Immigrant women who sought help from police say they ended up in immigration detention, separated from their children. Advocates warn that weakened federal protections are making survivors increasingly afraid to report abuse.
For immigrant women experiencing domestic violence, calling 911 can be a frightening decision. Some fear that reporting an abusive partner could expose their immigration status, put their ability to remain in the United States at risk, or separate them from their children. We have written on the challenges women face when seeking help for domestic violence.
For several women detained at an immigration facility in western Michigan, those fears became reality.
An investigation published by ProPublica on October 14, 2026, documented cases of immigrant women who said they were trying to escape abusive relationships when local police arrested them. Prosecutors later dismissed their cases or declined to file charges, yet the women were transferred to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) custody.
At the North Lake Processing Center, a former prison in Baldwin, Michigan, the women found themselves separated from their children and facing uncertain immigration proceedings. Some had been accused of domestic violence by the same partners they said had abused them.
Their experiences show how an encounter with local police can lead to immigration detention, even when criminal charges are dropped or never filed. They also raise a difficult question for survivors: what happens when asking for help feels risky, too?
Migladys Bermudez, an immigration attorney in Michigan, became concerned after hearing from three women whose cases followed a similar pattern. The women said they had been trying to escape abusive relationships when police arrested them. Their accounts raised questions about how domestic violence investigations can expose immigrant survivors to additional risks.
One woman, identified as Leya, was arrested in Wyoming, Michigan, after an argument with her partner. According to police records reviewed by ProPublica, her partner told officers that she had grabbed his arm and tried to interfere with his call to 911. Leya denied abusing him and said she had experienced violence in the relationship.
Prosecutors declined to pursue charges, citing insufficient evidence and the absence of injuries. But Leya was not released.
Her fingerprints had been checked against law enforcement databases, alerting immigration officials to her presence. ICE issued a detainer asking the county jail to hold her until federal agents could take custody of her. Local officials honored the request, and Leya was transferred to North Lake.
She was separated from her infant daughter, whom she had never been away from for an extended period. While detained, she missed her daughter’s first birthday, first teeth and first steps.
At North Lake, Leya met other women who described similar experiences. Some said their partners had threatened to report them to immigration authorities or use their immigration status to control them. Others said they had contacted police for help before eventually being arrested themselves.
ProPublica also documented the case of Pilar, a woman from Peru who said she had tried to escape an abusive boyfriend. After her arrest, she was transferred to immigration detention even though prosecutors declined to file charges in her case.
For some women, the consequences extended beyond detention. One woman’s attorney told ProPublica that his client remained incarcerated for five months. During that time, her husband took their daughters out of state. She was released in May but had not seen her children in person.
These cases can have consequences well beyond the people detained. Children may lose daily contact with a parent, and families can be left trying to maintain relationships across detention facilities, immigration proceedings and state lines.
Attorneys and advocates warn that cases like these can discourage survivors from reporting abuse. When an abusive partner knows that someone fears deportation, that fear can become another way to exert control.
Congress has long recognized that immigrant survivors can face particular barriers when trying to leave abusive relationships. The Violence Against Women Act (VAWA), along with immigration protections for certain crime victims, created pathways through which eligible people may seek immigration relief without depending entirely on an abusive partner.
The protections have limits, however. They do not automatically prevent arrest or deportation in every case, and eligibility depends on the individual’s circumstances. The U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services guidance on VAWA protections explains who may qualify and how the process works.
According to ProPublica, the Trump administration rescinded federal guidance limiting immigration enforcement at sensitive locations on its first day in office. About a week later, it removed key protections for some applicants under VAWA and other crime-victim programs, giving immigration authorities greater latitude in certain cases.
The administration has also encouraged greater cooperation between local law enforcement agencies and federal immigration authorities. Such arrangements can increase the likelihood that people arrested by local police will come to the attention of ICE.
The broader enforcement climate has heightened concerns among advocates who say survivors are becoming more reluctant to seek help. For people already weighing whether it is safe to leave an abusive relationship, uncertainty about what might happen after a call to police can add another barrier.
There is no comprehensive national database showing how many domestic violence survivors are detained or deported after contacting police. ProPublica’s investigation drew on interviews, police records and immigration court documents to examine individual cases and their consequences for families.
For Leya, release from detention brought relief, but not certainty. An immigration judge granted her bond in August, allowing her to remain free while her case continued. After months in custody, she left North Lake determined not to return to the relationship she said had harmed her.
Her experience highlights a dilemma facing immigrant survivors: seeking protection can bring them into contact with systems that may also expose them to detention.
Advocates warn that when victims fear immigration consequences, abuse may remain hidden and dangerous situations can continue without intervention. For women whose partners use deportation threats to maintain control, weakened safeguards can make the decision to seek help even harder.
The cases documented by ProPublica raise urgent questions about whether immigrant survivors can safely report violence, maintain contact with their children and access the legal protections intended to help them escape abuse.
For many survivors, the fear is no longer limited to the person hurting them. It also extends to what might happen when they ask for help.
Where California survivors can find support
California residents can find information about resources for immigrant victims of crime through the California Courts’ victim resources guide, including information about possible immigration relief and legal assistance. The California Department of Public Health’s domestic violence resource page also lists support options, including the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800-799-7233 or by texting START to 88788. Survivors should seek advice from a qualified legal-services provider about their own immigration circumstances.
