Kansas Activists Say U.S. Crackdown Sparks Fear in Immigrant Communities

(KANSAS) A sweeping U.S. crackdown on immigration has sent a wave of fear through immigrant communities across Kansas in 2025, upending daily routines, draining small business corridors, and pushing families to avoid public spaces as arrests, fines, and new benefit restrictions take hold. Activists, therapists, and business owners from Liberal to Kansas City say anxiety has surged in recent weeks, as the Trump administration moves to accelerate removals and tighten access to health and social programs.

“I truly started seeing the anxiety spike up with the people that I was directly working with. That’s all we would talk about,” said Sarai Aguilera, a bilingual intern therapist in Liberal, Kansas. Aguilera, a DACA recipient who counsels clients now afraid to go to restaurants, see a doctor, or attend church, added: “It has definitely been tough for me to sit in a space where I provide the safe space, while at the same time I go home and I face the same fears.”

Her account echoes what immigrant families and service providers describe as a climate of fear that is changing how people travel, shop, and even seek medical care.

In Kansas City, the pressure is visible in schools and along Central Avenue’s immigrant-heavy retail blocks. “People are terrified, and rightly so,” said Christy Moreno, chief advocacy and impact officer at Revolución Educativa in Kansas City. She said parents are now afraid to send their children to school after President Trump ended restrictions on immigration arrests at schools, churches, and hospitals, a shift that local advocates say has chilled attendance and pushed families further into the shadows.

The economic fallout is immediate in places where immigrant spending keeps storefronts alive. “We chose the place because we saw it was a busy place. But right now it’s just not like we saw it. Central Avenue is really slow,” said Lucy Angle, owner of Dulceria Sinai, a party supply shop in Kansas City, Kansas. Angle said her clientele has been “traumatized” by the enforcement push. “You can feel it. And hopefully, people, they’re gonna start making their parties. But they’re not making anything.” Business owners describe customers who once dropped by on weekends now staying home, worried that a wrong turn could lead to a police stop or an encounter with immigration officers.

Some corridors that depend on birthdays, quinceañeras, and community gatherings report more cancellations and fewer walk-ins. Immigrants are “hunkering down and holding onto their money,” shopkeepers say, and the sudden drop in foot traffic is leaving once-busy stretches of Central Avenue unusually quiet. In immigrant communities that often power weekend sales, fear of driving and spending has chipped away at the local economy fast. For mechanics, grocers, and event suppliers, the slowdown is forcing painful choices even as costs remain the same.

Few feel the hit more sharply than small garages and workshops that rely on loyal neighborhood customers. In Kansas City, Kansas, auto repair shop owner Danery Berrios said business is down 40%, forcing him to lay off two of his three mechanics. On top of the downturn, he is facing uncertainty about an immigration interview in Honduras that could determine whether he can return to his life and work in Kansas. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know. 50% chance, as 50/50. I can do nothing about this, like I don’t have control about this,” he said, describing a process that has become a source of constant stress as he tries to keep the doors open.

The strain reaches far beyond storefronts. Families in Dodge City and Liberal are rearranging routines to avoid risk, skipping church, delaying medical appointments, and limiting trips by car. In parts of southwest Kansas, where agriculture and meatpacking plants draw immigrant labor, advocates say residents are altering daily life more than at any time since the large-scale enforcement raids of earlier years. In towns like Liberal and Dodge City, almost 20% of the population is undocumented, according to the U.S. Census, magnifying the ripple effects as neighbors and employers adjust.

Across Kansas, community therapists report a rising tide of panic about deportation and family separation. Aguilera said many clients now bring up arrest fears in every session. In therapy offices from Garden City to Kansas City, questions about who will pick up children from school, what happens if a parent is detained at a hospital, and whether a traffic stop could spiral into a deportation order dominate conversations that once focused on coping tools and trauma recovery. Advocates say this shift has produced a mental health crisis layered on top of economic strain.

The policy changes behind the U.S. crackdown have come in rapid succession. The Trump administration’s domestic policy bill, approved this month, allocates about $170 billion to curtail immigration, aiming for record deportations. The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services added 13 programs to the list of public benefits restricted for immigrants, raising the total to 44 programs, with the policy projected to save $374 million annually and redirect that money to Head Start services for U.S. citizens. HHS cast the move as a reset of federal priorities.

“For too long, the government has diverted hardworking Americans’ tax dollars to incentivize illegal immigration. Today’s action changes that — it restores integrity to federal social programs, enforces the rule of law, and protects vital resources for the American people,” said HHS Secretary Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., in an official statement.

The department’s policy materials are available at the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.

The new restrictions come as Kansas health providers try to hold together care networks that immigrant families depend on. A 2023 KFF survey found 30% of immigrant adults in Kansas use community health centers for care, a share that clinics say could shrink if fear drives people away or if coverage pathways narrow. Providers warn that delayed care can become costlier emergencies and that cutting families off from preventive services will strain local hospitals. In the meantime, some people are avoiding clinics altogether, worried that treatment might bring them into contact with law enforcement or require identity documents they do not have.

At the same time, the administration has imposed daily fines for migrants who fail to self-deport after a removal order, setting penalties of up to $998 a day and allowing retroactive assessments that can stretch back five years. Officials are exploring asset seizures to collect unpaid fines, a step that immigrant advocates say could compound hardship for families already living on tight budgets. For mixed-status households, where U.S. citizen children rely on a breadwinner without legal status, fines and enforcement actions can destabilize the whole family overnight.

Kansas officials are coordinating with federal agencies on removals. Kansas Attorney General Kris Kobach announced Kansas Bureau of Investigation agents will assist ICE in removing “criminal illegal aliens from Kansas.” The move signals more joint operations in coming weeks and months, and has alarmed families who now avoid streets known for license plate readers or patrol units. Advocates say the message has been received in immigrant neighborhoods across the state: stay inside if you can, travel only when necessary, and keep cash for emergencies.

Community organizations are straining to respond. AyudaKC has been inundated with calls from parents worried about school drop-offs and custody plans if a parent is detained. The Kansas Immigration Coalition warned the benefit restrictions will push vulnerable families further to the margins.

“This policy change further institutionalizes the exclusion of undocumented immigrants from essential health and human services that are vital to community wellbeing, public safety and long-term recovery,” the coalition said in a statement.

Caseworkers describe families drafting notarized letters for guardianship, researching legal clinics, and canceling public activities to lower their visibility.

In Garden City, rallies have drawn crowds with posters opposing deportations, reflecting both anger and fear as the policy campaign accelerates. Organizers say the gatherings are intended to show that immigrant families are part of Kansas’ fabric, even as they brace for more arrests.

“My other fear is that there won’t be any comprehensive immigration reform to give legal status to families who have been here for years,” said Isidro Marino, a Garden City rally organizer, voicing frustration that years of efforts to pass legalization measures have stalled while enforcement expands.

Advocates in Kansas City and southwest Kansas say their clients’ questions have shifted in the past month from how to maintain status to how to stay safe. Parents ask if it is wise to attend Mass. Workers want to know if they should skip a shift when they hear about rumored ICE sightings. Older immigrants debate whether to leave home for medical appointments or risk gaps in care. For many, the choice is between isolation and exposure, a calculation that has reshaped daily life from school runs to grocery trips. In immigrant communities where information moves quickly over messaging apps and church networks, one reported stop can empty a street for hours.

The enforcement intensity is also altering business practices. Store owners who relied on weekend parties are trimming orders, postponing inventory purchases, and offering steep discounts to lure customers. Yet even deep cuts may not overcome the fear. Angle said party planning has slowed drastically. Berrios said car owners are deferring repairs for as long as possible, then asking for the cheapest option when a fix cannot wait. For many small businesses in Kansas, margins were slim even before the downturn; now, the decline in sales is forcing layoffs and reduced hours that could ripple through neighborhoods for months.

Therapists and social workers say they see the consequences in stress-related illness: sleeplessness, headaches, heightened anxiety, and depression. Aguilera said that with every new client, discussions turn quickly to deportation worries and safety plans. Her own DACA status means she shares some of the same fears. When she leaves sessions where clients describe panic attacks and nightmares, she returns home to a family making identical calculations about routes to work, calls from unknown numbers, and whether to answer the door. She said some clients no longer attend church or community events that once offered support, cutting them off from social lifelines.

Schools and clinics are adjusting to keep families engaged. Educators in Kansas City are coordinating with community partners to reassure parents that campuses are focused on learning and support. But Moreno said fear spiked after the administration lifted prior limits on arrests in sensitive locations, prompting parents to reconsider routines that once felt safe. The concern now extends to hospitals and doctors’ offices, pushing some families to postpone care at precisely the moment when health benefits are being restricted. Providers say the combination could leave untreated conditions to worsen.

Statewide, the political divide over immigration remains sharp, but the day-to-day effects are playing out in precincts that depend on immigrant labor. From Dodge City’s packing plants to Kansas City’s restaurants and construction sites, workers are quietly weighing whether to change jobs, move in with relatives, or leave the state. Business owners say they cannot plan beyond a week or two, uncertain if more enforcement will thin their customer base further. Some have started keeping smaller cash reserves at registers, wary of asset seizures tied to unpaid fines or other enforcement actions.

For now, immigrant communities are bracing for more. The domestic policy bill promises new funding streams for enforcement, and HHS program restrictions have already expanded the list of benefits off-limits from 31 to 44. The administration’s daily fines and potential asset seizures loom over households that have little room for error. On the ground in Kansas, the results are visible in shuttered storefronts, shortened hours, and therapy waiting rooms that fill by mid-morning.

Even for those pushing back, there is little clarity on what comes next. Organizers in Garden City and Kansas City are encouraging families to keep records in order and to seek legal advice, while acknowledging that advice alone cannot erase the fear of a traffic stop that spirals. In interviews across the state, the same phrase surfaces: people have retreated. They are shopping less, driving less, and stepping out less. They are holding their breath as they wait to see how far the U.S. crackdown will go and whether any relief, legislative or administrative, will appear.

On Central Avenue, Angle looks at rows of unopened party favors and unused piñatas and hopes customers will return. In his garage, Berrios counts the cars on the lot and wonders if next week will bring enough work to keep the lights on. In Liberal, Aguilera sits with clients who ask the same questions day after day about safety plans and separation, then walks out into a town where almost one in five residents lacks status. From Garden City rallies to Kansas City school offices, Kansas is feeling the shock in real time, as immigrant communities adjust to lives narrowed by fear and uncertainty, and a state that relies on their work measures the cost of a policy shift that shows no sign of slowing.