authoritarian logic wearing a bureaucratic name tag.

Centre migrant-led and Indigenous voices

True solidarity means stepping back so others can be heard. Listen to those directly affected by ICE and amplify their calls.

  • Follow Indigenous voices from border communities, such as the Tohono O’odham.
  • Share the work of migrant-led groups like Mijente, United We Dream, and RAICES.
  • Promote cross-border solidarity projects between US and European communities resisting deportation regimes.

Hold European institutions accountable

Europe is not neutral. European tech firms, consultants, and even universities have been complicit in exporting surveillance tools, border tech, and research to ICE and similar agencies.

Support transnational resistance

The machinery of detention and deportation does not respect borders—so neither should the resistance.

  • Push EU parliamentarians and local representatives to condemn ICE practices and support US grassroots campaigns.
  • Fund legal defence and advocacy groups across borders—from US detention monitors to European watchdogs scrutinising Frontex.
  • Back efforts to prosecute human rights abuses in international forums or courts where US institutions fail to act. I have not found active international legal cases prosecuting US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) for human rights abuses. While numerous human rights organizations have documented systemic violations within ICE detention facilities, including medical neglect, prolonged solitary confinement, and mistreatment of detainees, these issues have not yet led to formal prosecutions in international courts.

Vote like it matters—it does

The political right across Europe borrows directly from US playbooks. Project 2025 is not an anomaly—it’s a prototype.

  • Vote for candidates who oppose carceral immigration policies, both foreign and domestic.
  • Oppose domestic surveillance creep and algorithmic policing in EU states.
  • Demand independent oversight of Europe’s own rogue agencies, including Frontex and Europol.

Standing with the abused means standing between them and the abuser, even across oceans. If ICE is a symptom of a wider authoritarian disease, then dismantling its impunity is not just an American task—it is a global imperative.

If you think this sounds extreme, read these

Immigrant survivor testimonies & personal stories

Legal challenges & litigation tracking

Verified reports on detention conditions & rights violations

Sharing voices in Europe

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Europol–ICE Collaboration & European AI/Biometric Systems

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