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ICE workplace raids are taking a toll on America's businesses and workers

ICE workplace raids are taking a toll on America's businesses and workers

CNN18 hours ago

In the early morning on Tuesday, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents chased farmworkers through a field in Oxnard, California.
Agents tackled and restrained workers amid rows of produce, as seen in video from CNN affiliate KABC.
'What I fear is that sometimes, out of necessity, we show up wherever there's work,' one farmworker with her face covered told KABC in Spanish. 'With everything that is happening it's a bit difficult for us.'
ICE, racing to fulfill President Donald Trump's goal to increase deportations, has increasingly targeted work sites for immigration sweeps in recent weeks. The escalation is creating a chilling effect on the businesses that rely on immigrant labor and the workers themselves, with some staying home out of fear. America's agriculture, construction, health care and hospitality industries are powered by immigrant workers, both legal and undocumented.
'Recent immigration enforcement raids on businesses nationwide are creating serious challenges for local economies, communities, and industries that depend on immigrant labor to operate and prosper,' said Rebecca Shi, the CEO of American Business Immigration Coalition, a group representing employers with immigrants.
Undocumented immigrants make up 4% to 5% of the total US workforce, but 15% to 20% or more in industries such as crop production, food processing and construction, according to Goldman Sachs.
United Farm Workers President Teresa Romero told CNN that she's been getting calls from concerned farmworkers across California about ICE crackdowns in the state. There are 2.4 million farmworkers in the United States, according to the Economic Policy Institute, 40% of whom the Agriculture Department estimates lack legal status.
Despite the threat of deportation, migrant workers often can't afford to stay home, Romero said.
'They're terrified, but they have a family to support. They have a rent to pay, they have children to take to school, buy clothing and everything,' she said. 'They have to tell their children what to do if they don't come home.'
Trump appeared to acknowledge Thursday that his immigration policies are straining farmers and businesses.
'Our great Farmers and people in the Hotel and Leisure business have been stating that our very aggressive policy on immigration is taking very good, long time workers away from them, with those jobs being almost impossible to replace,' Trump said on Truth Social. 'We must protect our Farmers, but get the CRIMINALS OUT OF THE USA. Changes are coming!'
But some farm owners worry that the Trump administration's current crackdown on undocumented immigrants will affect the nation's ability to produce food, Romero said.
'I can guarantee you that we're not going to have the workers that we need to do this work in agriculture,' she said. 'The agriculture industry in this country is going to disappear.'
Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass told reporters on Thursday that she's already getting reports of people not going to work and store shelves being empty because people in the city are worried about being detained by ICE.
Los Angeles' immigrant community is essential to the city's economy, she added.
'There are entire sectors of our economy that will not function if the immigrant community is too afraid to go to work and too afraid to go to school,' Bass said.
Mass workplace immigration raids were a priority during Trump's first term, culminating in at least 680 arrests during a 2019 raid on chicken processing plants in Mississippi. The Biden administration ended the practice, saying employers exploited the raids to suppress workers from reporting labor violations.
But ICE has stepped up sweeps again in recent weeks on industries that rely heavily on immigrant workers. That includes a local construction company in Exeter, Pennsylvania; construction sites in Brownsville, Texas; and a flood control project in New Orleans. ICE arrested about 40 people in Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard, two prominent vacation spots in Massachusetts, last month.
CNN asked ICE how many raids have been made under Trump's second term. The agency acknowledged CNN's request but did not respond to the question.
'Worksite enforcement operations are going to massively expand,' White House border czar Tom Homan said in an interview with Semafor on Wednesday.
Detaining employees can have a significant impact on small businesses.
For example, after authorities took dozens of workers away in buses following a raid at an Omaha meat production plant Tuesday morning, the plant was left running at about 30% capacity.
The restaurant industry employs 1 million undocumented workers, or 10% of the total workforce, according to the Center for Migration Studies. It would be difficult for some restaurants to run without undocumented workers.
'The reality is … there clearly are not enough people in the United States who are authorized to work to fill all the available jobs,' said Andrew Rigie, executive director of the not-for-profit group NYC Hospitality Alliance. 'And because of that, you have people that have come to our country for many different reasons that are not authorized to work but find their way into the workforce to meet the needs and demands of United States citizens.'
Arrests of migrant workers outside one business have become a flash point for opponents of Trump's immigration crackdown: Home Depot.
Day laborers have long gathered outside the parking lots of Home Depot or similar retailers to find work. Home Depot, in particular, is a convenient spot for contractors and homeowners in many communities to approach and hire laborers to paint walls, nail down roofing and complete other manual labor projects. Day laborers are often paid in cash, and many return to these locations every day in hope of getting more work.
Immigration agents conducted a sweep Friday outside a Home Depot in Westlake, Los Angeles, setting off days of protests around the city. Trump deployed National Guard troops to Los Angeles, overriding California Governor Gavin Newsom.
Home Depot told CNN that it is not notified when immigration officials and law enforcement conduct sweeps and that the company is not involved in the operations.
The retail chain has been a target of immigration arrests — and protests — well before last week.
In a raid on a Home Depot in Pomona, California, in April, 10 undocumented immigrants were detained, a senior official from the Department of Homeland Security told CNN. That led to a protest outside Home Depot among advocates for day laborers.
'Construction companies, contractors, private homeowners — they have historically gone to the Home Depot to buy their materials and then they come outside and hire a day laborer,' Alexis Teodoro, the worker rights director for the Pomona Economic Opportunity Center, a non-profit that helps day laborers find work and job training, told CNN at the time. 'This is common knowledge and is almost as American as apple pie now.'
CNN's Stephanie Elam, Elise Hammond and Priscilla Alvarez contributed to this story.

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Takeaways from AP's investigation of US death benefits program for public safety officers
Takeaways from AP's investigation of US death benefits program for public safety officers

Washington Post

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  • Washington Post

Takeaways from AP's investigation of US death benefits program for public safety officers

A federal program that provides benefits to families of police officers and firefighters who die and become disabled on duty is rapidly growing while facing criticism for increasing delays in deciding claims. Congress created the Public Safety Officers' Benefits program in 1976 to guarantee that the spouses and children of officers who put their lives on the line would receive financial support. But repeated expansions in eligibility approved by Congress, including three passed in the last five years, have made the program more popular and complex to administer. Critics say the program fails some families by taking too long to grant or deny benefits and making inconsistent rulings. An Associated Press analysis found that hundreds of families are waiting years to learn whether they qualify for payments, and more are ultimately being denied. New Jersey widow Sharline Volcy learned this month that she'd been awarded the benefits, more than 3 1/2 years after her husband, Ronald Donat, died while training at the Gwinnett County Police Academy in Georgia. Volcy said she was grateful for the aid, which will provide some financial security and help pay for her two daughters to go to college. But she said the long wait was stressful, when she was told time and again the claim remained under review and ultimately saw her inquiries ignored. 'They told me they didn't know how long it would take because they don't have a deadline. That's the hardest thing to hear,' she said. 'I felt defeated.' She said lawyers didn't want to take the case, and a plea for help to her congressperson went nowhere. She said she'd given up hope and was lucky she had a job as an airport gate agent in the meantime. Volcy's experience isn't unique, and some cases take longer. As of late April, more than 120 claims by surviving relatives or disabled first responders have been awaiting initial determinations or rulings on their appeals for more than five years, according AP's findings. About a dozen have waited over a decade for an answer. The program has a goal of making determinations within one year but has not taken steps to track its progress, according to a recent Government Accountability Office report. But roughly three in 10 cases have not met that timeframe in recent years. As of late late April, 900 claims had been pending longer than one year. That includes claims from nearly every state. Republican lawmakers have introduced a bill to require the program to make determinations within 270 days. Over the last year, the denial rate has increased, with roughly one in three death and disability claims getting rejected. Applicants can appeal to a hearing officer and then the director if they choose, but that isn't common. Many say they can't afford attorneys or want to get on with their lives. Justice Department officials, who oversee the program, say they're making complicated decisions about whether cases meet legal criteria. 'Death and disability claims involving complex medical and causation issues, voluminous evidence and conflicting medical opinions, take longer to determine, as do claims in various stages of appeal,' they said in a statement. The program started as a simple $50,000 payout for the families of officers who were fatally shot on duty or died as a result of other violence or dangers. But Congress expanded the program in 1990 to cover some first responders who were disabled on duty, which made some determinations harder to reach. A 1998 law added educational benefits for the spouses and children of those deceased and disabled officers. Since 2020, Congress has passed three laws making many other types of deaths and disabilities eligible, including deaths related to COVID-19, deaths and injuries of those working rescue and cleanup operations after the September 2001 attacks, and responders who committed suicide under certain circumstances. Annual claims have more than doubled in the last five years, from 500 in 2019 to roughly 1,200 today. While many applicants have criticized the increasing delays, the leading group that represents the relatives of officers who die on duty has been silent. Critics say that's because the group, Concerns of Police Survivors, has a financial incentive not to criticize the program, which has awarded it tens of millions of dollars in grant funding in recent decades. The Missouri-based nonprofit recently received a new $6 million grant from the program to for its work with deceased officers' relatives, including counseling, hosting memorial events, educating agencies about the program and assisting with claims. The group's founder and retired executive director, Suzie Sawyer, said she was warned many years ago that fighting too hard for claimants could jeopardize its grant funding. But current spokesperson Sara Slone said advocacy isn't the group's mission and that it works 'hand in hand' with PSOB to assist applicants and provide education about benefits. Lisa Afolayan's husband died after a training exercise at the Border Patrol academy more than 16 years ago, but she's still fighting the program for benefits. An autopsy found that Nate Afolayan died from heat illness after completing a 1.5-mile test run in 88 degree heat, at a high altitude in the New Mexico desert. The program had awarded benefits to families after similar training deaths, dating back to an officer who died at an academy in 1988. But its independent investigation blamed Nate's death on sickle cell trait, a genetic condition that's usually benign but has been linked to rare exertion-related deaths in police, military and sports training. The program denied Lisa's claim and her subsequent appeals, arguing the death wasn't the result of heat along and didn't qualify. The program stood by its denial in 2024, even after a federal appeals court said it may have failed to adequately consider the weather's role and violated a law barring discrimination on the basis of genetic information. The appeals court is currently considering Lisa's second appeal, even as the couple's two children reach college age.

A Border Patrol agent died in 2009. His widow is still fighting a backlogged US program for benefits
A Border Patrol agent died in 2009. His widow is still fighting a backlogged US program for benefits

Yahoo

time21 minutes ago

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A Border Patrol agent died in 2009. His widow is still fighting a backlogged US program for benefits

When her husband died after a grueling U.S. Border Patrol training program for new agents, Lisa Afolayan applied for the federal benefits promised to families of first responders whose lives are cut short in the line of duty. Sixteen years later, Afolayan and her two daughters haven't seen a penny, and program officials are defending their decisions to deny them compensation. She calls it a nightmare that too many grieving families experience. 'It just makes me so mad that we are having to fight this so hard,' said Afolayan, whose husband, Nate, had been hired to guard the U.S. border with Mexico in southern California. 'It takes a toll emotionally, and I don't think they care. To them, it's just a business. They're just pushing paper.' Afolayan's case is part of a backlog of claims plaguing the fast-growing Public Safety Officers' Benefits Program. Hundreds of families of deceased and disabled officers are waiting years to learn whether they qualify for the life-changing payments, and more are ultimately being denied, an Associated Press analysis of program data found. The program is falling far short of its goal of deciding claims within one year. Nearly 900 have been pending for longer than that, triple the number from five years earlier, in a backlog that includes cases from nearly every state, according to AP's review, which was based on program data through late April. More than 120 of those claims have been in limbo for at least five years, and roughly a dozen have languished for a decade. 'That is just outrageous that the person has to wait that long,' said Charlie Lauer, the program's general counsel in the 1980s. 'Those poor families.' Justice Department officials, who oversee the program, acknowledge the backlog. They say they're managing a surge in claims — which have more than doubled in the last five years — while making complicated decisions about whether cases meet legal criteria. In a statement, they said 'claims involving complex medical and causation issues, voluminous evidence and conflicting medical opinions take longer to determine, as do claims in various stages of appeal.' It acknowledged a few cases "continue through the process over ten years.' Program officials wouldn't comment on Afolayan's case. Federal lawyers are asking an appeals court for a second time to uphold their denials, which blame Nate's heat- and exertion-related death on a genetic condition shared by millions of mostly Black U.S. citizens. Supporters say Lisa Afolayan's resilience in pursuing the claim has been remarkable, and grown in significance as training-related deaths like Nate's have risen. 'Your death must fit in their box, or your family's not going to be taken care of,' said Afolayan, of suburban Dallas. Their daughter, Natalee, was 3 when her father died. She recently completed her first year at the University of Texas, without the help of the higher education benefits the program provides. The officers' benefits program is decades old and has paid billions Congress created the Public Safety Officers' Benefits program in 1976, providing a one-time $50,000 payout as a guarantee for those whose loved ones die in the line of duty. The benefit was later set to adjust with inflation; today it pays $448,575. The program has awarded more than $2.4 billion. Early on, claims were often adjudicated within weeks. But the complexity increased in 1990, when Congress extended the program to some disabled officers. A 1998 law added educational benefits for spouses and children. Since 2020, Congress has passed three laws expanding eligibility — to officers who died after contracting COVID-19, first responders who died or were disabled in rescue and cleanup operations from the September 2001 attacks, and some who die by suicide. Today, the program sees 1,200 claims annually, up from 500 in 2019. The wait time for decisions and rate of denials have risen alongside the caseload. Roughly one of every three death and disability claims were rejected over the last year. U.S. Sen. Ted Cruz and other Republicans recently introduced legislation to require the program to make determinations within 270 days, expressing outrage over the case of an officer disabled in a mass shooting who's waited years for a ruling. Similar legislation died last year. One group representing families, Concerns of Police Survivors, has expressed no such concerns about the program's management. The Missouri-based nonprofit recently received a $6 million grant to continue its longstanding partnership with the Justice Department to serve deceased officers' relatives — including providing counseling, hosting memorial events and assisting with claims. 'We are very appreciative of the PSOB and their work with survivor benefits,' spokesperson Sara Slone said. 'Not all line-of-duty deaths are the same and therefore processing times will differ.' Nate Afolayan dreamed of serving his adopted country Born in Nigeria, Nate Afolayan moved to California with relatives at age 11. He became a U.S. citizen and graduated from California State University a decade later. Lisa met Nate while they worked together at a juvenile probation office. They talked, went out for lunch and felt sparks. 'The next thing you know, we were married with two kids,' she said. He decided to pursue a career in law enforcement once their second daughter was born. Lisa supported him, though she understood the danger. He spent a year working out while applying for jobs and was thrilled when the Border Patrol declared him medically fit; sent him to Artesia, New Mexico, for training; and swore him in. Nate loved his 10 weeks at the academy, Lisa said, despite needing medical treatment several times — he was shot with pepper spray in the face and became dizzy during a water-based drill. His classmates found him to be a natural leader in elite shape and chose him to speak at graduation, they recalled in interviews with investigators. He prepared a speech with the line, 'We are all warriors that stand up and fight for what's right, just and lawful." But on April 30, 2009 — days before the ceremony — a Border Patrol official called Lisa. Nate, 29, had fainted after his final training run and was hospitalized. It was dusty and 88 degrees in the high desert that afternoon. Agents had to complete the 1.5-mile run in 13 minutes, at an altitude of 3,400 feet. Nate had warned classmates it was too hot to wear their black academy shirts, but they voted to do so anyway, records show. Nate, 29, finished in just over 11 minutes but then struggled to breathe and collapsed. Now Nate was being airlifted to a Lubbock, Texas, hospital for advanced treatment. Lisa booked a last-minute flight, arriving the next day. A doctor told her Nate's organs had shut down and they couldn't save his life. The hospital needed permission to end life-saving efforts. One nurse delivered chest compressions; another held Lisa tightly as she yelled: 'That's it! I can't take it anymore!' Lisa became a single mother. The girls were 3 and 1. Her only comfort, she said, was knowing Nate died living his dream — serving his adopted country. Sickle cell trait was cited in this benefit denial When she first applied for benefits, Lisa included the death certificate that listed heat illness as the cause of Nate's death. The aid could help her family. She'd been studying to become a nurse but had to abandon that plan. She relied on Social Security survivors' benefits and workers' compensation while working at gyms as a trainer or receptionist and dabbling in real estate. The program had paid benefits for a handful of similar training deaths, dating to a Massachusetts officer who suffered heat stroke and dehydration in 1988. But program staff wanted another opinion on Nate's death. They turned to outside forensic pathologist Dr. Stephen Cina. Cina concluded the autopsy overlooked the 'most significant factor': Nate carried sickle cell trait, a condition that's usually benign but has been linked to rare exertion-related deaths in military, sports and law enforcement training. Cina opined that exercising in a hot climate at high altitude triggered a crisis in which Nate's red blood cells became misshapen, depriving his body of oxygen. Cina, who stopped consulting for the benefits program in 2020 after hundreds of case reviews, declined to comment. Nate learned he had the condition, carried by up to 3 million U.S. Black citizens, after a blood test following his second daughter's birth. The former high school basketball player had never experienced any problems. A Border Patrol spokesperson declined to say whether academy leaders knew of the condition, which experts say can be managed with precautions such as staying hydrated, avoiding workouts in extreme temperatures and altitudes, and taking rest breaks. Under the benefit program's rules, Afolayan's death would need to be 'the direct and proximate result' of an injury he suffered on duty to qualify. It couldn't be the result of ordinary physical strain. The program in 2012 rejected the claim, saying the hot, dry, high climate was one factor, but not the most important. It had been more than two years since Lisa Afolayan applied and three since Nate's death. Lisa Afolayan's appeal was not common Most rejected applicants don't exercise their option to appeal to an independent hearing officer, saying they can't afford attorneys or want to get on with their lives. But Lisa Afolayan appealed with help from a border patrol union. A one-day hearing was held in late 2012. The hearing officer denied her claim more than a year later, saying the 'perfect storm' of factors causing the death didn't include a qualifying injury. Lisa and her daughters moved from California to Texas. They visited the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial in Washington, where they saw Nate's name. Four years passed without an update on the claim. Lisa learned the union had failed to exercise its final appeal, to the program director, due to an oversight. The union didn't respond to AP emails seeking comment. Then she met Suzie Sawyer, founder and retired executive director of Concerns of Police Survivors. Sawyer had recently helped win a long battle to obtain benefits in the death of another federal agent who'd collapsed during training. 'I said, 'Lisa, this could be the fight of your life, and it could take forever,'" Sawyer recalled. "'Are you willing to do it?' She goes, 'hell yes.'' The two persuaded the program to hear the appeal even though the deadline had passed. They introduced a list of similar claims that had been granted and new evidence: A Tennessee medical examiner concluded the hot, dry environment and altitude were key factors causing Nate's organ-system failure. But the program was unmoved. The acting Bureau of Justice Assistance director upheld the denial in 2020. Such rulings usually aren't public, but Lisa fumed as she learned through contacts about some whose deaths qualified, including a trooper who had an allergic reaction to a bee sting, an intoxicated FBI agent who crashed his car, and another officer with sickle cell trait who died after a training run on a hot day. Today, an appeal is still pending In 2022, Lisa thought she might have finally prevailed when a federal appeals court ordered the program to take another look at her application. A three-judge panel said the program erred by failing to consider whether the heat, humidity and altitude during the run were 'the type of unusual or out-of-the-ordinary climatic conditions that would qualify.' The judges also said it may have been illegal to rely on sickle cell trait for the denial under a federal law prohibiting employers from discrimination on the basis of genetic information. It was great timing: The girls were in high school and could use the monthly benefit of $1,530 to help pay for college. The family's Social Security and workers' compensation benefits would end soon. But the program was in no hurry. Nearly two years passed without a ruling despite inquiries from Afolayan and her lawyer. The Bureau of Justice Assistance director upheld the denial in February 2024, ruling that the climate on that day 15 years earlier wasn't 'unusually adverse.' The decision concluded the Genetic Information Nondiscrimination Act didn't apply since the program wasn't Afolayan's employer. Arnold & Porter, a Washington law firm now representing Afolayan pro bono, has appealed to the Court of Appeals for the Federal Circuit. Her attorney John Elwood said the program has gotten bogged down in minutiae while losing sight of the bigger picture: that an officer died during mandatory training. He said government lawyers are fighting him just as hard, 'if not harder,' than on any other case he's handled. Months after filing their briefs, oral arguments haven't been set. 'This has been my life for 16 years,' Lisa Afolayan said. 'Sometimes I just chuckle and keep moving because what else am I going to do?'

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