It’s six in the evening, and Carlitos, whose identity we protect, peers out the window with a question on his mind:

— Mom, what will happen if they catch you?

He is nine years old, and for more than a week, he and his mother, a Dominican immigrant who has lived in Puerto Rico for two decades, have been living with fear as their constant companion. They haven’t left their home since the last week of January, when the Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids began in Puerto Rico, ordered by the administration of U.S. President Donald Trump.

— Mom, if the police come, give me the phone and run. Hide, and I’ll distract them. You can lock yourself in the bathroom, and I promise I’ll keep them busy — Carlitos says with the innocence of someone who doesn’t fully understand the harshness of immigration laws.

His mother hugs him and assures him everything will be fine, even though she herself is uncertain.

She wipes away the little boy’s tears, who now cries silently.

— If they take Mom away, don’t worry, we’ll see each other again. I’m sure they’ll call Dad. And there are good people looking out for us. Stay calm, my child. If they take Mom, we’ll find each other again.

Despite having started the process to obtain U.S. citizenship in 2023, the mother’s wait is long, and the fear is immediate. ICE could knock on her door and take her away, as happened with Neuri Feliz, one of the Dominicans that federal authorities in Puerto Rico detained on January 27, despite being in the process of obtaining citizenship for over a year. ICE raids have left a trail of anguish among the immigrant community on the island, where many have spent years building their lives through hard work. She and her husband are examples.

Her husband, also Dominican, has U.S. citizenship. However, a serious health complication forced him to return to his home country, as the nearest medical appointment in Puerto Rico was scheduled for May. Now, amid his treatment, the family is separated, and his wife faces uncertainty and confinement alone.

— I came to work, and I’ve worked all my life. Now, they call us criminals. And Donald Trump talks about criminals, and I know there are bad people, but not all of us are. I’ve been working for 20 years and have never, ever, set foot in a police station in Puerto Rico. And I’m waiting for my citizenship. I started the process, but I’m still waiting.

The case of Carlitos and his mother is not unique. The Dominican community is the largest foreign population on the island, representing approximately 59% of the Hispanic immigrant population in Puerto Rico. It is estimated that around 60,000 Dominicans reside on the island, which has just over 3 million inhabitants. Of that approximate total, more than 75% are under 18 years old.

As part of the Trump-ordered raids , by February 3, 100 people had been detained in Puerto Rico, the Homeland Security Investigations (HSI) office informed the Centro de Periodismo Investigativo (CPI).

HSI also detailed that operations have been conducted in San Juan, Trujillo Alto, Dorado, Bayamón, Toa Baja, Carolina, Loíza, Luquillo, Río Grande, Mayagüez, Fajardo and the Luis Muñoz Marín International Airport.

The detainees come from Guatemala, Ecuador, the Dominican Republic, Haiti, Mexico, China, Dominica, Brazil, the British Virgin Islands, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, Israel, Italy, and Japan, according to federal authorities.

Carlitos, born in Puerto Rico and therefore a U.S. citizen, doesn’t understand bureaucratic procedures, but he knows something is wrong. He has learned to live with closed curtains, the TV volume low, and a sense of danger that shouldn’t accompany a child his age.

Every time a car sounds on the street, his heart races. His mother instinctively checks her phone for news. The idea that ICE agents might knock on the door and take her away keeps him in a constant state of alert.

Puerto Rico, as an unincorporated territory of the United States, is subject to federal immigration laws, meaning immigrants must meet the same requirements as in any state or territory of the country. This includes obtaining visas, work permits, and eventually permanent residency or citizenship.

The naturalization process can be expensive, lengthy, and bureaucratic, leaving many people, like Carlitos’ mother, in a situation of legal and social vulnerability while awaiting the resolution of their cases.

During Trump’s first presidency (2017-2021), thousands of children were held in U.S. government custody because of the administration’s strict immigration policies, mainly at the Mexican border. Hundreds of children waited years in custody to reunite with deported parents, even children with U.S. citizenship. Under President Joe Biden, the Family Reunification Task Force was created to identify and reunite families separated between 2017 and 2021. Despite these efforts, some families have yet to be reunited.

Carlitos stopped attending school for the entire week due to the instability that began on January 26 with the first ICE raids in Puerto Rico. His mother also stopped going to the market to buy groceries. She stopped going to work. Bills are starting to pile up: rent, phone, electricity, and water payments. The money sent to relatives in the Dominican Republic will not arrive for now. Here, instinct leads to confinement.

— Fortunately, good people have appeared. They brought me a bag of rice and a box of cornflakes. We haven’t gone hungry.

For many immigrant families, uncertainty is a daily bread. But in Carlitos’ home, fear has the face of childhood. He says that one day he will meet Donald Trump face to face and solve the problem once and for all.

— Mom, I’m going to tell Trump that we’re not bad. He’s the bad one. If they try to catch me, I’ll bite them and him too.

His mother laughs and immediately corrects him. “No, sir. You always behave,” she says.

Last Tuesday, Carlitos returned to school. It wasn’t his mother who took him. She is convinced she cannot set foot outside the house. Among those “helping hands” that have knocked on the door to follow up on the situation and support the process is someone who offered to pick Carlitos up in the morning to take him to school and then pick him up in the afternoon to bring him home.

“It’s about defending children’s right to education,” says the person, whom we do not identify to protect the family. Everything is done quickly. Without a second thought, they assure.

— I was eager to leave the house. I wanted to go back to school — Carlitos said on his first day out of confinement. He also questioned this decision, thinking, as if he were older, about what would happen to his mom during the hours he wouldn’t be with her at home.

— When I return in the afternoon, will Mom be at home, or will the police take her? We have to get back quickly — he told the person holding his hand.. 

During the American Civil War in the mid-19th century, in some areas of the South, especially in territories occupied by Union forces, clandestine schools operated in secret. Carlitos is a student carrying a different kind of clandestine burden in his backpack, but one that is just as strong as any state of siege or declaration of war.

— I was waiting for him at the door when he returned from school. And I thought the officers were going to raid us because I saw some strange movement. And the boy arrived home at that moment, and I got scared. He ran up to give me instructions to hide. You live with a pressure I can’t explain, and I’m even depressed. I just ask for prayers because I have a lot of faith — said the mother.

After discussing Carlitos and his mother’s experience, psychologist Nellie Zambrana described the case — which is not isolated — as “a human tragedy.” For the professor of Education Foundations at the University of Puerto Rico’s Río Piedras campus, “if children do not feel nurtured in the socio-emotional area, the curriculum will be worthless because the children will not be emotionally ready” to assimilate the educational process.

Zambrana emphasized that given the vulnerability and lack of trust immigrants experience in institutions and people around them, “it’s necessary to identify within that circle of trusted people a direct support line and expand help through the community. Schools, for example, must be safe spaces, where children are and must always be first, under any circumstances.”

“In an environment like this, it’s essential to cultivate trust in children and also in young people. It’s important to extend an affectionate hand and humanize the process to face the crisis. Achieving this requires integrity and understanding it as a collective responsibility, not as an individual effort by those who take on this act of love,” Zambrana said about how to manage the fear experienced by children like Carlitos.

Organizations providing services to immigrants in Puerto Rico:

Free and non-governmental Legal Help Line for Immigrants: 939-545-3030

Proyecto Acogida, Episcopal Church – spiritual and psychological support: 787-675-3700

UPR Legal Assistance Clinic: 787-999-9570