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The best way to resist enforcement activities, we learned under the first Trump administration, is for citizens and noncitizens to claim one another as fellow community members, and then work together.
Throughout his 2024 campaign, Donald Trump promised mass deportations of the more than 11 million unauthorized immigrants in the United States. Those of us on the ground who work with immigrants are apprehensive about what that will look like and how we can respond.
During the first Trump administration, I was part of local organizations working on issues of migrant detention and deportation defense in Washington state and writing my dissertation on interior immigration enforcement. I was also active with migrant justice efforts during the Obama presidency.
Some of what happened during these periods involved large-scale raids that made national news. Such operations are expensive to plan and orchestrate, are highly disruptive to the communities where they occur, and provoke opposition. This can happen again. However, much more immigration enforcement took place quietly, through the intensive targeting of specific locations such as workplaces, highway stretches, bus stations, and apartment complexes where Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents believed there may be undocumented people.
Most sanctuary ordinances remain in place, but locals need to organize to make sure these ordinances have popular support and are upheld.
At any point, ICE could round up those immigrants under remote surveillance, through GPS devices and mobile phone apps, who now number 181,000 people. ICE agents also capture people as they are being transferred from police custody, jail, or prison. Traffic stops, domestic disputes, and altercations with neighbors lead to deportation. This kind of enforcement is the most efficient for ICE; it has made up more than 90% of ICE arrests under President Joe Biden and will likely happen even more aggressively under Trump.
The Trump campaign drummed up support through scapegoating “migrant crime.” This is a pretext for mass deportations. There is no evidence of a crime wave related to immigration, but tying together the criminal justice system and immigration system becomes a way to ensnare people in the deportation dragnet.
The best way to resist these kinds of enforcement activities, we learned under the first Trump administration, is for citizens and noncitizens to claim one another as fellow community members, and then work together. Much of this work happens at the local level.
For example, Pacific County Immigrant Support was formed in 2018 in a rural county in Washington state that has voted for Trump for the past three election cycles. Citizen and noncitizen community members tracked ICE arrests and organized community protection.
Group members accompanied immigrants to ICE appointments and court dates, raised funds for immigration attorneys and bonds, and provided know-your-rights training to immigrants and employers of immigrants. They also sat down with the local sheriff to ensure that he wasn’t collaborating with ICE.
What is needed now is a blossoming of local-level efforts to defend immigrants. In Washington state this includes the Washington Immigration Solidarity Network hotline for reporting deportation events and connecting people who are facing enforcement with resources. The Fair Fight Bond Fund provides bonds to immigrants in detention while going through their proceedings in Washington, as does the National Detention Bond Fund at the national level.
Washington’s Shut Down the NWDC (Northwest Detention Center) campaign in Tacoma, and other campaigns nationwide coordinated through the Detention Watch Network, have exposed deadly and inhumane conditions in migrant detention centers, gathered support for people to survive detention, and strategized to shut down the detention infrastructure.
There is evidence that shutting down detention centers is an effective strategy for restraining immigration enforcement. There is also evidence that ICE enforcement was not able to function as smoothly in jurisdictions regulated by sanctuary ordinances. Most sanctuary ordinances remain in place, but locals need to organize to make sure these ordinances have popular support and are upheld.
The first Trump administration was vengeful towards those who thwarted its restrictionist agenda. Trump revoked some federal funding to sanctuary cities. As I have documented in my scholarship, ICE agents also targeted activists, community organizers, journalists, and artists who spoke out against them.
The Biden administration refused to place restraints on ICE’s capacity to repress activist immigrants. Also during the Biden administration, the revanchist mantle was passed to state governments, like Texas, which bused asylum seekers to sanctuary cities, prosecuted immigrants for trespassing, and punished border humanitarian organizations. We can expect more of this kind of thing.
That is why it is crucial that we build solidarity within our local communities and get ready to defend against the coming attacks.
African youth, leveraging social media and operating without funding, have emerged as a powerful force for change, echoing the historical independence movements of the mid-20th century.
“Africa is Rising!”—or so the narrative goes. But the sun of economic growth does not shine on everyone. African youth face record-high unemployment, political underrepresentation, and limited access to resources. In 2024 alone, 19 African countries have held elections, yet young people—one-third of the continent’s population—remain largely excluded from leadership. So, it isn’t surprising that in this same year, African youth, mobilizing on digital platforms, have come out loud and clear against economic hardship and government inaction.
The first time we felt digital and social media mobilization in Kenya was in 2019 in the weeks leading up to the 2019 International Women’s Day. Feminists in Kenya planned and digitally mobilized nationwide protests against femicide to draw attention to the rising cases of femicide and Intimate Partner Violence (IPV) in the country that went with no arrests of the perpetrators or the government addressing the issue. The protests were mobilized on social media under the hashtag #EndFemicideKE/#TotalShutdownKE.
As seen in the #RejectFinanceBill protests in Kenya, the #FearlessOctober protests in Nigeria, and youth-led movements in Uganda and Mozambique, today’s youth are not merely reacting to the rising cost of living but are pushing for profound systemic change.
Between August and October, the Kenya National Police Service reported 97 cases of femicide. The real numbers must be higher since some of the cases don’t get reported to authorities. During the 16 Days of Activism 2024, Kenyans across the country held forums to highlight the femicide issue. This culminated in nationwide protests held across the country on the International Human Rights Day 2024, calling on the president to declare femicide a national disaster. As usual the peaceful protests were met by police brutality, with the police teargassing innocent protestors.
This social youth-led movement, started by Gen Z protesters in Kenya in June, has now spread to Uganda, Nigeria, and Mozambique. Waves of young people are rising to challenge electoral malpractices, bad governance, corruption, and tax hikes. African youth, leveraging social media and operating without funding, have thus emerged as a powerful force for change, echoing the historical independence movements of the mid-20th century. With the majority of the protests driven by men and women under 30, there’s significant potential to create long-lasting momentum for good governance, economic justice, an end to corruption, and better electoral management.
The weeks leading up to the first physical #RejectFinanceBill2024 protests in Kenya on June 18 and 19 were dominated by general discontent with proposed taxes on basic commodities like sanitary products, cooking oil, and bread. Social media platforms were abuzz with calls of “enough is enough” as platform users explained how much the bill would drive up the cost of living for most average citizens. The general feeling was “we need to do something” about this bill before life got much more difficult than it already was.
Within days, users had circulated a date, venue, and dress code on social media and were downloading the Zello walkie-talkie app en masse. What followed next was historic as young Kenyans in all parts of the country took to the streets to protest the Finance Bill in what became known as the #RejectFinanceBill2024 and #OccupyParliament protests.
Following Kenya’s example, anti-corruption protests erupted in Uganda in July. Then August and October saw Nigeria’s #EndBadGovernance protests and #FearlessOctober protests against the cost-of-living crisis and bad governance. In Mozambique, citizens took massively to the streets to protest against electoral malpractices following the October 9 elections.
As in Kenya, all these protests have more in common than how violently they were dealt with: excessive police force, extra-judicial killings, abductions, torture, and hundreds of injuries.
The vast majority of protesters are young people, and social media played a pivotal role in getting them out on the street. It helped them facilitate real-time updates, coordinate demonstrations, counter misinformation, and obtain legal aid by crowdfunding for arrested activists. By circumventing traditional media, young activists exposed abuses and united communities, forcing authorities to confront this digitally-savvy and highly organized force.
Historically, Kenyan politics has been divided along ethnic and tribal lines, with voting blocs often rallying behind leaders from their communities. The Gen Z movement, however, has broken this mold. Young activists have shifted the focus from ethnic loyalty to broader issues like equality, social justice, and government accountability.
Under the “tribeless, leaderless, party-less” tagline, the #RejectFinanceBill protests shunned traditional political affiliations and adopted a spontaneous, decentralized model. This approach gave the movement flexibility to adapt quickly to changing circumstances, such as evading police by frequently shifting protest sites. Without a clear hierarchy, the protests continued despite arrests, as authorities struggled to suppress an ever-evolving, leaderless movement.
The Kenyan protests took the government by surprise. Previously, youth complaints were confined to social media. Now, they were on the streets nationwide, transcending tribal and party lines. The government’s response was violent, resulting in dozens of deaths and abductions. Even today, police isolate and kidnap perceived protest leaders, many of whom end up dead or traumatized from their experiences. The Kenya Police Service has however denied this.
Africa’s political history is marked by leaders who position themselves as “saviors” promising utopia while failing to build sustainable systems. This narrative has bred disillusionment as youth recognize the need for systemic change, not just individual leaders. Gen Z activists across Africa are increasingly demanding transparency and accountability, emphasizing structures that outlast personalities and prevent corruption.
This year’s protests also signal another shift: African youth are questioning whether their leaders’ personal politics align with the principles of justice, equality, and inclusion. This younger generation is looking beyond mere representation to evaluate leaders on their stance against patriarchy, homophobia, and tribalism. Are they committed to redressing historical injustices and fighting systemic oppression? Activists believe these questions should determine the support any leader receives.
With the majority of activists under 30, Africa’s Gen Z is set to reshape the political landscape. Supporting these young Africans, rather than depending on traditional “savior” figures, is essential. Leaderless, decentralized movements have proven to be effective at disrupting the status quo.
As seen in the #RejectFinanceBill protests in Kenya, the #FearlessOctober protests in Nigeria, and youth-led movements in Uganda and Mozambique, today’s youth are not merely reacting to the rising cost of living but are pushing for profound systemic change. By combining digital activism with physical presence on the streets, African youth are demonstrating their commitment to a transformed and empowered continent and broader systemic change.
HR 9495 seems designed for political purposes, to limit debate about the most pressing issues—war, climate, economic access—our country faces today.
On November 21, 2024, the House of Representatives passed bill H.R. 9495, the “Stop Terror-Financing and Tax Penalties on American Hostages Act” and passed it to the Senate for consideration.
The bill contains two separate elements, one of which is not controversial and another which is highly controversial.
The first part of the legislation proposes to postpone the tax obligations of Americans being held hostage overseas. It seems fair and right and has almost universal bipartisan support.
It’s already illegal for NGOs in this country to support terrorism, so one intent of HR 9495 must be to limit democratic participation that makes legislators uncomfortable.
The second piece of the bill would allow the Secretary of the Treasury to, unilaterally and with no concrete justification, designate nonprofits as “terrorist supporting organizations.” These organizations would then lose their nonprofit status. As the ACLU has pointed out, any community news outfit, university, or civil association targeted by this law would be required to prove Treasury’s error in order to reclaim their tax-exempt status. By then, of course, the damage would have been done. The scarlet letter “T” would likely haunt the organization for as long as it attempted to act in the world. The potential effects of HR 9495, however, extend far beyond the fates of a handful of nonprofits.
This bill echoes one passed near the end of President Richard Nixon’s first year as president. President Nixon and his surrogates pitched their Tax Reform Act of 1969 in populist terms. It would, they said, prevent millionaires from squirreling away money in foundations and nonprofits in order to dodge paying their fair share to the common good. What really drove the passage of the bill, however, was another concern. Major foundations, including the Ford Foundation, had been contributing to President Lyndon Johnson’s “War on Poverty” and his mission to bring the nation’s poor in from the “outskirts of hope.” President Johnson had called for the “maximum feasible participation” of poor people in the democratic politics of their localities, states, and the nation. With funding from the Office of Economic Opportunity and Ford, the voices of the poor and marginalized were being heard. Cleveland elected its first Black mayor. Parents in Bedford Stuyvesant took control of the public schools. And in Durham and Greensboro, as well as in rural North Carolina counties, foundation-funded organizers were helping poor and working people, Black and white, to make coherent demands that would improve their lives and the lives of their children.
Threatened political and business bosses saw in Nixon an ally who could help them maintain their grip on power, as they reinforced the president’s grievance-driven “silent majority” with race-baiting and red-baiting tactics. Meanwhile, Roy Wilkins, the director of the NAACP, saw the Tax Reform Act of 1969 for what it was. “Negro citizens,” he wrote in a New York Times op-ed, “are not deceived by the ‘tax reform’ label. They view the move (and rightly so) as an attempt to halt the increase of Negro voting strength.”
After the passage of the Tax Reform Act, over 200,000 people lost nonprofit jobs funded by the OEO and private foundations. Beyond the economic impact of the law, powerful government and private institutions cut ties with committed activists, causing many of these activists to lose faith in the country’s commitment to broadening our democracy. This pushed some of them to imagine ever-more radical solutions beyond the voting booth, even stirring in a few dreams of overthrowing the American government.
When Alexis de Tocqueville visited America in 1831 and 1832, he saw American associations as “fundamental” to our democracy. They give voice to our citizens’ myriad thoughts, concerns, and creative ideas for improving lives and the laws that govern them; nonprofits inspire and improve democratic debate.
As the Tax Reform Act of 1969 siphoned the political power from associations, HR 9495 seems designed for political purposes, to limit debate about the most pressing issues—war, climate, economic access—our country faces today. It’s already illegal for NGOs in this country to support terrorism, so one intent of HR 9495 must be to limit democratic participation that makes legislators uncomfortable.
Before they vote, we should make sure our Senators realize that by shutting people up, they will damage our democracy. They may even push some to more desperate, provocative, and unruly attempts to be heard. Instead of reducing social conflict, passing HR 9495 could well increase it.