As A Pediatrician, I Can't Be Silent About The Lasting, Devastating Harm ICE Raids Have On Children

In the last few weeks, national attention has focused on the protests in Los Angeles — now echoed in cities across the country — and on the heavy-handed federal response that has followed.

But long after the cameras leave and life settles into whatever new normal awaits, children will still be grappling with the lasting trauma inflicted on communities of color, the very injustice that ignited the protests in the first place.

As a pediatrician, I have seen fear begin to affect children before they are even born. One study illustrates this phenomenon well. In 2008, one of the largest and most dramatic immigration raids in U.S. history unfolded at a meat-processing plant in Postville, Iowa. In the aftermath, researchers at the International Journal of Epidemiology asked a simple but critical question: Would the raid leave measurable effects on unborn children in the community?

Thirty-seven weeks after the raid, the rate of low birth weight among women who identified as Latina in the area rose by 24%.

And low birth weight is more than a number. I have seen babies who are born underweight have difficulty breathing, eating, face an increased risk of infections, experience delayed developmental milestones and more. The consequences of starting life with poorer health can follow children well into adulthood.

Per the researchers: “Reports from throughout Iowa after the Postville raid include evidence of individuals and families preparing for the possibility of further immigration enforcement, avoiding public space, restricting spending, losing income or economic security due to changing employment practices and experiencing increased discrimination, stereotype threat or racialized exclusion as public discourse frequently conflated Latino/Hispanic phenotype with undocumented status.″

A Fear That Stays With You

The effects of fear and trauma in pregnancy and early childhood don’t happen in isolation. They are compounded by longstanding discriminatory housing practices that shape where children grow up, the air they breathe, the schools they attend and the opportunities they have later in life.

While large-scale raids create a clear before and after for a community, they are not necessary for immigrant children to experience harm. A 2023 study in Pediatrics found that children living in states with stricter anti-immigrant laws and higher levels of anti-immigrant sentiment faced a higher risk of chronic physical and mental health issues.

For most children living in these states, there wasn’t a singular traumatic event that triggered harm. The policies, which made everyday life harder for families, and the pervasive climate of fear and hostility toward immigrants were enough to take a measurable toll on children’s well-being.

“Policy statements from the American Academy of Pediatrics and other reports have called on pediatricians to play a more active role in educating the public about the adverse effects of systemic racism experienced by children of color and immigrant families,” the researchers write in the discussion. “This study underscores the importance of addressing the health impacts of state laws as well as the effects of public attitudes that perpetuate racist and/or anti-immigrant sentiments, all of which influence access to opportunities and resources that promote healthy development.”

As a pediatrician, these factors of inequity come into play every day I see children in my office. It’s hard to treat asthma in children who live in housing with poor conditions, or to advocate for support for children with disabilities who live in neighborhoods with understaffed public schools, or to help children with obesity get to a healthy weight when they live in food deserts.

I have a moral obligation to raise the alarm about the harmful effects targeting communities of color has on the health of children, and how this targeting lands in a context of exclusionary and discriminatory policies that make it all even worse.

But to be clear, people in the communities targeted by large-scale raids, left out of services and subjected to persistent prejudice, have long told us just how disruptive these things are to them, their families and their communities. Fear, exclusion and hostility undeniably put children in immigrant communities at risk of starting life with poorer health, long before they ever set foot in my exam room. These things don’t just shape childhood; they shape lifetimes.

So when I see people marching to defend their abuelas, their mamás, their tías— to protect their children — I don’t question their anger or their urgency. I ask how anyone could expect them to stay silent. I stand with them. How could I not?