Despite a reduction in immigration officers in Minnesota over recent months, a pervasive sense of fear continues to grip residents across the US state. This apprehension stems from enforcement operations that tragically led to the deaths of two American citizens, sparking national protests and deeply unsettling many, particularly within Minneapolis’s Somali community—the largest diaspora outside of Africa.
Abdi, a 23-year-old Somali man whose name has been changed to protect his identity, embodies this fear. He remains terrified of the heavily armed, masked immigration officers who reportedly still patrol the city. “This isn’t over,” Abdi confided to the BBC, explaining that he rarely stays in one place for more than five nights and goes to work discreetly.
Abdi’s fears are well-founded; several of his friends have been recently detained, despite holding Temporary Protected Status (TPS) documents, just like him. TPS is designed to allow individuals from countries affected by conflict, disaster, or extraordinary conditions to live and work legally in the US for a limited period.
The Trump administration had actively sought to terminate TPS for Somali immigrants by March 17, asserting that security conditions in the African nation had improved. This move was projected to impact approximately 2,500 Somali TPS holders across the US. Although a federal judge temporarily blocked these deportation efforts, the reprieve remains precarious.
Prior to the initial deadline, a significant deployment of 3,000 ICE agents in Minnesota led to numerous arrests, with some individuals already deported. This extensive operation, coupled with former President Trump’s disparaging remarks about the Somali community, left many feeling singled out and targeted.
According to the US Census Bureau, the United States is home to an estimated 260,000 people of Somali descent. Over half of these individuals were born in the US, and many others are naturalized citizens, far exceeding the number of undocumented Somalis, according to community leaders. Many arrived in the US following the collapse of Somalia’s last nationwide government in 1991. The nation has long grappled with chronic drought and persistent instability, enduring two decades of struggle against various militias, most notably al-Shabab, an al-Qaeda-affiliated group.
Abdi himself fled Somalia in 2022 after al-Shabab militants attempted to recruit him. “I spent about US$15,000 to get here. My family gave everything,” he recounted softly from a dimly lit apartment hallway.
His harrowing journey involved purchasing a Kenyan passport from a smuggler, flying to Brazil, and then embarking on a treacherous trek through the Darién Gap—a dense jungle stretch between Colombia and Panama widely considered one of the world’s most perilous migration routes. “At one point, I stepped on a dead body,” he vividly recalled. After reaching the US-Mexico border, he crossed into the US, applied for asylum, and, on legal advice, also applied for TPS, which grants him the right to live and work in the country until 2029.
The recent ICE raids also ensnared several Somali-American dual citizens, who are now too fearful to speak publicly. Other families torn apart by deportations to Somalia are similarly reluctant to share their stories, often too traumatized by the experience. Deportation can impose a re-entry ban to the US for 10 years or more, severing individuals from their lives in the country, including children they may have left behind.
The US Department of Homeland Security (DHS) has hailed Minnesota’s Operation Metro Surge as a significant victory for public safety. In a statement to the BBC, the agency asserted: “We have arrested over 11,000 criminal illegal immigrants who kill Americans, hurt children, and sow terror in Minneapolis because sanctuary city politicians refuse to protect their own people and instead protect criminals.”
A tough stance on immigration remains a cornerstone of Trump’s re-election campaign, and it continues to be his strongest policy in polls, even though disapproval still outweighs approval, according to the latest Ipsos survey.
For Abdi, the situation remains an existential crisis: “I would rather live in hiding here my entire life than go back to Somalia, because my life would be at risk.”
Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey views such widespread fear as symptomatic of a stark contradiction in US policy. “The federal government is saying there’s no need for Temporary Protected Status in the United States, while at the same time warning people not to travel to Somalia because it’s dangerous,” he told the BBC. “Which one is it?”
Walking through parts of Minneapolis populated by migrant communities, the lingering impact of the raids is still palpable. While daily life is slowly resuming and schools have reopened, some shops and restaurants remain shuttered during what would typically be busy hours. In a parking lot outside a Chinese restaurant, a tow truck driver moving a car offered a grim explanation: “I heard the owner and staff of this restaurant were picked up by ICE, and that’s why this place is closed.” He noted that some vehicles had been parked for days, their owners too afraid to return.
“We are living in dark times,” Minnesota Congresswoman Ilhan Omar recently declared at a Democratic Party convention in Minneapolis. Following her address, the first Somali-American woman elected to the US Congress spoke to the BBC about the devastating impact of the past months’ immigration raids, particularly on children.
“There’s still fear that they will be stopped, that their parents could be stopped. Even our healthcare centers are impacted.” A vocal critic of Trump, Ilhan Omar has questioned the scale and tactics employed by ICE during these operations. “The difference between what we’ve previously seen under other administrations, including the [Barack] Obama administration which had one of the highest rates of deportations, is that the process… was done without creating chaos [and] fear,” she stated. “The way Operation Metro Surge has been executed is with the presence of masked men on the streets, unidentifiable, in large numbers with military-grade weapons pointed at people. What we’ve seen here appears to be a war zone.”
The DHS maintains that those legally in the US have nothing to fear and that ICE agents wear masks to “protect themselves from doxxing by terrorist sympathizers.” Doxxing involves posting private information online for malicious purposes. According to the DHS, attacks on ICE officers have significantly increased.
Tensions were further exacerbated by Trump’s inflammatory remarks, labeling Somali people “garbage.” “I don’t want them in our country, to be honest… their country is not doing well for a reason,” Trump told reporters.
The former US president repeatedly highlighted a protracted scandal affecting Minnesota’s Somali community, where dozens have been indicted in connection with a charity accused of fraudulently billing the Minnesota government for children’s meals during the Covid-19 pandemic. Governor Tim Walz announced a halt to his re-election efforts following criticism over his handling of the issue. The investigation into the alleged fraud escalated last week with raids on more than a dozen childcare centers. However, Omar argued that immigration enforcement should not be conflated with separate criminal cases, emphasizing, “The majority of those charged are US citizens.”
Minnesota Republican Senator Jim Abeler also criticized ICE tactics, attributing them to a deeper, bipartisan failure of government policy that requires urgent rectification. “I don’t think this is a party issue. Our national immigration policy is a mess—it’s been a bipartisan failure for a decade,” he told the BBC.
Trump’s insults have significantly eroded Republican support among Minnesota’s Somali residents, despite his having garnered some backing from the socially conservative community in the run-up to his second term. “I voted for Trump—and I regret doing that,” Foos Abe of Minneapolis lamented to me. “If I hadn’t voted for him, he wouldn’t be able to call us ‘garbage’.”
Ironically, Operation Metro Surge has brought people together in unexpected ways, fostering unity across diverse groups. This includes figures like Somali-American Imam Sharif Muhammad and Jane Buckley Farley, a pastor in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. I met them at a Minneapolis mosque, where the Imam observed that the crisis had strengthened interfaith bonds: “The ICE raids created greater closeness and brotherhood and togetherness.” The pastor concurred, stating, “When the surge happened, people came together, asking where help was needed and how we could respond.”
Together, they established an informal warning system to alert residents to the presence of immigration officers—a powerful grassroots response to the climate of fear. Among the dedicated volunteers involved in this network were Renee Good and Alex Pretti, two US citizens who were fatally shot by federal immigration agents during an immigration operation in January.
Outside the mosque, I encountered Lisa and her husband, a retired white couple who are also volunteers. Requesting that her full name not be disclosed, Lisa explained how residents remain vigilant, using whistles to warn others if immigration officers are spotted nearby. “It’s quieter now, but they’re more cunning. They blend in, so they’re harder to spot,” she noted, describing evolving ICE tactics. For Abdi, this volunteer network offers a glimmer of solace, though he confesses to feeling desperate. “We had hopes for a future in America. Our dreams have been shattered,” he concluded, his voice tinged with profound disappointment.
Summary
Fear still grips the Somali community in Minneapolis due to