With loved ones detained, Florida's immigrant families face ‘chaos'

TAMPA, Fla. - Carmen Benavides sat on the motel bed, holding her daughter Abrahannys' hand. The 4-year-old lay on her back, awake, as if waiting for her mother's voice.

"You are beautiful," Benavides said in Spanish. "Who's the most beautiful?"

She checked a monitor and feeding tube connected to the girl's stomach. Abrahannys suffers from a brain cyst, a severe form of spina bifida and hydrocephalus, a medical condition in which a person's brain fills with fluid. Her condition is terminal, Benavides said.

"Is it working OK?" Benavides asked another daughter.

"I think it's OK, mamá," said Juliannys, 11.

There was no television in the room. Only a mini-fridge and a microwave. An old wall-mounted air conditioner that made more noise than cold air. Clothes and toys piled on the floor. Under the bed, a box of tools Benavides' husband, Jorge Cuenca, once worked with.

"He used it all the time," Juliannys said.

In December, Cuenca was arrested for not having a driver's license during a traffic stop in Pasco County and taken into custody by immigration authorities. He was sent to Alligator Alcatraz, where he was held for a month before being transferred to a detention center in Broward. He's facing a deportation order, Benavides said.

With no income, Benavides and their eight children ended up in a motel in Miami after a local nonprofit found thematemporary room. Space is limited. In the mornings, the room can be so hot that they have to keep the door open and send the youngest to the manager's office, where the air conditioning works better.

Across Florida and nationwide, immigrant families without permanent legal status are being pushed to their limits due to mass arrests and deportations.

In Florida, the state Board of Immigration Enforcement has reported more than 18,000 immigration arrests since Aug. 1. Nationwide, ICE has reported 457,000 immigration arrests, agency's director Todd Lyons told Congress.

The families of those detained or deported are left to deal with the fallout from every arrest, often alone and unsure how to react.

Studies on detention and even incarceration show various levels of harm for family members, said Elizabeth Aranda, a University of South Florida sociology professor and director of USF's Im/migrant Well-Being Research Center. That includes financial pressure, housing and food insecurity as well as physical and mental health problems.

Benavides, 36, put it simply.

"This is chaos," she said. "This is not the American dream we wanted."

The policies shaping the stress

Some groups and advocates who support tougher immigration policies don't see anything wrong with these ripple effects.

"In every other area of law, we justifiably hold the individual who violates laws responsible for the impact that enforcement might have on family members," said Ira Mehlman, a spokesperson for the Federation for American Immigration Reform. "Family members are not human shields that protect people from the consequences of their actions."

These immigrants understand they're taking a risk, said Jessica M. Vaughan, director of policy studies at the Center for Immigration Studies, which pushes for lower levels of immigration. She said immigrants who choose to came "illegally" know they could be subject to enforcement.

"They are gambling with the well-being of their families," she said.

Any hardships are "a consequence of lawbreaking rather than arbitrary government action," said Alfonso Aguilar, director of Hispanic engagement at the conservative America First Policy Institute.

Other advocates and researchers, though, say the crackdown is ensnaring immigrants who otherwise would have had legal status or protection. Processing delays can also keep people detained longer, said David Bier, director of immigration studies at the libertarian Cato Institute and author of a report about federal cuts to green card approvals.

Bier's report found that Cuban immigrants faced more aggressive targeting. By late last year,he found, Immigration and Customs Enforcement arrested more than 1,000 Cubans per month, five times more thanin late 2024. Green card approvals for them almost disappeared because of new restrictions and a pause on adjustment of status.

Arianne Betancourt is the daughter of a Cuban held for more than three months at Alligator Alcatraz. Her father, Justo, 54, has been living in the United States for three decades. He was arrested in October during a check-in at an ICE office in Miami. He had an order of removal after his release from prison six years ago for an older drug-related case.

It was a moment Betancourt had feared since the agency told her father in July that he would need to check in not once, but three times a year.

"I was in a constant state of panic," said Betancourt, 33.

Betancourt has struggled with depression and had a miscarriage last year, which she attributes in part to the stress of her father's situation. She fought with relatives and close friends when she decided to become an activist denouncing mistreatment at Alligator Alcatraz and demanding her father's release.

Betancourt said ICE tried to deport her father to Mexico in January, but officials there turned him away because he is diabetic and requires insulin.

Every Sunday, Betancourt joins vigils in front of Alligator Alcatraz organized by the Workers Circle, a human rights group where she works full-time. She has raised more than $12,000 to help her dad go free.

The financial strain

When a loved one is detained, families lose their income. And if they work fewer hours out of fear or take lower-paying jobs in hopes of having less public interaction, they make less, too, said Michael Coon, associate professor of economics at the University of Tampa.

That was the case for Eneyda Diaz, whose husband, Marvin Reyes, 38, was detained by ICE in April while driving on a construction project in Georgia.

Reyes doesn't have a criminal record and had his driver's license, insurance and registration in order, his wife said. The family lives in Clearwater but moved temporarily to Georgia for the job. Reyes' asylum case has been pending since 2021. He came from Nicaragua two decades ago.

"He was waiting for his interview and was renewing his work permit without any problem," said Diaz, 39. "I don't understand what happened."

Diaz has no close friends or family in Georgia and doesn't have a job. A week ago, she started doing deliveries - but only for a few hours per day because she is afraid of being stopped by police.

The idea of going back to Florida is more difficult, if not impossible now, she said. The strong presence of the Florida Highway Patrol - which leads all state agencies in referrals to federal immigration authorities - is a risk she doesn't want to take with her 8-year-old daughter.

Diaz started a GoFundMe campaign to cover some legal costs. Shehas called a half-dozen attorneys looking for advice. Each one, she said, gave her a different answer and estimate. She is dealing with insomnia, depression and constant questions from her daughter about where her father is.

She is praying, she said, but it's not enough.

"What else can I do?" she said.

Before Jorge Cuenca's detention, the Cuenca-Benavides family lived in a mobile home in Land O' Lakes, where Cuenca worked in construction and took extra jobs as a handyman. He had his own tools for work and bought the children a bike to ride for fun.

The family came to the United States in late 2024 under the CBP One program, which helped migrants schedule appointments at ports of entry for processing.

For the family, it was the end of a two-month journey from their country to Colombia and Panama, through the Darien Gap jungle, before crossing Mexico to reach the southern border.

In the United States, Benavides got help and medical attention for Abrahannys at Johns Hopkins All Children's Hospital in St. Petersburg. But after her husband's arrest, Benavides said she could no longer pay the rent. She moved to Miami three months ago, thinking that the Venezuelan community, larger in South Florida, could assist her.

"We did not come here to live off this country. I'm in this situation because of my husband's detention. If he had not been detained, we would not be here," Benavides said. She started a GoFundMe campaign.

Her younger children do not know their father was arrested. Only the two oldest girls, ages 14 and 16, understand. They watch their younger siblings, play with them and help with homework.

At night, five of the kids share abed. Benavides sleeps near Abrahannys. Her oldest daughter shares another bed with the baby.

"I am trying to do everything I can to keep my family together, but I feel I can't do it all by myself," Benavides said. "I need my husband."

Days later, Abrahannys was hospitalized with pneumonia at achildren's hospital in Miami. Benavides said her daughter will need to stay there for a while.

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This story was originally published May 15, 2026 at 1:37 PM.