In this article Rory Fanning, former US Ranger describes how ICE is acting like a military occupation force.
"Similar to the way that I terrorized Afghan villages during my time in the military following 9/11, ICE has been terrorizing my town."
"If you are carrying a weapon on behalf of the federal government in 2025, you are the opposite of a hero."
Thank you to all who gathered with IRTF on November 9 for our annual commemoration event to mark the 45th anniversary of the sacrifice of four US women missioners in El Salvador. In response to that horrific tragedy, people of faith and conscience in Cleveland founded IRTF as a way to carry forward their legacy—taking action in solidarity with oppressed and marginalized communities as they struggle for peace, dignity, and justice.
IRTF board and staff wishes to thank all the volunteers who helped us set up, decorate, run the event and pack up at the end of the night, Pilgrim Church for hosting us, the kitchen staff at Guanaquitas pupsería for preparing our dinner, Megan Wilson-Reitz for coordinating our social hour (and the many kitchen volunteers!), Salim and Lucía for coordinating our raffle/auction, Pastor Jay for running the tech, and all who participated in the service and speaker program.
To our 46 co-sponsors: Thank you for your financial support that helps us continue calling people into solidarity with oppressed peoples in Central America and Colombia. We are deeply appreciative of your affirmation of our mission and ongoing commitment to this important work.
They said they were punished in a dark room called the island, where they were trampled, kicked and forced to kneel for hours.
One man said officers thrust his head into a tank of water to simulate drowning.
Another said he was forced to perform oral sex on guards wearing hoods.
Others were shot by rubber bullets.
They said they were told by officials that they would die in the Salvadoran prison, that the world had forgotten them.
“‘You are all terrorists,’” Edwin Meléndez, 30, recalled being told by officers who added: “‘Terrorists must be treated like this.’”
When they could no longer take it, they held a hunger strike. They cut themselves, writing protest messages on sheets in blood.
One detainee, age 26, was so sick that he could not get out of bed, and other men had to feed him. Taken to the infirmary, he was beaten in front of medical personnel. A doctor told him: “‘Resign yourself. It’s time for you to die.’”
To send the 252 Venezuelan men to prison in El Salvador —along with many Salvadoran nationals—in March of this year, Mr. Trump invoked the Alien Enemies Act, a sweeping, rarely used 18th-century law that allows for the expulsion of people from an invading nation.
In September, Mr. Trump, speaking at the United Nations General Assembly, praised Salvadoran officials for “the successful and professional job they’ve done in receiving and jailing so many criminals that entered our country.”
A New York Times analysis revealed that U.S. military aircraft — including an AC-130J attack gunship, a Navy P-8A surveillance plane, and an unmarked Air Force jet — began operating out of El Salvador’s main airport in mid-October. Their deployment marks a significant expansion of the Trump administration’s military buildup in the Caribbean, tied to counternarcotics missions and potential action toward Venezuela. The move underscores close ties between Washington and President Nayib Bukele and raises legal and political concerns as airstrikes in the region increase with little public justification.
The Trump administration has further dismantled legal protections for Honduran women fleeing gender-based violence. Recent U.S. immigration rulings have invalidated key “particular social group” (PSG) categories—such as “Honduran women unable to leave a relationship”—that previously allowed women to claim asylum based on gender persecution. These changes, effectively bar many victims of domestic and sexual violence from receiving asylum. The rulings ignore the deep links between private violence, organized crime, and state complicity in Honduras, which has the highest femicide rate in Latin America.
Venezuelan opposition leader María Corina Machado was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for her work promoting democracy and human rights. However, her record and political alliances tell a different story. Machado has expressed support for U.S. military intervention in Venezuela, aligned herself with Trump, Netanyahu, and far-right groups in Europe, and used anti-migrant and nationalist rhetoric to advance her cause. Her positions raise questions about what kind of “peace” and “democracy” she represents, and how her leadership affects the broader Venezuelan struggle against dictatorship and foreign interference.
As ICE expands its use of A.I. surveillance tools from Palantir, Graphite, and Zignal Labs, scholar Austin Kocher warns that the U.S. is adopting “digital authoritarianism with American characteristics.” In his new article for Dialogues on Digital Society, Kocher argues that ICE’s tech-driven deportation machine mirrors tactics once seen only in China—raising urgent questions about power, accountability, and how far democracy can bend before it breaks.
As immigration raids sweep through Latino neighborhoods across the U.S. Southwest, Catholic and interfaith communities are stepping up as lifelines of faith and resistance. In Coachella, California, parishioners deliver food to immigrants too terrified to leave their homes. In Nogales, Mexico, nuns and volunteers cook daily meals for deportees. And in El Paso, faith groups pray outside federal buildings as they watch asylum seekers’ cases—most ending in denial.
While politicians defend the crackdown as “the Lord’s work,” church leaders are calling it what it is: a moral crisis. Pope Leo XIV has condemned mass deportations as “inhuman,” urging U.S. bishops to speak louder for compassion. Bishop Mark Seitz of El Paso and others have taken that call to heart, demanding solidarity and reminding the faithful of America’s founding ideals of justice and welcome.
Across border cities, fear runs deep—families skipping Mass, children too afraid to go to school, priests celebrating online to reach those in hiding. Yet amid raids, trauma, and despair, faith endures. From Texas to California, believers continue to feed, shelter, and stand with the persecuted, transforming prayer into quiet defiance against a system that criminalizes hope.
Indigenous Maya Q’eqchi’ communities who live in the Sierra Santa Cruz mountain range in Izabal Department, Guatemala, have been battling harmful and violent mining operations for over 60 years. Recently, following peaceful occupations, protests, and complaints filed with the Public Ministry over illegal excavations carried out by mining companies, the Ministry of Environment and Natural Resources (MARN) announced on July 30 that ten environmental licenses granted for operations in the Sierra Santa Cruz had been cancelled. Despite this, Canada-based Central America Niquel (CAN) and its subsidiaries, Río Nickel S.A. and Nichromet Guatemala, have continued to illegally push ahead with mining operations in the Sierra Santa Cruz mountain range.
Following his vital work covering local resistance to these mining operations, journalist and human rights defender Carlos Ernesto Choc is facing targeted attacks of intimidation and harassment. Since 2017, Carlos Choc has faced unfounded criminal charges related to his coverage of police brutality during protests against the El Fénix nickel mine in El Estor (where 90% of the residents are Indigenous Maya Q’eqchi’), arbitrary house raids, and threatening attacks by unidentified assailants. Now, he is experiencing escalating acts of intimidation, including shots being fired near his house, an unidentified car hitting the fence surrounding his house, and defamatory messages being circulated online. We are writing to Guatemalan authorities to implement immediate measures to protect Choc.
After President Bukele’s government repealed El Salvador’s historic mining ban, environmentalists fear a quiet return of metal mining—starting with the long-contested El Dorado gold project. Despite official silence, new companies are being registered, land deals linked to mining firms are surfacing, and military presence in affected communities is increasing. Activists report being watched and harassed, even as they continue to fight criminal charges seen as politically motivated. With worsening water shortages and contamination risks, many Salvadorans warn that reopening the mines threatens not only the environment but also their communities’ survival and democratic freedoms.
