In the quiet of a Minneapolis night, the pounding of federal immigration agents on the door was a call to action for the oldest son in a family of ten. Recognizing the imminent threat, he knew he must find a safer haven for his siblings.

Their mother, a 41-year-old Indigenous Ecuadorian who worked as an office cleaner, had been detained earlier that January. Her only known offenses were minor traffic violations, yet her entry into the country without legal documentation had led to her arrest. Now, her eldest children lived in fear of being the next targets, potentially leaving behind their five-month-old brother and six other siblings all under the age of 16.

The 20-year-old son, speaking anonymously out of concern for his family’s safety, described the harrowing experience, “The immigration agents were knocking on our door very late at night, and that’s when I became afraid. I’m afraid that I’ll be taken and my brothers and sisters will be in the hands of the government.”

In their time of need, the family reached out to Feliza Martinez, a trusted friend from church. Martinez, along with a group of volunteers, acted swiftly to relocate the family to a secure location in south Minneapolis.

Martinez is among many in the Twin Cities who have stepped up to support immigrant families like that of Melida Rita Wampash Tuntuam. These efforts, driven by a network of concerned citizens, reflect a community’s response to the severe tactics employed by federal agents during the Trump administration’s hardline immigration policies, including warrantless door raids and confrontations with protesters.

As more than 2,000 federal agents scour Minneapolis-St. Paul for immigrants to detain and the U.S. Department of Homeland Security reports more than 3,000 arrests since early December, residents have organized to monitor, disrupt and protest the crackdown in the streets and in less visible ways.

These Minnesotans have paid rent for immigrant families whose breadwinners are afraid to go to work, delivered home-cooked meals and arranged for regular check-ins and emergency custody arrangements to make sure children are cared for in case their parents are detained. Christian nonprofit Source MN has expanded its food bank program to provide for hundreds of sheltering immigrant families.

“I do receive calls every single day from families and they’re terrified, and we’re just trying to help them as much as we can,” said Martinez, a mother of five who has been taking time off her job on a factory assembly line to volunteer for Source MN. “I just try to bring hope — like, ‘We’re here with you.’”

Leaving home to stay safe

Snow covered the street as the Wampash Tuntuam family arrived at the safe house. A stream of visitors brought snacks, baby supplies and coloring books for the children. They assembled bunk beds and carried in mattresses.

The younger siblings settled in quickly, nestling on the couch in pajamas to share a bag of Cheetos and opening a coloring book to draw butterflies. The house soon sounded like any other filled with the shrieks and giggles of small children at play.

But Wampash Tuntuam’s older children, fidgeting on the couch, still worried about their future. They told The Associated Press that their mother gave the address of their rental home to Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents, who said they wanted to send a social worker to check on the younger children. Instead, armed masked immigration officers appeared and surrounded the house twice.

“That’s when we knew they hadn’t sent a social worker but agents to detain us,” recalled Wampash Tuntuam’s 22-year-old daughter, who spoke on condition of anonymity because she and three other family members have final orders of removal. Her 20-year-old brother and other siblings are working on obtaining legal status. The two youngest children are U.S. citizens.

Martinez, a devoted Christian, said she voted for President Donald Trump in the past three elections because of his hard-line stance against abortion and gender-affirming care for youth. The granddaughter of a Mexican immigrant supported deporting violent criminals and had not paid much attention to reports of family separations in the first Trump presidency.

But over the past two months, after watching videos of federal agents aggressively detaining her neighbors and working directly with children parted from their parents, she has changed her views.

“Being on the front line and what I have experienced and seen, I wish I would’ve never voted for him,” Martinez said. “What he’s doing, it’s not Christian. It’s not my beliefs.”

DHS spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin said in a statement that “ICE does not separate families,” noting that parents are asked whether they want to be removed with their children or place them with a designated person.

McLaughlin said Wampash Tuntuam entered the country illegally in 2022 via the Texas border and later received a final order of removal from an immigration judge. She said Wampash Tuntuam received due process and the administration is enforcing the law.

Facing an uncertain future

According to Wampash Tuntuam’s family, their mother had been planning to self-deport but was preparing custody documents for her infant son. The older children said their mother did not want her children to be deported because they will all end up living on the streets in their hometown in the Ecuadorian Amazon, like they did before coming to the U.S.

The older children expect their mother will be deported at any moment and worry about what will happen to her five youngest.

“If they found out that the baby was alone, they may take him away,” the 22-year-old daughter said. “We have all grown up together. I saw my baby brother’s birth. I am very scared they will take him away and I will never see him again.”

After their mother was detained, the 20-year-old son quit work at a restaurant to watch over his child siblings. He’s still figuring out how to care for his infant brother, who has had to switch from breastfeeding to formula and struggles to sleep without his mother.

The 20-year-old said he once saw Minneapolis as a “beautiful city” offering opportunities for immigrants like him until the surge of federal agents. There are still good people here, he said, referring to the volunteers who sheltered his family.

But his younger siblings continue to ask when their mother will return. He comforts them by saying she’s at the hospital and will be home soon.

“I keep telling them that she is going to come back, that she is already on her way,” he said. “They think that.”