Masked ICE agents and federal officers in balaclavas and sunglasses detain migrants after immigration court hearings during the Trump administration’s controversial mass deportation effort at the Jacob Javits Federal Building in New York, NY on July 162025. They stand outside courtrooms with papers bearing photos of their ‘target’. Migrants line up in the lobby of the Jacob Javits Federal building in NY near a wall bearing a portrait of President Donald Trump and the Preamble to the US Constitution After an arduous journey seeking asylum and the American dream, some react with anguish and tears, others walk quietly on their final steps to a new destiny.
Agents say the masks maintain anonymity and save them from doxing to protect their families from the animosity towards them in society. Critics believe masks are intimidating and further traumatize children witnessing detainments of their parents, and that they should be required to show their identity and be held accountable the same as police officers. Legal efforts to unmask them are ongoing.
ICE - Broken Families
Photographer: Carol Guzy
Exhibit Title: ICE - Broken Families
Location: United States
Masked ICE agents detain migrants after immigration court hearings during Trump’s controversial mass deportation effort in NY on July 16, 2025. After an arduous journey seeking asylum, these are final steps to a new destiny. ‘Take me, not him – they will kill him!’ screamed Monica as she was violently thrown to the floor. Desperate daughters futilely hold on to father’s shirt. A woman is led in shackles. In a tender moment of humanity, a security guard weeps viewing the despair of a mother and child. Sometimes it is the quiet moments that resonate most profoundly in the collective conscience of a nation.
Children are traumatized, caught in the crossfire. ‘Why are you taking away my father from me? He is the only one I have,’ wept Scarlett, 10. She makes drawings of Jesus protecting her Papa. Anita and her two girls struggle, one of many broken families. Ashley celebrated her 3rd birthday as her Daddy languishes in detention. They hold onto fragile hope awaiting an uncertain future.
There is a vast political divide. Some protest. Others applaud. Daily, detentions continue.
I spent the last 6 months covering ICE detainments at immigration court in Manhattan.Now more than ever the media is a crucial link to cover effects of policies on real people at this pivotal time in America. It can be soul crushing at times to bear witness, but so very vital.
Some stories are greater than us.This is one of them.
Masked ICE agents and federal officers in balaclavas stand outside courtrooms with papers bearing photos of their (quote) ‘targets’ during the Trump administration’s controversial immigration reform policies, amid a mass deportation effort.Migrants line up near a wall bearing a portrait of Trump and the Preamble to the US Constitution.It's a catch-22 – rolling the dice at court or going into hiding.
Agents surround them even if a judge grants a continuance.They at first seem perplexed, then a moment of realization and shock.Then reluctant acceptance or anguish and tears.We are not privy to what – if any – criminal charges they may have but it’s been reported that many are misdemeanors or paperwork issues.Not all are the ‘worst of the worst’ criminals as promised by the President.
There is a surreal dance that takes place. Security guards are tangled in the middle of ICE, respondents, observers, activists and press as courthouse dynamics play out.
After an arduous journey seeking asylum and the American dream, some resist but most walk quietly on their final steps to a new destiny.
I firmly believe we need to check bias at the door and let thephotosspeak volumes, but sometimes images also amplify voices of justice.Strangers on the subway thank me for the coverage.One man said, ‘The press is now the last line of defense for democracy.’
I’m doing an evolving portrait series of the various agents assisting ICE.They spend 90% of the time leaning against walls, waiting. The images are not posed.Some firmly believe in their mission, others privately confide they don’t want to be doing this and are visibly shaken.
The most wrenching scenes are family separations.Children are devastated watching their parent taken away in a place they came for due process.I’ve been following families struggling with aftershocks to put a face on the consequences.
‘Take me, not him – they will kill him!’ screamed Monica, a distraught woman from Ecuador as she and her children Rosa & Christopher were pulled away from her husband Ruben.She was violently thrown to the floor withexcessive forceby an officer as her kids wept.Hewas relieved of duties pending investigation, then quickly reinstated. Rosa suffered with nightmares and felt guilty that she couldn’t pull her father away from the ICE agents that fateful day. She apologized, ‘Mom, forgive me because I couldn’t hug my dad well.If I had hugged him well, they wouldn’t have taken him.’They are seeking a therapist to help her heal.
In a moment of tender humanity, a security guard sheds tears witnessing the heartbreak of a woman and her children lost in despair.There are dramatic scenes in the hallways but sometimes it’s the quiet moments that reach most deeply into the collective conscience of a nation.
Photojournalism is the practice of visual empathy.But that empathy is a blessing and a curse – it allows us to create images that resonate on a deeply personal level, but our own hearts break harder.The grace and resilience of all the families that transcends adversity has been humbling, even as they are vilified by some.
Anita and her two daughters struggle after her husband Hermel was taken, leaving a broken family.10-year-old Scarlett wept, ‘Why are you taking my father from me? He is the only one I have.’ Herbiological dad was murdered in Ecuador, and this is a second painful loss in her young life.She watches TikTok videos about saying goodbye and makes drawings of Jesus watching over her Papa.My Dad died when I was 6, so I know the eternal hole that loss leaves in children.
They had traversed the jungle of the Darien Gap with newborn Ashley.
Anita and her girls listen to hymns during a service at St. Peter’s Church which provides not only prayer and solace, but legal assistance and resources.
She throws a party for Ashley who celebrated her 3rd birthday without her Daddy. When he calls, she cuddles and kisses the phone. ‘Ash… my little girl, my little girl,’ he says, crying. As he languishes in detention, he is missing the sweet growing up moments of his precious, precocious daughter.
‘Surrender to God. You’re not a criminal…’ she tells Hermel. ‘You’re not alone, you have us.’Slowly they adapt to life without him.Anita’s own hearing is looming. For now, she falls asleep embracing her girls, holding onto fragile hope as they await an uncertain destiny.
As journalists we can never truly walk in another’s shoes, but we can walk beside them with shared humanity.Sometimes we can offer those who feel invisible in the shadows of despair - that invaluable essence –hope.
The political divide is deep.Someprotest, decrying a lack of due process with echoes of Nazi Germany and a slippery slide into fascism. Others applaud.
And daily - detentions continue.
-Carol Guzy
Father Fabian Arias, St. Peter's Church
619 Lexington Avenue, New York, NY
Carol Guzy
cguzy@comcast.net
+1-202-412-8905
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