The Trump administration’s weeks-long immigration enforcement campaign in Minneapolis, which has shuttered schools and terrified students and parents, has left one group particularly vulnerable: children with disabilities. 

Their families, who already fear their kids shutting down, running away, harming themselves or acting out when confronted under normal circumstances, have seen their anxiety skyrocket as they contemplate worst-case scenarios with federal agents. 

Tens of thousands of Minnesotans gathered in sub-zero temperatures last week to demonstrate against the federal government’s ongoing presence, including and .

Idil Ahmed, who lives near the epicenter of the daily raids and protests, worries about her 6-year-old autistic daughter having a meltdown during an encounter with Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents.

鈥淚f they stop us, all hell will break loose with my child,鈥� Ahmed said. 鈥淎nd there is no talking to these people.鈥�

Parents tell 社区黑料 they have no faith, after federal agents ripped a from her car and, according to school officials, used a this week to lure his mother from their home, that immigration officials would be patient with a child who can鈥檛 immediately respond to orders.

鈥淲hen I saw that image of this young boy with his backpack, I thought, 鈥楾hat could be my son,鈥欌�� said Najma Siyad, mother of a 5-year-old with autism. 

Both Ahmed and Siyad are members of Minneapolis’ Somali community, the largest in the United States and one that has for removal by President Donald Trump. 

They are among many Somali families whose children have autism; a neurodevelopmental condition that is .

They and other Somali-Americans say their children are doubly vulnerable by virtue of their race and disability: While the first is obvious, making them a potential mark for ICE and U.S. Customs and Border Protection, the second is not. 

They and other families with special needs kids have missed school, skipped doctor鈥檚 visits and, in many cases, are not getting the occupational, physical and speech therapy services that help their children manage their lives and progress academically.  

Ahmed said her daughter missed three consecutive weeks of occupational therapy because her therapist was too fearful to enter their neighborhood.

鈥淥T for us is so important,鈥� Ahmed said. 鈥淚t regulates her emotions, helps with fine motor skills, simple things like dressing, eating, body movements, the teaching of how to be physically independent.鈥�

And while multiple districts are offering remote learning to families afraid to leave their homes, online instruction isn鈥檛 a viable option for children who need a team of skilled school staff to access their education. 

鈥淚t鈥檚 not a solution for us,鈥� said Anisa Hagi-Mohamed, founder of an autism advocacy group called Maangaar Voices. 

Regression, both educationally and socially, is a constant concern, these parents say. But stronger still is their worry about their child coming face-to-face with a federal agent who doesn’t know 鈥� and perhaps doesn鈥檛 care 鈥� why they won鈥檛 interact. 

A spokesman for the Department of Homeland Security, which oversees ICE and CBP, said he was working on a response as to whether agents are trained to interact with autistic children and others with disabilities. Minnesota law for peace officers but this does not apply to ICE and CBP, Minneapolis advocates say.

Hagi-Mohamed has three kids, a 9-year-old son and two daughters, ages 5 and 8. All are 鈥渙n the autism spectrum,鈥� and each has their own unique vulnerability, she said.

Her middle child is nonverbal and frequently runs away to no particular destination. 

And her son looks far older than his age. He also has difficulty responding to anyone who commands him to act. 

鈥淗e would completely shut down, self harm and get hurt in the process,鈥� Hagi-Mohamed said, imagining him in an ICE encounter. 鈥淚 worry all the time.鈥�

She鈥檚 advised him not to talk to any adults outside of school or home. 

She鈥檚 frightened, too, for her 5-year-old, who treats all grownups with the same deference as her parents. 

鈥淭he stranger danger thing is not so strong in her,鈥� Hagi-Mohamed said. 鈥淪he is one of those kids who if you tell her to do something, she will do it.鈥�

These families say they have remained petrified ever since an ICE agent in Minneapolis killed unarmed motorist on Jan. 7 just after . Hours later, federal agents wreaked havoc at nearby Roosevelt High School. And on Jan. 24 in what may be a turning point to the strife in Minneapolis, federal agents shot and killed a 37-year-old nurse, Alex Pretti, setting off a fresh wave of terror and outrage.

Maren Christenson, executive director of the Multicultural Autism Action Network, said she lives so close to where Good was shot that she鈥檚 worried tear gas will seep through the family鈥檚 windows from the ongoing protests. 

Christenson鈥檚 14-year-old son, Simon Hofer, has autism and she can鈥檛 predict how he would respond to an ICE agent. 

The boy said he鈥檚 worried 鈥� not so much for himself, but for his friends. 

鈥淚 have been feeling angry, scared, sad,鈥� he told 社区黑料 on Thursday. 鈥淚t feels kind of hopeless sometimes and overwhelming. Friends of mine and classmates are afraid to go to school and so they attend online.鈥�

His mother has told the special education community that even if someone is Caucasian, is a citizen, has a disability and can articulate their challenges, they are not free from peril. 

Her advice? 鈥淐omply: do what they tell you to stay safe.鈥� 

But she鈥檚 unsure whether that strategy would work for people with autism who can become unmoored by such an encounter. Stress might hamper their ability to communicate, she said.

鈥淲e have held a number of community conversations and brainstormed, asking, 鈥榃hat could we do? What are people doing?鈥欌�� she said. 鈥淏ut the truth of the matter is we are in uncharted territory. There is no guidebook, no best practices for when your city is under siege.鈥�

A mother of two boys with autism who lives in the southern suburbs of Minneapolis and who asked not to be named to protect her family鈥檚 safety, said her children, ages 8 and 5, are just now learning about the concept of police. 

They cannot at all understand the complexity of immigration enforcement 鈥� or the harsh tactics that have come with it 鈥� so she鈥檚 keeping them mostly at home.

鈥淭here is only so much I can do when I am not with them,鈥� she said.

Hodan, the mother of an 18-year-old college student who has autism, said her son has always had high anxiety. But now, she said, it鈥檚 worse. She’s given him a list of a dozen phone numbers to call in an emergency that he keeps in his jeans and in his shoes. 

鈥淗e has his citizenship card in his pocket and when we drive, I make him put it on the center console,鈥� said his mom, who asked that her last name not to be used to protect her family.

Along with school and therapy sessions, also gone from families鈥� routines are winter afternoons at indoor play spaces, trips to the gym for their teenagers and other kid-friendly destinations. 

Siyad, a mother of three who lives 18 miles south of Minneapolis, close to St. Paul, said they recently took the 26-minute drive to the Minnesota Children’s Museum and had to turn around when they were three minutes away after witnessing an ICE encounter on the road. 

鈥淭hat fear is daily,鈥� she said. 鈥淚 am a naturalized citizen but I was not carrying my passport at the time. We had to turn around immediately.鈥�

The painful irony, she said, is that her children, like all of the others in this story, their parents said, are U.S. citizens. 

鈥淥ur kids are as American as apple pie,鈥� she said. 鈥淭his is their home.鈥�

At this year鈥檚 summer Paralympics in Paris, earned a silver medal in the F64 shot put. She also competed in the F64 discus event and came in 10th place. F64 is a for Paralympians with limb deficiencies and leg length differences.

鈥淲ith able-bodied kids, they can use their body differently,鈥� Middleton, a sophomore at Los Osos High School in Rancho Cucamonga, California, The Daily Bulletin in an interview last year. 鈥淭hey have both of their legs. They can do certain things a lot stronger. But it doesn鈥檛 matter because I can still compete with them.鈥� 

Middleton is one of three inspiring high school Paralympians on Team USA who are competing in Paris this year. Here are their stories:

ARELLE MIDDLETON, 16

Middleton was with a congenital femoral deficiency, which means her left leg is shorter than her right leg and her left hip is underdeveloped. Despite physical challenges, she competes alongside athletes without disabilities in track and field high school meets.

In 2023, when Middleton was just 15 years old, she was named U.S. Paralympics Track & Field High School Female Field Athlete of the Year, and also a spot on the U.S. Paralympics Track & Field High School All-American list.

Her mother, former WNBA player Sandra Van Embricqs, encouraged Middleton to get involved in sports at an early age.

Middleton joined the Challenged Athletes Foundation, or CAF, at age 12 and frequently won competitions. But when she entered high school, her mother strongly encouraged her to join the Los Osos track and field team.

鈥淚 didn鈥檛 know how I would feel being with able-bodied kids,鈥� Middleton told The Daily Bulletin. 鈥淭hey wouldn鈥檛 really understand as much as kids with a disability would understand, but I met some great people here. It鈥檚 good to be part of something with your school.鈥�

The Paralympian plans to compete in both wheelchair basketball and track and field after she graduates in 2026. She believes cross-training will benefit her performance in each sport.

Several college basketball programs have already Middleton.

JORDAN WHITE, 15

At 15 years old, Jordan White is the youngest archer from the U.S. to for the Paralympics this summer. 

A sophomore at Hill Country Christian School of Austin, White鈥檚 math teacher Christopher Felleisen calls him a 鈥減henomenal student.鈥�

He鈥檚 also a quick learner. The Austin, Texas, native tried archery for the first time less than four years ago when he was looking for a new activity to keep him busy during COVID. He has since won six national records. And less than a year ago, he began working toward competing in Paris.

White was with a right leg that is shorter than the left, challenging his flexibility. He dedicates six to seven days a week to perfecting his form, strength, and mental agility and understands the role he plays in enhancing the representation of people with disabilities in archery. 

鈥淚 really hope that I can pave the way for other young disabled archers,鈥� he Hill Country News in August.

鈥淛ordan is a hard worker, asks great questions and is an extremely high achiever,鈥� Felleisen told 社区黑料. 鈥淲hat鈥檚 exciting about having Jordan in class is that he鈥檚 dedicated to doing well and it鈥檚 seen in his athletic performance, but his level of achievement is not very different in the classroom.鈥�

White, who is part of a close-knit group of friends known as the 鈥楲unch Bunch,鈥� takes part in his  high school鈥檚 engineering pathway program, which focuses on engineering and robotics classes. He鈥檚 also a member of the National Junior Honor Society and the yearbook staff. 

鈥淗e鈥檚 known for being incredibly intelligent and he鈥檚 at the top of all his classes, and everyone knows it,鈥� added his academic and college advisor Jessica Pyo.

His teachers say they鈥檙e closely following his performance at the Paralympics.

鈥淚t looks like he鈥檚 having a lot of fun and this is a great story for him to tell, especially with college applications coming soon.鈥� Pyo said.

MAYLEE PHELPS, 17

At just 17, Maylee Phelps has taken wheelchair tennis by storm and has secured a win in the first round of women鈥檚 singles in Paris. 

Phelps, a high school junior in Portland, Oregon, was with spina bifida, a condition where the spinal cord does not develop properly. This requires her to wear a leg brace and use a wheelchair.

The Paralympian began competing nationally at age 12, the International Tennis Federation鈥檚 Wheelchair Tennis Junior of the Year in 2023 and she scored the No. 1 position on the Cruyff Foundation Girls鈥� Junior Ranking. 

Phelps her homeschool schedule with at least five days a week of tennis practice and strength training. 

鈥淪he just absorbs,鈥� U.S. national wheelchair tennis coach John Devorss the University of Oregon. 鈥淵ou tell her something and it just takes a few times and she鈥檚 correcting it herself, which is a great characteristic of any athlete is just be really coachable.鈥�

Phelps and Devorss train in Salem, Oregon, which is more than an hour south of Phelps鈥� home in Portland. 

In her free time, the tennis player enjoys puzzles and playing with her dog Otis. She also volunteers at Shriners Hospital for Children, introducing children with disabilities to tennis.

Coming out of COVID-19 isolation, I looked forward to making up for many missed social opportunities with friends. I joined the track team at my new school and did well in my events. I made good friends with some of my teammates and other students on campus, which can be challenging for me as a person with autism. When my mom was looking for a church for us to attend, my track coach shared information about his church, and we began attending on Sundays; I also went to a Wednesday church youth group when my study schedule allowed it. Thanks to social media, I could keep in contact with friends from my former school, and I even have a girlfriend who attended my old school.

But despite it being a terrific year for me overall, I feel profound disappointment in the circumstances that led me to South Torrance. Several racially charged events occurred during my middle school years, such as the George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery murders and trials. As a result, there were many discussions about race and safety in white communities. In the climate at that time, I expected to be safest with the same people who protested, saying, “Black Lives Matter” and “Stop Killing Our Sons.” I thought the people who said my life matters would believe that my education also matters. Unfortunately, I didn鈥檛 find the community, accountability, collaboration and support that was talked about at those 8th grade recruitment meetings during my first semester in a school attended mostly by students of color and run mostly by educators of color.

I found myself in a situation where some teachers were not motivated to teach and help their students succeed, some were bullied by their own students and didn鈥檛 know how to discipline the class and some repeated the same lessons and shared the answers before they gave tests and quizzes (and some kids still failed!). When my mom, herself an administrator who has been in education for over 20 years, tried to intervene, it was difficult to impossible to get some teachers to respond or administrators or other top education officials to address the problem. Eventually, she started looking for a new home in a different school district and we moved in December.

South High is a predominantly white and Asian ethnic high school where most of the teaching staff is also primarily white and Asian. They treat their students as I expected a school should, providing counselors, tutoring and “Spartan Seminar.” 

Spartan Seminar is a 25-minute session every Wednesday and Thursday, where students sign up for specific classes to catch up on work, get tutoring from the teacher or study for an upcoming test/quiz with that teacher. If you are not doing well in a class or on an assignment, you are expected to attend Spartan Seminar for that class. 

My Spanish teacher has great classroom control. First, he provides us with study guides (not answers!) for upcoming quizzes. He reviews the homework to ensure we are updated on the current unit’s information. Finally, whenever someone does act up, he raises his voice and tells them to stop, which works, and we immediately return to learning.

My algebra teacher at South High was terrific. She showed the class how to work on new equations, like factoring and polynomials. She has a pleasant personality, making learning enjoyable for everyone in her classroom. She didn’t wait for my mom to email or call her; she often emailed my mom if she had information she thought would help me. My friends all agreed that she is a good teacher, which is unusual for a math class, and some even consider her their favorite teacher. 

I finished the semester at South High with 4 As, 2 Bs, and a C. It took much work, and I sometimes spent as many as six hours a night doing homework to learn the subject. I credit my school team and my mom because they challenged me to communicate with them about when I needed help and they created a schedule to review my work and grades to ensure I was on the right track. I was motivated to work harder at South High because I knew it was expected of me. I did not mind staying at my desk for hours and sometimes sacrificing my sleep to get the grades I knew I could if I tried hard. 

Although this was a great school year, I am disappointed that I had to leave a community I loved to find it. I also don’t want to suggest that my old school was not a good school because it was attended and run predominantly by people of color. I was raised by a Black educator, who cared so much about her students that we still go to their weddings, graduations, sporting and social events years after they were in her class.

If I could go back and talk to the staff at my former school, I would want them to know that:

I want to be valued as someone who takes their work seriously.

I want teachers who take their jobs seriously and hold me accountable. 

I want to look up to my teachers, like what I see, and be like them.

I want them to care enough to know who I am because my life matters to them, for them to see my potential and help me reach my goals.

My African-American peers and I want to be educated by teachers who look like us.

We want to hear their stories. We want to hear how they made it to college. If they go, maybe we can go, too. Tell us about African-American fraternities and sororities, dorms and the fun times they had so we know that college isn’t just boring hard work. We want to hear about their mistakes, so we learn from them. 

We want to know about the problems they faced in predominantly white spaces and how they overcame them so that when we have those experiences, we can overcome them, too. 

We want to talk to them about our experiences as African-American students and know that they understand. We sometimes do not want to “air our family business” to people who may not understand or who already stereotype us because we are African American. They don’t understand our community, language, idioms, values or history. They don’t understand us, no matter how well intentioned or woke they are. 

The teachers are the ones who told us they would do all these things for us and it hurts the most to think they are aware of our unmet expectations. I want them to know that, too.

My goal is not to criticize but to remind them that their students need them. We want them to care about us. Some of their students will only care when they do. We are waiting for them.