When the Light Uncovers the Unbearable: Summer Solstice in a Time of State Violence

photo: AJ Colores

The Summer Solstice took place this year on Friday, June 20, marking the longest day of the year. Normally, I share bit of information about this time of year that is steeped in traditions and honors abundance, warmth, and the life-giving power of the sun. This year, I'm a bit late because I've been hesitant to post about this. Given the political climate (which honestly never ceases), around recent nationwide protests against I.C.E.'s presence and violence across the country, I had to sit with this theme of Midsummer in a different light. Since the Solstice is a time of clarity, illumination, and truth-telling, it seems there is a message here that speaks to the uprisings taking place.

The Fire We’re In: I.C.E. Raids and Deportations

While the sun stands still in the sky, lives are being upended on the ground. Across the U.S., communities are once again experiencing a sharp uptick in I.C.E. activity. Raids are being reported in cities with sanctuary protections and in rural areas where visibility is low and fear is high. These aren’t just routine check-ins—they're coordinated terrorist acts, violating basic rights. The reports tell of people being stopped without warrants, questioned without counsel, and deported without due process. When this happens, people are cut off from their families, legal protection, and in some cases, life-saving medical care.

When a fascist regime decides who belongs, even citizenship can be disregarded. U.S. citizens, legal residents, and undocumented alike have been unlawfully detained and deported, their identities questioned and their documentation dismissed as fake. This is not a neutral system—it’s one powered by racism, xenophobia, and institutional impunity.

The Psychological Cost: What Raids Do to the Psyche

Immigration raids and the disappearing of people doesn’t just disrupt homes—they fracture nervous systems. They trigger a trauma response not just in the individuals detained, but in entire communities who watch, wait, and wonder if they’re next.

Let’s name it plainly: these are state-sanctioned acts of terror. And the mental health impact is not hypothetical—it’s real, widespread, and long-lasting.

For adults, especially those who have lived with chronic trauma or political persecution, ICE raids can retraumatize old wounds. Symptoms of PTSD—include:

• Chronic hypervigilance – Always scanning for danger, even in “safe” spaces; difficulty relaxing or sleeping.

• Somatic symptoms of trauma – Headaches, digestive issues, chronic pain, tight muscles, fatigue without medical cause.

• Anxiety and panic attacks – Triggered by sirens, knocks at the door, or unknown phone calls.

• Crisis of identity and belonging – Feeling unrooted, stateless, or unwelcome even in the only country you’ve ever known.

• Depression and hopelessness – Emotional numbness, despair, or a collapse in motivation and self-worth.

• Survivor’s or status guilt – Especially in mixed-status families, or after witnessing deportations.

• Isolation and distrust – Social withdrawal due to fear of betrayal, surveillance, or further harm.

• Inhibited help-seeking – Avoidance of healthcare, therapy, or legal aid due to fear of detection or systemic abuse.

• Burnout from advocacy – Emotional exhaustion for those trying to support others while struggling to survive themselves.

• Anticipatory grief - Not knowing who will disappear next, but being in a state of preparation. It’s a form of emotional bracing that wears down the body and spirit.

In children you might witness:

• Developmental regression – Bedwetting, loss of language, clinginess, or reverting to earlier behaviors.

• Separation anxiety – Intense fear of losing parents, refusal to go to school or be alone.

• Nightmares and sleep disturbance – Intrusive fears, insomnia, or fear of bedtime.

• Emotional numbing – Flat affect, disconnection, or shutting down emotionally to survive.

• Aggression or irritability – Acting out as a response to internal chaos or fear.

• Increased responsibility (parentification) – Taking on adult roles in the home to compensate for family disruption or emotional unavailability.

• Difficulty concentrating in school – Cognitive impacts of trauma that mimic ADHD or learning disabilities.

• Identity confusion and shame – Internalizing stigma about being undocumented or from a targeted group.

• Distrust of authority – Fear of teachers, police, or other adults, regardless of their stated role.

• Fear-based silence – Avoidance of speaking up or asking for help, even in crisis situations.

• Chronic grief – Mourning family separation, deported loved ones, or a stolen sense of safety.

Even those not directly impacted often live in a state of ambient threat—a low hum of fear that shapes every decision, from who they trust to where they go.

The trauma is both individual and collective. These raids are meant to destabilize. They isolate, they silence, and they break networks of mutual care. Which is why collective healing—through protest, story-sharing, therapy, and solidarity—is not just helpful, it’s essential.

The Response: Protests and Community Defense

In response, people are mobilizing. Protests have emerged in cities like Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York, with smaller direct actions happening in border towns, farmworker communities, and detention center parking lots. Community-based rapid response teams are organizing to document ICE activity, provide sanctuary, and share legal resources in real time.

But organizing isn’t easy when fear is high. People are exhausted. Therapists are witnessing the secondary trauma in clients. Children are regressing. Families are quietly making safety plans that sound more like disaster drills.

Summer Solstice as Political Ritual

So why talk about the Summer Solstice in the midst of all this?

Psychologically speaking, the Summer Solstice represents a moment of peak energy and fullness—when action, light, and outward momentum reach their height. It’s a time of vitality, expression, and tending to what’s already been set into motion.

While summer is still a season of growth, the Solstice also marks a subtle turning point: from the build-up of energy toward a gradual release. Though the days are long and active, the shift toward contraction begins here, almost imperceptibly, reminding us that every peak carries the seed of transition.

If the Winter Solstice calls us inward to contemplate and rest, then the Summer Solstice calls us to action and awareness. We see what is happening and are asked, what will we no longer tolerate or turn away from, and what will we do with what we see?

Let this be a sacred reminder that spiritual practice without political consciousness is just performative wellness. It means little to celebrate abundance while families are being torn apart. It’s hollow to host fire ceremonies while ignoring that people’s homes—and lives—are burning from state violence.

What You Can Do Today

The Solstice reminds us that clarity leads to action. Bearing witness is only the beginning. Whether you’re directly impacted or standing in solidarity, there are meaningful ways to show up, redistribute resources, and protect each other.

For individuals:

• Sign up with your local rapid response network (check orgs like United We Dream, Mijente, or your city’s sanctuary coalition).

• Learn your rights and teach them to others—especially young people.

• Donate to immigration bail funds and legal defense teams.

• Share verified information—not panic—and check on your neighbors.

• Practice visible care. Wear buttons, display signs, and let people know where they’re safe.

  
  

For therapists, social workers, and community health providers:

• Educate yourself on the psychological impacts of immigration and documentation status.

• Offer pro bono sessions or crisis support to undocumented individuals.

• Status matters. Ask about undocumented status with care, name its weight, and understand how it may be shaping your client’s survival strategies.

• Stay informed on how ICE operates so you can support clients in safety planning.

• Hold space for collective grief in your offices and supervision circles.

• Advocate for organizational policies that respond to the needs of mixed-status families.

  
  

For allies with privilege:

• Take on logistical and emotional labor in organizing spaces—don’t expect impacted folks to lead and educate.

• Use your platform (social media, workplace, community spaces) to amplify undocumented voices, not just your own reflections.

• Provide accompaniment—offer to go with someone to court, ICE check-ins, or protests where a citizen presence can reduce risk.

• Redistribute your resources. Donate money, share space, offer rides, or provide child care so others can show up or rest.

• Interrupt misinformation and casual xenophobia. Call it out in your family, your workplace, and your community—even when it’s uncomfortable.

• Educate yourself without relying on those directly impacted to teach you. (Start with orgs like Mijente, United We Dream, and Detention Watch Network.)

• Push your institutions. Advocate for sanctuary policies, undocumented student support, and anti-racist training in your workplace or school.

• Use your legal, medical, or professional status to bridge access. If you’re a lawyer, therapist, or educator—offer services, consultation, or sliding scale support.

• Stay in it. Don’t show up only during crises. Commit to long-term engagement, even when the headlines fade.

  
  

REMINDER: Know Your Rights

Whether you’re documented or not, you have rights—and it’s vital to know them. ICE and Border Patrol often operate through intimidation, confusion, and misinformation. I think it's important to know that understanding your rights won’t guarantee safety, but it can make a critical difference. The following examples are for informational purposes only and do not constitute legal advice—but they may help you or someone you love stay safer.

Here’s what everyone should know:

• You do not have to open the door. Once you open the door, you have consented to search and seizure.  Unless ICE presents a judicial warrant (signed by a judge—not an ICE agent). Hold it up to a window or ask them to slip it under the door.

• You have the right to remain silent. You do not have to answer questions about your immigration status or where you were born.

• Do not sign anything without legal advice. ICE may try to get you to sign “voluntary departure” papers—don’t do it.

• You have the right to an attorney—though not a free one, unfortunately. Have a family emergency plan, and keep the number of an immigration lawyer handy.

• You can refuse consent to a search. If ICE doesn’t have a valid warrant, they cannot enter your home without permission.

  
  

For more information, download a red card (know-your-rights card) in your preferred language from organizations like ILRC or Immigrant Defense Project. Keep it in your wallet. Print extras and distribute widely.

It needs to be said that knowing your rights won’t guarantee safety—especially in a country where BIPOC folks can comply with every law and still face violence at the hands of the state. When basic rights are stripped, knowing your rights is no longer a shield, but it can be a tool; and in a system designed to confuse and silence, knowledge is often the first act of resistance.

Final Words

During this Summer season, may we refuse to look away. May we remember that the light doesn’t just warm and nourish—it also reveals. It exposes what we’ve buried and challenges us to move from comfort to commitment. If you’re a healer, a helper, or a holder of space—remember: this is your lane, too.