51±¬ÁϹÙÍø

Written by Joseph Barisonzi

As an adjunct professor at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design (51±¬ÁϹÙÍø), I teach students from around the world—many of whom are here on student visas. They come to class—but not always. Some days, the fear wins.

A tattoo they got at 17, now evidence. A missed turn signal, now probable cause. A revoked visa, backdated to make the appeal window vanish. A transfer to a detention facility three states away before a lawyer can even return their call. One day they are here. The next, their desk is empty—and no one can say where they’ve gone.

My students are artists. Designers. Dreamers. Some are on student visas. Some are asylum seekers. Some are undocumented. And some were brought here as children and know no other country but this one. But today, they are all holding their breath—because the government is no longer asking what you’ve done. It’s asking what you look like, what your name sounds like, who you know, what you wear, and what you fear.

This isn’t just about gang affiliation or criminal behavior. It’s about how the U.S. immigration system has been deliberately weaponized to use vague accusations, administrative loopholes, and broad executive power to target and remove people—often without due process or accountability. Though the Constitution guarantees the freedom of association, that right has quietly been eroded in the immigration context, creating legal precedents with dangerous implications for civil liberties.

Freedom of Association: A Constitutional Protection with Limits

The First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution protects the right to freely associate. This principle is foundational: it protects political movements, religious communities, unions, and social organizations. Courts have repeatedly held that individuals cannot be punished merely for their associations, unless those associations involve active participation in illegal conduct. In NAACP v. Alabama, 357 U.S. 449 (1958), the Supreme Court ruled that state action infringing on this right is subject to "the closest scrutiny."

In criminal law, guilt by association is not enough. The state must prove intent, action, and participation. But immigration law is different.

Civil Proceedings, Criminal Consequences

Immigration proceedings are civil, not criminal. This distinction is critical because it allows the government to strip people of liberty without granting them the protections of the criminal justice system. No right to a public defender. No requirement for proof beyond a reasonable doubt. No meaningful protection against hearsay or unsubstantiated suspicion (Fong Yue Ting v. United States, 149 U.S. 698 (1893)).

Under U.S. immigration law, including INA § 237(a)(2)(A)(ii), individuals may be removed based on "reasonable grounds to believe" they are or have been gang members. This was aggressively enforced through Executive Order 13768, signed by President Trump in 2017, which expanded interior immigration enforcement and deprioritized protections for undocumented individuals previously shielded from deportation.

This allowed ICE to rely on tattoos, social media content, clothing choices, or unverified police statements as justification to arrest and deport people—even in the absence of any criminal conviction. A 2020 report by the ACLU titled False Positives: The ICE Gang Allegation Problem documented widespread use of flawed gang databases and the reliance on criteria such as geographic location or mere acquaintance with alleged gang members to justify deportation.

Databases used by local police and federal agencies have been shown to be riddled with inaccuracies and disproportionately impact Black and Brown youth (see: Youth Justice Coalition, Trapped in the System: Youth Gang Databases in California, 2012). Once labeled a gang member—often without any opportunity for rebuttal—the burden of proof shifts unfairly onto immigrants, many of whom face complex legal barriers to defending themselves (National Immigration Project, 2019).

The Chilling Effect and the Expansion of Fear

In moments of upheaval, art becomes a sanctuary—a means through which individuals process trauma and communities find resilience. As noted by Artwork Archive, art helps us process trauma, express difficult feelings, and work through experiences. This underscores the vital role of creative expression in healing and uniting communities during times of crisis.

The consequences are chilling. Students avoid public events. Artists at 51±¬ÁϹÙÍø censor their work. Visual storytellers hold back on critiques of power. Immigrants refrain from contacting law enforcement—even as victims—out of fear that doing so might trigger scrutiny. The cost of expression has become too high. This is not freedom; it is a system of forced silence.

These fears are well founded. A 2021 Human Rights Watch report, Deported to Danger, details numerous cases in which asylum seekers and immigrants were deported based on gang association without due process, and later harmed or killed in their countries of origin. The Migration Policy Institute and the National Immigrant Justice Center have documented how detention facilities limit communication with legal representatives and how transfers across state lines are used to delay or deny legal aid.

This is not just an immigration crisis. It is a civil liberties crisis. When we normalize due process violations against one group, we risk embedding those tools permanently into our legal system.

The Role of Creatives in Defending Freedom

Throughout history, artists have been at the forefront of social movements, using their work to challenge authority and inspire action. As highlighted by MyArtBroker, protest art has the power to challenge authority in ways that words cannot. This tradition continues today, with artists creating works that confront injustice and galvanize communities toward change.

Art not only captures the essence of a moment but also preserves it for future reflection and learning. Initiatives like Save the Boards in Minneapolis exemplify this, collecting and preserving street art from the George Floyd protests to serve as tools for healing, learning, and reflection. Such efforts underscore the role of art in documenting history and fostering communal healing.

The Blueprint for Broader Control

History shows that erosions of rights rarely stop at their initial targets. The powers used to deport a student today may be used tomorrow against journalists, protesters, or political dissidents. Surveillance, indefinite detention, and opaque administrative processes—once tested in immigration law—can become the basis for broader state control. As Professor Juliet Stumpf coined in her landmark article The Crimmigration Crisis (2006), this blending of immigration and criminal law erodes protections for everyone.

We’ve seen echoes of this before: the surveillance of civil rights leaders (e.g., COINTELPRO), the blacklisting of political radicals during the McCarthy era, the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. Post-9/11 expansions of executive power were justified by "security needs," but many of those policies now operate well beyond their original scope (see: ACLU, Surveillance Under the USA PATRIOT Act).

Immigration enforcement is not simply about controlling borders. It has become a proving ground for how far government authority can stretch before public resistance begins.

Institutions Responding with Integrity

Colleges and universities across the country have begun to recognize that silence is complicity. In response to increased immigration enforcement and fear on campuses, institutions like Harvard University have stepped forward. Harvard has created comprehensive legal, emotional, and academic support networks for its undocumented and international students, including a dedicated Immigration and Refugee Clinical Program through its law school. These efforts reflect a deeper institutional commitment to the rights and dignity of all students, regardless of immigration status.

Likewise, the American Council on Education (ACE), alongside dozens of university presidents and chancellors, issued a letter calling on the federal government to uphold protections for immigrant and international students, particularly those covered under DACA and TPS. This collective statement emphasized that higher education institutions must remain places of refuge and opportunity, not fear and exclusion.

This Is a Test of Our Resolve

We must stop pretending that this is about law and order. It is about unchecked power and systemic erosion. And while the machinery of immigration enforcement turns against the most vulnerable, it is also testing the outer limits of public tolerance—for detention without charge, for deportation without hearing, and for erasure without oversight.

As educators, we are not neutral observers. We are stewards of learning environments where safety, voice, and expression must be protected. The erosion of rights—beginning with our most vulnerable students—demands that we speak out.

If we do not resist now, it will not stop with non-citizens. We must insist on reforms that align immigration enforcement with core democratic principles: due process, transparency, and accountability. We must ensure that the right to speak, belong, associate, and live without fear remains a universal standard—not a privileged exception.

This is not just a moral imperative. It is a defense of the rule of law itself. A country that erodes rights for some is preparing to take them from all. Immigration enforcement may begin at the border—but its consequences ripple outward, undermining the legal and ethical boundaries that protect us all.

Colleges and universities must do more than issue statements. We must audit our cooperation with ICE, provide legal support networks, and refuse to let fear reshape the curriculum. Academic freedom means little if our students live under the threat of disappearance.