California’s ICE Panic: Teachers Unions Fuel Fear, Kids Pay the Price

Paul Riverbank, 1/30/2026ICE fears stir panic in California schools, hurting attendance, funding, and trust among families.

Theories—sometimes seasoned with a dose of rumor—sweep through parent groups like wildfire. A mother in Los Angeles confides to a teacher that her daughter hasn’t been to school all week. “She’s worried immigration is waiting outside,” the teacher later tells me. Administrators, sensing a trend, pore over attendance sheets. Sure enough, the numbers aren’t lying: fewer kids in seats, especially since news broke about possible immigration enforcement near campuses.

Kenney Enney, who sits on the Paso Robles Unified board, doesn’t mince words about it. “There’s really no reason for federal law enforcement to come to a school,” he insists. Even so, the whispers persist. Staff at multiple districts report calls from parents—sometimes panicked—asking if ICE has been seen near playgrounds or parking lots. Most officials point out that they’ve never witnessed an ICE arrest at their schools; many insist that’s just not how things happen. But sometimes facts do little to dampen fear’s momentum.

The stakes, as ever, drift well beyond rumor. In California—a state where school funding hinges on daily attendance—each empty chair chips away at district budgets. Superintendent Alberto Carvalho in Los Angeles has drawn a straight line connecting declining in-class numbers to growing worries about immigration sweeps. “Concerns over enforcement are real for families,” he notes; for districts, it’s not just a moral issue, but dollars and cents.

Federal officials, for their part, have tried to clarify—sometimes in stop-and-start fashion. Tricia McLaughlin, from the Department of Homeland Security, lays it bare: “As we have repeatedly stated, DHS does not go to schools to arrest children.” She ticks off rare, hypothetical instances where law enforcement might cross school grounds—usually involving immediate threats or fugitives, not students. Still, last fall, DHS tried to nail it down in writing: no ICE raids on campus. The hope was that official assurances would calm nerves.

Yet facts, particularly in policy debates, rarely travel as fast as fear. The California Teachers Association, sensing the rising unease, has circulated materials warning of potential dangers. One post—sharply worded—alleged “ICE agents have raided schools, used tear gas on students, and created a climate of fear.” Districts, meanwhile, are scrambling to review security measures. Oceanside Unified, for instance, beefed up visitor checks and revised protocols, determined to keep federal agents at bay.

To some, all of this sounds a little too orchestrated. Andrew Hayes, representing Lakeside Unified, suspects the politics run deeper: “It’s all about the 2026 midterm, really,” he says, hinting that declining school rolls might strengthen demands for more state funding. Others see the dynamic differently, arguing that protection—not politics—should drive board policy. The truth, as usual, isn’t likely to reside neatly on either side.

What complicates matters further are headlines that ripple out from places far beyond California. In Minneapolis, the fatal shooting of ICU nurse Alex Pretti by federal agents drew swift condemnation and stoked fresh panic. The tragedy followed another fatal encounter earlier that month, reinforcing the sense, for many, that federal enforcement can sometimes swing out of control.

Then came controversy over this year’s Super Bowl at Levi’s Stadium. Rumors that ICE would help secure the event prompted local outrage. After heated exchanges—including pointed statements from San Jose’s mayor—the agency abruptly withdrew. No ICE agents, officials clarified, would be present at Super Bowl events. Depending on whom you ask, the reversal is either proof that public pressure works, or evidence the agency is reeling from a collapse in public trust.

And trust, or the lack of it, has emerged as the currency in this debate. Polls show more than half of Americans say they have “very little” or no faith in ICE. California’s attorney general reports that over 133,000 undocumented children attend school in the state—along with a vast number whose families live in legal limbo. For these young people, it doesn’t take much—a Facebook post gone viral, an overheard story—to stay home.

So who wields the panic, and to what end? Critics accuse teachers unions of deploying dramatic language in search of leverage. Supporters argue that risk is real, and that leaders must be blunt to keep kids out of harm’s way. Somewhere in the middle, classrooms continue to feel the chill, not from government actions but from the ripples of rumor and the weight of uncertainty.

For now, districts are updating policies, parents are weighing hard choices, and children—sometimes invisible in this adult debate—miss out on learning. The presence or absence of enforcement agents may be debatable; the damage done by fear, however, is plain as day. Until trust is restored, California’s schools will remain on edge—caught between rumor, reassurance, and the daily costs of doubt.

There’s a familiar kind of unease settling over schools in California these days. In some corners, it’s hushed—little more than looks exchanged in hallways or snippets of Spanish overheard when the main office phone rings. But in places like Paso Robles, Chino Valley, and well beyond, the anxiety has a name: ICE.Theories—sometimes seasoned with a dose of rumor—sweep through parent groups like wildfire. A mother in Los Angeles confides to a teacher that her daughter hasn’t been to school all week. “She’s worried immigration is waiting outside,” the teacher later tells me. Administrators, sensing a trend, pore over attendance sheets. Sure enough, the numbers aren’t lying: fewer kids in seats, especially since news broke about possible immigration enforcement near campuses.Kenney Enney, who sits on the Paso Robles Unified board, doesn’t mince words about it. “There’s really no reason for federal law enforcement to come to a school,” he insists. Even so, the whispers persist. Staff at multiple districts report calls from parents—sometimes panicked—asking if ICE has been seen near playgrounds or parking lots. Most officials point out that they’ve never witnessed an ICE arrest at their schools; many insist that’s just not how things happen. But sometimes facts do little to dampen fear’s momentum.The stakes, as ever, drift well beyond rumor. In California—a state where school funding hinges on daily attendance—each empty chair chips away at district budgets. Superintendent Alberto Carvalho in Los Angeles has drawn a straight line connecting declining in-class numbers to growing worries about immigration sweeps. “Concerns over enforcement are real for families,” he notes; for districts, it’s not just a moral issue, but dollars and cents.Federal officials, for their part, have tried to clarify—sometimes in stop-and-start fashion. Tricia McLaughlin, from the Department of Homeland Security, lays it bare: “As we have repeatedly stated, DHS does not go to schools to arrest children.” She ticks off rare, hypothetical instances where law enforcement might cross school grounds—usually involving immediate threats or fugitives, not students. Still, last fall, DHS tried to nail it down in writing: no ICE raids on campus. The hope was that official assurances would calm nerves.Yet facts, particularly in policy debates, rarely travel as fast as fear. The California Teachers Association, sensing the rising unease, has circulated materials warning of potential dangers. One post—sharply worded—alleged “ICE agents have raided schools, used tear gas on students, and created a climate of fear.” Districts, meanwhile, are scrambling to review security measures. Oceanside Unified, for instance, beefed up visitor checks and revised protocols, determined to keep federal agents at bay.To some, all of this sounds a little too orchestrated. Andrew Hayes, representing Lakeside Unified, suspects the politics run deeper: “It’s all about the 2026 midterm, really,” he says, hinting that declining school rolls might strengthen demands for more state funding. Others see the dynamic differently, arguing that protection—not politics—should drive board policy. The truth, as usual, isn’t likely to reside neatly on either side.What complicates matters further are headlines that ripple out from places far beyond California. In Minneapolis, the fatal shooting of ICU nurse Alex Pretti by federal agents drew swift condemnation and stoked fresh panic. The tragedy followed another fatal encounter earlier that month, reinforcing the sense, for many, that federal enforcement can sometimes swing out of control.Then came controversy over this year’s Super Bowl at Levi’s Stadium. Rumors that ICE would help secure the event prompted local outrage. After heated exchanges—including pointed statements from San Jose’s mayor—the agency abruptly withdrew. No ICE agents, officials clarified, would be present at Super Bowl events. Depending on whom you ask, the reversal is either proof that public pressure works, or evidence the agency is reeling from a collapse in public trust.And trust, or the lack of it, has emerged as the currency in this debate. Polls show more than half of Americans say they have “very little” or no faith in ICE. California’s attorney general reports that over 133,000 undocumented children attend school in the state—along with a vast number whose families live in legal limbo. For these young people, it doesn’t take much—a Facebook post gone viral, an overheard story—to stay home.So who wields the panic, and to what end? Critics accuse teachers unions of deploying dramatic language in search of leverage. Supporters argue that risk is real, and that leaders must be blunt to keep kids out of harm’s way. Somewhere in the middle, classrooms continue to feel the chill, not from government actions but from the ripples of rumor and the weight of uncertainty.For now, districts are updating policies, parents are weighing hard choices, and children—sometimes invisible in this adult debate—miss out on learning. The presence or absence of enforcement agents may be debatable; the damage done by fear, however, is plain as day. Until trust is restored, California’s schools will remain on edge—caught between rumor, reassurance, and the daily costs of doubt.