In the heart of Durham, North Carolina, a community has mobilised into a formidable protective network in response to a surge in federal immigration enforcement. Faced with the sight of armed, masked agents patrolling their neighbourhoods, residents have launched a rapid, grassroots campaign centred on safeguarding their most vulnerable members, particularly the families of schoolchildren.
A Swift Community Response to Federal Presence
The catalyst for action came in late November, just before the Thanksgiving holiday, when agents from US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and Customs and Border Protection (CBP) descended upon Durham as part of a wider North Carolina operation. The impact was immediate and chilling. ICE arrests in the state doubled in 2025 compared to the previous year, reaching 3,400 arrests between 20 January and 15 October.
On the morning of 19 November, a remarkable scene unfolded outside schools across the city. Dozens of parents, many of them fathers, formed ad hoc welcoming committees. They distributed whistles and gloves, positioning themselves along school perimeters. Their dual mission was to greet students and to act as a visible, united front against any potential immigration enforcement activity on campus.
Norma Portillo, the PTA president at Club Boulevard Elementary and an immigrant from Honduras, sprang into action. She organised rideshares for families too fearful to leave their homes to take their children to school. Simultaneously, she and other volunteers, mostly mothers and grandparents, expanded the school's weekly food pantry, using the same network to make essential deliveries directly to households. "I am so touched by how the community is willing to help people," Portillo said. "We not only respect each other, but we care for each other."
Roots of Resilience: Drawing on Past Organising
This swift mobilisation did not emerge from a vacuum. Durham has a deep history of community organising, often centred on its schools. Teachers have frequently been at the forefront of these efforts. Holly Hardin, a middle school teacher at Lakewood Montessori, was a key figure in the 2016 campaign to free Wildin Acosta, a Durham high schooler arrested by ICE on his way to class. That struggle, which involved student journalists lobbying Congress, built the networks and know-how being utilised today.
"Durham and the south have always been home to so much courage and noncompliance and resiliency in the face of historic oppressions," Hardin explained. "It's not building a model of charity. It's building a model of intentional care for each other, larger than any one group."
The fear within the community is palpable and well-founded. Natalie Kitaif, a PTA member, hears it from her young children. "They seem to know that adults are being targeted," she said. "It deeply concerns me to know how afraid they are for their parents." Volunteers like Jeana, who has no children at the schools, felt compelled to join the patrols after seeing unmarked SUVs with masked occupants near her neighbourhood, describing a "visceral reaction" to the terrorising of her neighbours.
Institutional Support and the Push for Stronger Policies
This culture of resistance also finds expression within local government. In September, the Durham city council declared the city a "fourth amendment workplace" after ICE agents appeared at the county courthouse. The resolution was introduced by Councillor Javiera Caballero, an immigrant from Chile and the first Latina elected to the council, who is also a former PTA president at Club Boulevard Elementary.
Meanwhile, grassroots group Durham Public School Strong (DPSS) formed in November, quickly amassing over 2,600 volunteers for its care and protection teams. They are now pressing the school district for clearer, stronger directives on what to do if ICE or CBP agents attempt to enter a school campus. Current policy requires a judicial warrant and directs agents to district superintendents, but many believe this is insufficient.
"Having a plan reduces anxiety," says Megan McCurley, a Latina parent and preschool director. Teachers like Holly Hardin agree, recalling a student's urgent question on the morning of the patrols: "Will you let ICE come into our schools?" She could promise she would not allow it, but could not guarantee it wouldn't happen—especially with the potential erosion of long-standing "sensitive location" protections under the current federal administration.
As one ninth grader, Yair, asked the school board in December with his family by his side: "Are you telling us that this is a normal time in our democracy? We need a policy that will protect us." In Durham, the community is not waiting for an answer; they are writing their own policy of collective protection, one carpool, one food delivery, and one school patrol at a time.
