Activists Rally Against ICE as Documents Point to Local Enforcement

(TOWSON, MARYLAND) A wave of protests against the expansion of local immigration enforcement swept across cities and college campuses this year, with activists converging outside county buildings in suburban Baltimore and marching to a federal facility in Portland as immigration authorities rolled back protections and broadened partnerships with local police. Organizers and local officials say the shift has opened the door to immigration checks far from the border and heightened fears in schools, churches, and hospitals, which for years were considered off-limits for arrests. They point to a sharp surge in demonstrations—more than 700 immigration-related protests recorded in 2025, accounting for 27% of all reported protest events nationwide—as evidence of broad public alarm.

In Towson, residents rallied outside Baltimore County offices and the old courthouse after county officials reaffirmed a memorandum of understanding with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. The agreement requires the Baltimore County Department of Corrections to alert ICE before releasing anyone with an immigration warrant or detainee from custody, a policy critics say risks turning routine local detention into a pipeline to federal custody. Immigrant advocate Maureen Wambui, who joined the demonstration, said:

“When people go to the courts and when they go to the jails and all. Why should someone else come in and say, I want to pick you up like that’s not fair. They are not trained culturally to work with immigrants.”
She added that families often do not understand legal terms and fear minor encounters could have severe consequences.

The county’s arrangement with federal authorities was formally approved in June 2024, but the political temperature rose after federal shifts this year intensified local cooperation. The number of local law enforcement agencies enrolled in the 287(g) program—which deputizes local officers to enforce immigration laws—has more than doubled in early 2025, according to advocates and policy analysts tracking the program. In Florida, every county now participates, with some agencies using the Task Force Model that allows local officers on patrol to detain and arrest people suspected of immigration violations, a practice widely criticized by immigrant rights groups for inviting racial profiling and separating families during routine stops. Participation details are listed on the ICE 287(g) program page.

In Towson, Baltimore County Councilman Izzy Patoka, who attended the rally, said he will propose a bill on November 17, 2025, to limit ICE’s authority in the county.

“At the same time that we have a federal government shutdown, the same time we have federal employees being laid off, we’re expanding ICE. That doesn’t make sense to me,” he said, promising a debate over where local resources should go at a time when residents are worried about public safety and schools.
Activists say the county’s memorandum has sowed confusion among families unsure whether a traffic stop or a court date could trigger immigration checks, especially after years of messaging that local services would remain separate from federal enforcement.

The protests, largely peaceful with 97% showing no violence or property destruction, have swelled in number and frequency. Organizers counted more than 700 demonstrations this year, peaking at about 250 protests in one week in February, as public ire focused on federal directives and local agreements that expand immigration enforcement beyond traditional settings. Advocates note that for months, they have warned against normalizing federal presence at county jails and on local patrols, saying such steps risk pushing undocumented residents further into the shadows and discouraging victims or witnesses from speaking to police.

What galvanized many was ICE’s decision on January 31, 2025, to rescind longstanding guidelines that protected so-called sensitive locations like schools, churches, and hospitals from enforcement actions. Community groups and university leaders say the rollback created uncertainty about where agents could operate and what rights administrators have if ICE appears on campus or at a clinic. Legal aid organizations started circulating guidance for principals, deans, and clergy on how to respond if immigration officers arrive, while state officials, including the Minnesota Attorney General’s Office, fielded inquiries about whether local policies can limit access to public buildings. With the protections gone, pastors and hospital workers described a spike in anxiety among parishioners and patients worried that attending a service or seeking care could put them at risk.

In Portland, hundreds joined an “ICE Out of Portland Rally and Protest” at Elizabeth Caruthers Park before moving through the streets to the ICE facility in South Portland. Organizers accused federal and Department of Homeland Security officers of responding harshly to demonstrators.

“ICE agents have been emboldened by Donald Trump’s deployment of the National Guard, and are currently using tear gas and pepper bullets to disperse crowds of peaceful protesters,” an organizer wrote in the call to action, saying the show of force was out of step with the overwhelmingly nonviolent character of recent protests.
They added that the protests would continue until city leaders and the state moved to curtail cooperation with federal agents.

The strength of the movement reflects not only national policy shifts but also how local agreements have multiplied. In addition to corrections-based cooperation, the 287(g) Task Force Model lets deputized local officers perform immigration functions away from jails, pulling people into the system during traffic stops and street encounters. That approach has been adopted more widely since an April 15, 2025 markup analysis reported that 287(g) participation had doubled in early 2025. Advocates argue that empowering local patrol units to make immigration arrests undermines community policing and erodes trust, especially in areas with large immigrant populations who already worry about being targeted on their way to work or school.

The protests are not confined to city halls and county jails. In Baltimore, activists gathered outside a Home Depot to draw attention to corporate practices they say make it easier for ICE to find and detain day laborers.

“Home Depot across the country are allowing ICE to come on their property, specifically looking for migrant workers who often wait in the parking lots looking for hire work,” participants said in interviews with WJZ’s Ashley Paul, adding that private property rules leave workers unprotected while they seek daily jobs.
Labor groups and faith leaders have called on major retailers to adopt clear policies barring federal agents from targeting people in their parking lots without warrants.

On university campuses, students and faculty rallied after ICE arrested Mahmoud Khalil, a green card-holding Palestinian student at Columbia University, for his role in campus protests. Media and campus groups reported similar detentions at Georgetown, Tufts, and the University of Alabama, prompting teach-ins about legal rights and statements from professors urging restraint from law enforcement. Student organizers said the arrests chilled speech and were part of a broader pattern of immigration enforcement tied to political dissent. Administrators, facing questions from parents and trustees, urged students to remain calm even as they sought clarity on whether campus police could be compelled to assist federal agents.

In Towson, the mood outside the courthouse mixed anger with worry. Several residents said they came because of the immediacy of the county’s policy and the growing presence of immigration enforcement across Maryland. They pointed to county operations that, while administrative in nature, now carry consequences far beyond a hearing or release date. Wambui’s criticism of cultural competency among law enforcement resonated with families who say relatives do not always understand the legal terms they face in court or detention, and who fear that a minor encounter could spiral into deportation proceedings.

As the protests grew, immigration lawyers published fact sheets for school districts and clinics detailing what to do if agents arrive without a warrant, advising staff to verify documents and designate points of contact for law enforcement. Pastors reported parishioners asking whether Sunday services were safe. Pediatricians said some parents skipped appointments or avoided hospital emergency rooms because of the uncertainty around enforcement in medical settings since the protections were rescinded on January 31, 2025. For many service providers, the challenge is balancing legal obligations with community trust amid a shifting federal landscape.

In Florida, where every county is now linked to ICE through 287(g), immigrant advocates say the changes have rippled through daily life. Drivers have altered routes to avoid checkpoints. Some families have relocated within the state to counties they believe use jail-based models rather than patrol-based Task Force operations, even when such distinctions offer little practical difference. Public defenders reported clients more reluctant to accept plea deals out of fear that any admission could trigger an immigration hold at the jail. Sheriffs who embraced the program argue it removes dangerous offenders from the streets and aligns with federal priorities, but they face growing criticism from civil rights groups questioning the breadth of arrests and the collateral impact on families.

Back in Baltimore County, the planned legislation from Patoka has become a focal point for both sides. Supporters hope to limit how county agencies can cooperate with ICE, drawing clearer lines around when alerts can be sent and under what circumstances officers may engage in immigration enforcement. Opponents warn that restricting cooperation could complicate serious criminal investigations or strain relations with federal partners. The hearing, set for November 17, 2025, is expected to bring a large crowd and renewed scrutiny of the county’s memorandum of understanding, which took effect in June 2024 and remains in place pending any legislative changes.

The national debate continues to be shaped by activists’ accounts of how tactics on the ground have evolved. In Portland, organizers accused officers of using tear gas and pepper bullets on crowds they described as peaceful, tying the escalation to recent federal decisions and public statements.

“ICE agents have been emboldened by Donald Trump’s deployment of the National Guard, and are currently using tear gas and pepper bullets to disperse crowds of peaceful protesters,” the organizer wrote, repeating their claim as lawsuits prepared to test the limits of federal authority at demonstrations.
Those legal fights converge with city-level efforts to restrict use of force and clarify when federal officers may operate in municipal spaces.

Despite the tense scenes, most demonstrations this year have been peaceful—97% showed no violence or property destruction—according to organizers who track protest events. That statistic has become a refrain at rallies, where speakers emphasize the broad coalition of faith leaders, students, labor groups, and local officials pressing for policy changes. Many demand a rollback of 287(g) agreements and county MOUs, a formal restoration of sensitive-location protections, and strict transparency rules for agencies that share data or coordinate with ICE. They argue the expansion of immigration enforcement is “dehumanizing” and “aggressive,” echoing the language that has appeared on protest banners and in testimony at city council meetings across the country.

Even as chants echoed outside the old courthouse in Towson, the debate moved inside municipal offices and state capitols, where attorneys drafted proposals to narrow the scope of cooperation. Some hospitals and school districts asked for written assurances that local staff would not be asked to assist in immigration arrests unless presented with a judicial warrant. College administrators, facing the example of Mahmoud Khalil’s arrest in New York, met with campus police to review protocols when outside agencies seek access to campus facilities. And community organizations held know-your-rights sessions in church basements and community centers, urging families to gather documents, assign guardianship for children, and identify legal representation in case a parent is detained.

In interviews at the Towson rally, residents linked the local memorandum to national shifts they said are moving enforcement into everyday life. For them, the question is not whether immigration laws should be enforced, but how and where. Wambui’s words—

“When people go to the courts and when they go to the jails and all. Why should someone else come in and say, I want to pick you up like that’s not fair. They are not trained culturally to work with immigrants”
—captured a central complaint: that local systems built to serve communities are being asked to perform federal roles they are not equipped to handle. Patoka’s push—
“At the same time that we have a federal government shutdown, the same time we have federal employees being laid off, we’re expanding ICE. That doesn’t make sense to me”
—underscored the political stakes as county leaders weigh budgets and public safety priorities.

What happens next will be shaped by the speed of legislative efforts and the willingness of local governments to test the limits of cooperation with federal agencies. For now, the protests show no sign of waning. Organizers are planning more marches, sit-ins, and campus events, with February’s high-water mark of about 250 protests in a single week serving as both a benchmark and a rallying cry. Whether authorities restore protections for sensitive locations or narrow the reach of local partnerships will determine if the country continues on its current path, with immigration enforcement reaching deeper into civic spaces—or if communities can draw clearer lines between public services and federal power.