For disabled Minnesotans, Operation Metro Surge brought heightened risk and fear

When Aliya Rahman was violently pulled from her car by Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents during a protest in south Minneapolis on Jan. 13, it was a wake-up call for many Minnesota immigrants with disabilities and organizations that serve them.

Rahman, a Minneapolis resident with a traumatic brain injury and autism, was on her way to a doctor’s appointment when she was caught up in a traffic jam caused by ICE vehicles. As multiple agents screamed conflicting instructions at her, one even breaking her passenger-side window, she yelled, “I’m disabled!”

“Too late,” one of the agents told her.

“Shooting pain went through my head, neck, and wrists when I hit the ground and people leaned on my back,” Rahman said at a Feb. 3 congressional forum on excessive use of force by the Department of Homeland Security employees.

She was carried face down by her cuffed arms and legs as she continued to yell that she had a brain injury.

“I now cannot lift my arms normally,” she said at the forum.

Since Operation Metro Surge flooded the Twin Cities with as many as 3,000 federal agents, disabled Minnesotans reported heightened levels of anxiety over the aggressive enforcement. The fear of potential ICE encounters kept many at home. It disrupted care systems and routines many rely on. Some small-business owners were forced to close due to safety concerns. And those detained by ICE faced even more direct violence.

Mai Vang, who owns the Eggroll Queen food truck chain, is a U.S. citizen, and didn’t think she would have to worry about interaction with federal agents. But the impact grew closer as people she knew shared stories of family members detained by ICE.

“For me, the fear grew deeper — not just as a person of color, but as a deaf person who may not hear instructions or respond quickly,” Vang said. “I am not afraid of deportation. I am a citizen and have done nothing wrong. I am afraid of miscommunication. If I am approached suddenly and cannot hear commands, I worry the situation could escalate before I understand what is happening.”

Asma Abdille, assistant director of the Minnesota Deaf Muslim Community, also worries about miscommunication if she or other deaf immigrants are approached by ICE agents.

She left home recently with a different purse and realized she didn’t have her ID on her.

“I almost had a heart attack because I was afraid that if ICE were to approach me, how I could identify myself,” she told Sahan Journal through a video phone call.

While interaction with ICE itself is a major concern, possible detention inside the Bishop Henry Whipple Federal Building is even more frightening, advocates say, adding that they lack information about whether detainees are given necessary auxiliary aids — like sign language interpreters and braille materials — and services they need, even though it is required by law.

“I have yet to deal with a deaf detainee or a deaf individual who has interacted with ICE where they have been offered an interpreter at all,” said Celena Ponce, founder and director of Minnesota-based Hands United, which works to reduce language barriers for deaf and hard of hearing immigrants across the country.

A recent survey of more than 50 autism service providers found widespread, fear-driven disruptions among a population that depends heavily on routine and predictability. The ongoing survey, by the Autism Society of Minnesota and the Masonic Institute for the Developing Brain at the University of Minnesota, reported that ICE activity had forced people to stay at home and miss services, and caused heightened anxiety over family members or friends being targeted. Some respondents reported half or more of their clients missing sessions.

This forced self-isolation for safety, which can mean missing out on essential health care services, can be a “very dangerous choice” because “disability is already an incredibly isolating experience,” said Ivory Taylor, one of the founders of AmplifyMN, a grassroots organization working for disability justice through art, storytelling and community.

Many local providers and service organizations have scrambled to respond to the heightened vulnerability disabled immigrants are facing.

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