‘I want my vote back’: Trump-voting family exclaims after Canadian mother detained over immigration status

“The Only Crime I Committed Was Loving This Country”: When Immigration Policy Hits Home

In June 2025, during what should have been a hopeful milestone in her journey to lawful U.S. residency, 45-year-old Canadian national Cynthia Olivera was detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) at a green card interview. A mother of three U.S.-born children and resident of Los Angeles for over two decades, Cynthia's life was upended by the very immigration policies she and her husband once believed would protect “law-abiding families.”

Her detention has become emblematic of a growing pattern: nonviolent immigrants with deep ties to the U.S. ensnared by increasingly rigid enforcement, even as their stories challenge prevailing assumptions about who deserves to stay, and who is forced to leave.

The Story Behind the Detention

Cynthia arrived in the U.S. at age 10 and has lived most of her life there. After a brief deportation in 1999, she re-entered the country without inspection and spent the next 25 years raising children, working legally under a Biden-era permit, and paying taxes. Her husband, Francisco, an American citizen and Trump voter, believed immigration enforcement was intended for dangerous criminals, not people like his wife.

But when she walked into her green card interview in Chatsworth, California, she was met not with congratulations but with cuffs.

ICE defended the detention, citing her felony reentry. “She ignored our law and again illegally entered the country,” an ICE spokesperson said. Yet her family and supporters argue that Cynthia was trying to follow the rules and had built a productive life in the only country she calls home.

The Legal Machinery at Work

Cynthia's case is driven by a web of policies, including:

• 8 U.S.C. § 1326, which makes unauthorized reentry after deportation a felony;
• ICE detention practices that allow detaining individuals at immigration interviews;
• Lack of legal protections for undocumented parents of U.S. citizens.

These mechanisms leave little room for compassion or family considerations. Even her U.S.-born children offer no legal shield against deportation.

A Broader Pattern: Policy vs. Reality

The Trump administration claims its immigration policy targets violent offenders. Yet data shows:

• Over 65% of ICE detainees have no criminal convictions.
• 93% have no history of violence.

Cynthia’s case contradicts the narrative of public safety enforcement. She had no criminal record, a legal work permit, and a pending green card application—yet she was detained and awaits deportation to Canada, where she hasn’t lived since childhood.

The Politics of Regret

Perhaps most striking is Francisco’s public regret. “I want my vote back,” he said, echoing many Trump supporters who didn’t expect immigration policy to impact their own families.

This is part of a broader shift where politically conservative immigrant families, once aligned with tough-on-immigration rhetoric, now question its real-life consequences.

The Human Toll on Families

Cynthia’s detention is not just a personal ordeal, it symbolizes a broader crisis for mixed-status families:

• Children face trauma, instability, and disruption when a parent is detained or deported.
• Families are plunged into emotional, legal, and financial turmoil.
• Deportation often fractures multi-generational households and weakens community trust in institutions.

A Global Context

Other countries, like Canada, handle deportations differently, often requiring serious criminality. Cynthia’s reentry would bar her permanently from the U.S., isolating her from her children unless they relocate abroad, highlighting the transnational strain immigration policies impose on families.

Public Perception Shapes Policy

Immigration laws don’t operate in a vacuum. They respond—and contribute—to public opinion:

• Media narratives often frame immigration as a threat, stoking fear and enabling strict policies.
• Misconceptions about undocumented individuals obscure their contributions.
• Voter regret, like Francisco’s, hints at a potential public shift toward more nuanced, humane policy approaches.

Still, reform is slow, and Cynthia’s story reminds us that lives are changed—sometimes shattered, while the debate continues.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Cynthia’s plea echoes through detention walls: “The only crime I committed is to love this country and to work hard and to provide for my kids.” Her story is a powerful reminder that immigration is not just about borders and laws, it’s about people, families, and the kind of society we choose to be.

If public sentiment and political will align, stories like hers could fuel a push for reform that balances national security with empathy, and justice with humanity.