Editor’s Note: This the second story from a new reporting project called Silent Battles, which focuses on the mental health of immigrant, refugee and asylum communities in the U.S. We have begun the project in Chicago, a city founded by a Haitian immigrant, that has the fourth-largest immigrant population in the country. The series is a collaboration between the Chicago bureau of MindSite News and palabra, a multimedia platform from the National Association of Hispanic Journalists. It is made possible with funding from the Field Foundation of Illinois.

This story may contain scenes or references that could be triggering to people impacted by trauma. If you or someone you know need mental health support please call the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by dialing 988. Crisis counselors are available in English and Spanish, as well as for people who are deaf or hard of hearing.

By Alma Campos | Edited by Diana Hembree

Just two days after Donald Trump was elected president in Nov. 2016, mental health advocates in Chicago gathered to discuss concerns about the election’s impact on immigrants’ mental health. The meeting ultimately led them to found the Coalition for Immigrant Mental Health, a network of organizations united in providing mental health support for immigrant residents of the city who do not have legal documents.

One of the founders, Maria Ferrera, an associate professor of social work and critical ethnic studies at DePaul University, recalls that she and many other mental health advocates were deeply worried about immigrants who were terrified by the rhetoric coming from Trump, and they decided to join forces to help them. “I don’t think any one of us really expected Trump to win,” she said.

Fast forward eight years, and those fears are exploding all over again. At a rally in New York City on Sunday night, Trump vowed to initiate “the largest deportation program in American history” on his first day in office and pledged to “rescue every city and town that has been invaded and conquered.”

In Chicago, the high stress and anxiety migrants have experienced after Trump’s unrelenting attacks — especially during the current presidential campaign — have so eroded their mental health that some report a sense of desperation and hopelessness they can’t shake, even with the support of loved ones. Demoralized by the barrage of threats and insults, others are turning to alcohol for the first time. Some, including Chicago resident Ana Pérez, say they are haunted by suicidal thoughts.

Pérez (who is using a pseudonym for fear of being deported if identified) lives in La Villita, or Little Village, a Chicago neighborhood that is a sought-after destination in the Midwest for many Mexican immigrants. Little Village is a bustling neighborhood with traditional Mexican bakeries, family-owned restaurants, a thriving arts community and more than 500 locally-owned businesses contributing $900 million per year to Chicago’s economy. Pérez and her family are among thenearly 67,000 Latinos in the neighborhood who make up nearly 82% of all the residents in Little Village. Of those Latino residents, 28,000 are from Mexico.

Pérez immigrated from Guerréro, Mexico as a newlywed to build a new life, but now she is plagued by constant worry. Her mental health has suffered, she said, from Trump’s attacks on immigrants and his threats of mass deportation and internment camps. “It affects me a lot,” says Pérez, who says she has reached the point where she has contemplated suicide “so as not to feel and not to see everything that is coming.” She is seeing a therapist to help her get through this dark time.

If Trump wins the upcoming election, she believes her life will be even more difficult than it was after his victory in 2016. “He comes with more force,” she said. “I believe that now he has a lot of support. The people are raising him up. So, that gives him the power to say, ‘Well, I can do things that before, I wouldn’t do.’”

Worries about a new rush of despair

Young Latino immigrants may be especially vulnerable. The fear and despair sown by Trump’s rhetoric and the threat of large-scale deportations during his presidency, and now, have already resulted in suicide attempts and a sharp rise in suicide-related thoughts among immigrant youth, which deeply alarmed Ferrera. Immediately after Trump’s election in 2016, the phone lines at the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline lit up in an unprecedented surge of calls from young people.

On November 10, 2016, two days after Trump’s victory, Ferrera and about 25 professionals from mental health agencies gathered in a conference room at the Chicago School of Professional Psychology, where they shared stories of distress calls they were receiving from immigrant families and youth. Some were in the U.S. thanks to DACA, or Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, a U.S. immigration policy enacted in 2012 that protects eligible undocumented immigrants who came to the country as children from deportation.

“The level of stress was just uncharted,” Ferrera said. “Within two days we were hearing about DACA youth committing suicide. So you can imagine what Trump represents.”

Now, just days away from the 2024 U.S. presidential elections, immigrants worry that a return by Trump to the White House would be followed by family separation and the kinds of immigration policies and inflammatory rhetoric that marked his previous term. Trump has announced that he will also seek to use the military, including the National Guard, to round up and deport up to 20 million undocumented immigrants and enforce harsher border policies. He has called migrants “animals,” “stone cold killers,” “the “worst people,” and the “enemy from within” and has made numerous false claims about people from other countries, including repeating a social media lie that Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio are eating dogs and cats.

Trump’s verbal attacks on migrants are so unhinged that the online media outlet Politico has described his rants on the campaign trail as racist and xenophobic, adding that they increasingly feature “what some experts in political rhetoric, fascism, and immigration say is a strong echo of authoritarians and Nazi ideology.”

Many migrants fear the fragile sanctuary they’ve built through years of grueling work in the shadows — a stable home, a better life for their children — will evaporate should Trump win.

Children gripped by fear

Speaking from the two-bedroom apartment that she shares with her husband, two daughters aged 17 and 23, and her 7-year-old grandson, Pérez explained that her husband works as a car mechanic while she takes care of the family. Since the couple has not been able to obtain immigration documents, she said they are in constant fear of deportation, and it has also prevented them from buying a house, worried that if both she and her husband were deported, their daughters would be left with the burden of paying for it.

Her youngest daughter struggles with similar fears and anxiety. She has a difficult time sleeping, Pérez said, and frequently asks if there’s a plan in place in case her parents are deported. “She suffers a lot, poor child, because she goes to bed thinking (after ) watching the news, ‘ What is happening? Who is winning?” Pérez said.

Eight years ago, Chicago nonprofits and coalitions that support immigrants mobilized quickly to respond to Trump’s election, organizing to strengthen immigrant mental health. Today, in 2024, they are working to counter Trump’s increasingly dark anti-immigrant rhetoric and bring a sense of hope to the beleaguered community – even as the possibility of Trump’s reelection boosts anxiety among immigrants, especially those without documents and new arrivals, as they brace for potential attacks on their wellbeing and safety.

After the 2016 election, Ferrera felt compelled to act in response to the fear and anxiety that overwhelmed many immigrants. At that time, she was already teaching at DePaul University and was also involved in community-based research with students without legal status as part of Youth Health Service Corps, a youth-empowering health program in Chicago. The program was headed by Centro Sin Fronteras, an organization founded in Chicago by Lincoln United Methodist Church pastor and prominent civil rights activist Emma Lozano.

“I was listening to them and their stories. So I knew. I had a sense of how much they were impacted,” Ferrera said.

She recalled a high school student in a red state who was living in the U.S. without legal documentation. He felt deeply unsafe when his school celebrated Trump’s election. “He was afraid of what (Trump) was going to do. He knew he was in trouble. He knew he was vulnerable in a place where, if people knew about his status, he would be in trouble,” said Ferrera. The student ended up leaving the school and the family relocated to Chicago.

Flor Ramirez, who is a community navigator at Arise Chicago, a nonprofit focused on addressing workplace injustices through education, organizing and policy advocacy, recalls that time.

“It was a collective fear,” she said. “It was a fear that cut through our family. I had to talk to my bishop, to tell him that if I got deported, if I could please leave him a notarized letter that he would take care of my children, because my biggest fear at that time was that my children would be left with the human rights department and that they would be separated.”

‘Don‘t say anything, don‘t sign anything’

Ramirez said many people put up cameras outside their homes in case agents from the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) showed up, in order to be able to spread the word to neighbors. “It was a panic,” she said.

She watched the phones 24 hours a day, she recalls. “We started to circulate among the community some help numbers, that if something happened to you, don’t say anything, don’t assume anything, don’t sign anything,” Ramirez said.

Her main concern now is for new arrivals in the workforce. Their limited understanding of their rights and of their access to resources leave them more vulnerable to exploitation since they are not yet established in the city, are hesitant to enter federal buildings, and lack the support and resources that she was able to get over the years of living in Chicago through her colleagues and her work at Arise.

“There are a lot of people who don’t know where to turn,” Ramirez said. “There are even many people who do not even report certain things or go to the police, because we are afraid of the police. I am aware that there are people who do not go to report things that happen at work, because it is a government building.

“It’s going to get tougher, definitely. All the racist attacks increase with this man every time he speaks. The racist people become empowered to tell us: ‘Wetback, Mexican, go back to your country, here we speak English.”’

At Arise Chicago, Ramirez works as a community navigator, helping undocumented immigrants obtain DALE (Deferred Action for Labor Enforcement), which provides work authorization for those who report workplace violations, wage theft, abuse or harassment. She secured one herself after her former employer failed to provide masks and protective gear during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, despite workers repeatedly requesting them. The work authorization encourages workers to come forward without fear of immigration-related consequences by offering temporary protection from deportation.

She adds that employers may feel emboldened to take advantage of these workers, particularly if programs like DALE — introduced under the current Biden administration — are rolled back under Trump, further augmenting people’s fear.

Employers exploit workers’ fears

Ramirez sees this rhetoric as a fear tactic used to manipulate immigrants, drawing parallels to the intimidation she faced from employers at a previous job. She recalls a former manager trying to control her and her colleagues, saying, “I know the status of many of you, but don’t worry, no, don’t worry, I will help you,” in order to keep them in a state of fear.

Having experienced harassment, wage theft and retaliation from former employers in the past, Ramirez understands what consequences a Trump presidency could bring for many immigrants who don’t have a legal status, in the workplace and beyond.

Rocío Gómez, a post release service supervisor at Bethany Christian Services and bilingual therapist, worked with new arrivals screened for trauma as part of a program called Wraparound, which she said lost its funding earlier this year. “We were practically the gateway to all those who came seeking political asylum and who had been traumatized.”

Gómez used to see clients who arrived in Chicago and throughout the state of Illinois via virtual one-on-sessions from her home to make it easy for people to access help. In her video calls online, she heard difficult stories of rape and death threats her clients received and struggles of their family members back home.

“And now with the rhetoric that political asylum is going to be more difficult to gain — well, when they begin to hear these stories… they are maybe afraid to show up to court, maybe thinking ‘they are going to deport me upon entering the building,’” she said.

Gómez noticed that many of her clients followed immigration news intently, and she believes this habit takes a toll on their mental health. She would often advise them to take a break from watching or listening to the news.

“My position was that of a therapist,” she says, “but (they would ask me): ‘Rocío, what do you think is going to happen? Are they going to deport us? What would happen to my family? Can I go to the airport? Can I go to the store?’”

She also recalls clients telling her things like: “I feel like my head is going to explode, and my heart races uncontrollably.”

Nightmares of being separated from their loved ones followed, along with difficulties eating, and struggles with alcohol use were also common, according to Gómez. For many who hadn’t had alcohol problems before, it became an issue after arriving in the U.S.

Gómez, who also worked as a licensed substance abuse counselor in in addiction centers, recalled some clients saying, “Alcohol makes me sleep, or relaxes me… I go to sleep and I am not thinking about what is going to happen.”

‘This loss of identity, combined with racial discrimination, leads to isolation, despair, and ongoing trauma, creating a vicious cycle of stress and re-triggered trauma.’

The fear and anxiety that the vitriol Trump is spreading could unleash anti-immigrant violence has already materialized for some communities. His false claims that immigrants spread violent crime have been repeatedly debunked by studies, including one published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences in 2020. It showed that American citizens are two times more likely to be arrested for violent crimes, two and a half more times more likely to be arrested for drug crimes and four times more likely to be arrested for property crimes than those without documents. But when Trump repeats false claims about immigrants and crime at a rally, his followers can take matters into their own hands – as seen in the backlash that followed his lies about Haitians in Ohio.

Haitians feel the hate and the heat

Perhaps no group feels the weight of this moment more deeply than the Haitian community in the Ohio city of Springfield. Multiple bomb threats have rattled the area, sparked by Trump and his running mate JD Vance’s accusations that Haitian immigrants were involved in illegal acts, including eating neighbors’ pets. Vance even admitted to making up the stories to push a point.

Despite local leaders and residents debunking these lies, the damage has been done — escalating tensions, closing schools, and leaving a lasting impact on Haitians far beyond Ohio. In downtown Chicago, where the Haitian community is estimated to include some 30,000 to 40,000 people, dozens came together in a rally organized by the Coalition of Haitian American Organizations to denounce the claims. Despite the heavy rain, attendees listened to faith leaders, community members and alderpersons who addressed the crowd.

Haitian immigrants Yakini Ajanaku Coffy and her husband Jean Paul Coffy shared their anxieties about the possibility of Trump being elected, as well as concerns about the hateful remarks he made about their community. I spoke with them inside their car on Sunday while rain pounded outside.

“My wife told me, ‘If you don’t vote for Kamala Harris, it means Donald Trump wins,’” Jean Paul Coffy said, sounding resigned. He added, “I’ve done that before,” referring to his past support for the Clintons, expressing disappointment in the outcome.

Wearing a black Kamala Harris T-shirt, Yakini Ajanaku added, “At this stage of the game, it would be just a crime to have Donald Trump back in office. You know, it’s just now we’re dealing with a narcissistic, deranged human being, and I just don’t think that that would be the most responsible thing to do.” Although Trump’s claims of a Haitian immigrant crime wave and pet-eating have been debunked, the damage runs deep.

The psychic impact of hate

Vanessa Prosper, PhD, a psychologist and assistant professor at Boston College of Haitian descent, noted that this kind of language reactivates the trauma Haitians have endured for decades, undermining their mental health.

“It could be different responses from just feeling even more hypervigilant, even more unsafe, even more mistrustful of the American system and whether the American system truly can support them,” Prosper said. “It’s feeling like, ‘Well, I can’t count on anybody.’ It’s feeling dismissed.”

Racial trauma reactivates the pain of systemic racism, she said, and it can then manifest in different mental health symptoms, triggering intense anxiety, deep sadness, depression and a sense of hopelessness, leading people to withdraw.

“This loss of identity, combined with racial discrimination, leads to isolation, despair, and ongoing trauma, creating a vicious cycle of stress and re-triggered trauma,” said Prosper.

Prosper added that, like in many immigrant communities, there is a mental health stigma among the Haitian population, and often feelings of anger or shutting down show up on the surface, while sadness lives underneath.

“In the Haitian Creole language, there’s no word, let’s say, for depression. It’s more culturally accepted to display anger and frustration than to display sadness. It’s also a culture where you learn that after a struggle, there’s another struggle,” Prosper said.

Prosper emphasized the importance of educating immigrants on how to recognize and respond to trauma, depression and anxiety, while also addressing and breaking down the stigma surrounding mental illness within their communities.

“It’s challenging for the person to sit back and reflect on things like, ‘How is it that I’m feeling? Am I feeling sad? Am I feeling discouraged, despair?’” Prosper said. “Because oftentimes people don’t have the luxury to sit on their feelings because they have to go to work.”

Echoing Ramirez’s concerns about newly arrived migrants, Ferrera emphasized the urgent need for expanded services, funding, and awareness for the 50,000 or so new arrivals Chicago has received since August 31, 2022. Many remain unaware of available resources due to weak connections with immigrant-serving organizations.

“Trump’s policies have had a chilling effect, and many immigrants distrust the government,” along with any systems and people who haven’t shown signs of being an ally, she said.

Since obtaining 501c3 status in 2022, the Coalition for Immigrant Mental Health has focused on expanding its support for immigrant communities. Key efforts include updating their mental health resource directory, dispelling myths about immigrants and offering opportunities to work on advocacy and policy change.

Since 2016, they have trained nearly 500 frontline workers in trauma-informed care at migrant shelters in Chicago and fostered a network of over 700 members dedicated to supporting immigrant communities in Chicago. As they continue to grow, they are crafting a strategic plan to enhance their impact, which includes creating a community advisory board to ensure their work remains rooted in the needs and voices of those they serve.

Ferrera said that besides the need for more funding for and awareness about mental health in immigrant communities, it’s essential to create welcoming, safe environments where people feel comfortable seeking help.

“We’ve been sensitive to the fact that this just doesn’t go away,” she said. “It’s a constant fear.”

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Alma Campos is an award-winning bilingual journalist in Chicago and is passionate about telling stories of immigrants in the U.S. Born in Mexico, her path led her from Azusa, California, to Chicago’s South Side. Her work dives into the immigrant experience, capturing stories across a range of topics from mental health and labor to community resilience. She contributes to The Guardian, is a senior editor at South Side Weekly, and leads reporting on the intersection of immigration and mental health for the Chicago bureau of MindSite News. Her work has also appeared in WTTW, Crain’s Chicago Business and Univision. @alma_campos

Sebastián Hidalgo is a photojournalist and investigative reporter in Chicago, covering the intersection of low-wage labor and policing. @sebastianhidalgo_photo

Diana Hembree is co-founding editor of MindSite News. She is an award-winning journalist and editor who worked as a senior editor for Time Inc. Health, as news editor of the Center for Investigative Reporting, and as editor in chief of a health and medical startup. She has written for Forbes.com, Columbia Journalism Review, Southern Exposure, and many other outlets and served as an associate producer of the PBS Frontline documentary “The Great American Bailout.” She has a BA in English literature and an MS in sustainable food systems. @legacyreporter

Rob Waters is an award-winning health and mental health journalist and the founding editor of MindSite News. He has worked as a staff reporter or editor at Bloomberg News, Time Inc. Health and the Psychotherapy Networker and was a contributing writer to Health Affairs. His articles have also appeared in the Washington Post, the Los Angeles Times, the San Francisco Chronicle, Kaiser Health News, STAT, the Atlantic.com, Mother Jones and many other outlets. @robwaters001