The recent Hispanic Heritage Month provided an opportunity to celebrate Latino communities and uplift their histories, cultures, and contributions. It was also a chance to think about the country we want to live in and whether we’ll stand up when our neighbors’ rights are under attack.
As a Black man who grew up in the South Bronx, I know what it feels like when law enforcement treats a whole community as suspicious. When I was just 11 years old, armed cops came into my sixth-grade classroom and hauled away my friend David. A week went by before we saw David again. When I was a teen, the police would harass my friends and me while we played basketball in the playground. We never felt safe.
Today, Latino families are living with a different version of that same fear. In August, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) arrested 50,925 undocumented people across the country. This surpasses the previous record for July 2026, which saw 50,208 arrests. In total about 400,000 people have been detained by immigration agents since Donald Trump returned to office in 2025.
Undocumented people are pursued and detained, while the rhetoric about immigration paints entire communities as threats. The harm doesn’t stop with the person taken into custody. Children wonder if a parent will come home, and families may avoid schools, healthcare, and other places where they should feel safe asking for help.
A recent report by ProPublica estimated that roughly 200,000 children, including 145,000 American kids, have had a parent detained. According to a survey by the Kaiser Family Foundation and the New York Times, the number of immigrant families who are delaying or skipping medical care rose from 22% in 2023 to 29% in 2025, while students who have grown up here are also facing barriers to education and the chance to build a future.
I recognize the same tactics that have been used against Black communities for generations: Call a group dangerous, say some people deserve less protection and less freedom, mention arrest and detentions are needed for public safety, and hope everyone else looks away. That logic has also been used against Indigenous people and other communities of color. The names and policies change, but the message and violence are the same.
Black Americans know what it’s like to have to fight for our rights under a system in which our ancestors could be legally kidnapped, bought, and sold. Enslaved people, Black sailors, abolitionists, women, and organizers who gathered at Colored Conventions all helped push the country toward a more honest and inclusive vision. The Reconstruction Amendments weren’t gifts from a nation that had already achieved equality. They came because people demanded change and helped build it.
The 14th Amendment is part of that unfinished promise. It guarantees citizenship to people born or naturalized in the United States, and promises due process and equal protection to any person in a state’s jurisdiction. That matters today. Constitutional protections shouldn’t depend on status, color, or background. When the government strips dignity and fairness from one group, it puts everyone’s rights and safety in jeopardy.
Black people should care when Latino neighbors are targeted. The Black community has seen fear, laws, and systems used to excuse surveillance, family separation, unequal schools, and denial of opportunity. We shouldn’t watch those tools turn against another community and assume we’re safe. Solidarity means showing up, speaking out when elected officials use dehumanizing language, supporting students’ access to education, and demanding fair treatment for all people.
Hispanic Heritage Month reminds us that Latino history is part of American history. Black and Latino communities have both worked to make America’s promises of freedom and equality real. Those who came before us fought to expand those rights, and we have a responsibility to continue their work.
Robert Willis is a justice advocate coordinator at LatinoJustice PRLDEF.
