New Orleans, Portland, Basile - they are quiet places, far removed from the centers of power in Washington. And yet these days, they lie at the heart of a policy that strikes with full force. Mandonna “Donna” Kashanian, 64 years old, a US partner, gardener, grandmother - was arrested just a few days ago in her garden in New Orleans. ICE officers handcuffed her while she was pulling weeds. Her daughter has been in shock ever since. Her husband, Russell Milne, no longer understands the world. “Who picks up a grandmother?” he asks quietly. Donna came from Iran in 1978 as a student. Her father had supported the pro-Western Shah regime - she feared reprisals and applied for asylum. It was denied, but she was allowed to stay - on the condition that she regularly report to the authorities. She complied, even during Hurricane Katrina. She married a US citizen, had a daughter, volunteered for Habitat for Humanity, filmed Persian cooking videos on YouTube. Now she is sitting in a detention center in Basile, Louisiana. Without trial. Without a new offense. Simply because she is Iranian - at the wrong time.
Because it's not just the missiles currently raining down on Iranian territory. It's also the raids taking place in American suburbs. The Department of Homeland Security won’t disclose any numbers, but proudly reports the arrest of eleven Iranians during the weekend of the airstrikes. Tricia McLaughlin, spokeswoman for the department, speaks of “suspected terrorists” and “extremists” who were allegedly brought into the country by Biden through humanitarian visa programs - evidence? None. The list of those affected? Sealed. The charges? Mostly visa violations from twenty years ago. It feels like a calculated roundup. Ryan Costello of the National Iranian American Council puts it bluntly: “What ICE seems to be doing here is issuing a blanket order - arrest as many Iranians as you can, whether or not they pose a threat.” Fear is spreading through the Iranian-American community. Many have lived here for decades, have US-born children, pay taxes - and now no longer know if they’ll be with their families tomorrow.
Just like S.F., a man from Oregon. He came to the US over 20 years ago, got married, started a family. His wife and children are US citizens. S.F. converted to Christianity - a decision that could bring torture or death in Iran. He too once applied for asylum. He too was denied - but stayed in the country, reporting regularly. A few days ago, he was picked up by ICE on his way to the gym. Two weeks before his next scheduled check-in. His lawyer warns: “The recent bombings have created a de facto state of war - deportation to Tehran would amount to a death sentence.” What’s happening here is more than just a series of bureaucratic actions. It is a show of demonstrative force, a political signal to the outside world - and an act of arbitrary cruelty on the inside. The Trump administration circumvents diplomatic hurdles by not deporting people to their home countries, but instead to third countries such as El Salvador, Panama, or Costa Rica. Even deportations to South Sudan are planned - a country with which the US has no diplomatic relations. This is not about justice. It is about power. About control. About setting an example. Kashanian’s daughter Kaitlynn no longer understands the world. “She tried to do everything right,” she says. What remains is a feeling of abandonment - and the pressing question of whether there is still room for humanity in this America.
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