When Fear Becomes a Weapon: A Trauma-Informed Reflection on Immigration, Gang Narratives, and the NICU

“When we mistake fear for truth, we build walls where bridges belong—and lose sight of the humanity we’re all meant to protect.” - Mary Coughlin

There’s a dangerous narrative taking hold—one that conflates immigration with criminality, and gang violence with the very people most vulnerable to it. Media outlets fan the flames, using fear as a tool to justify surveillance, walls, and policies that divide rather than heal.

But here’s what I know:
People are not illegal.
Immigrants are not gangs.
And fear is not truth.

I’ve heard the rhetoric. I’ve seen the headlines.
But I’ve also stood at the bedside in the NICU, holding space for families navigating the fragility of new life in an unfamiliar country, in a foreign language, under the weight of trauma.

I’ve witnessed immigrant parents whisper lullabies through surgical masks, cling to updates through interpreters, pray with trembling hands as monitors beep around them.

These are not threats.
These are families.

To conflate their presence with violence is not just inaccurate—it’s inhumane.
And trauma-informed care demands that we name it.

Yes, gang violence exists. But it’s not the epidemic some would have you believe. Violent crime is declining. Most immigrants—documented or not—are fleeing violence, not bringing it. They’re seeking safety, opportunity, healing. Just like any of us would.

Yet time and again, their stories are hijacked. Weaponized. Reduced to labels like “illegals” and “invaders.”
But we know better.
And when we know better, we do better.

Trauma-informed care isn’t just a clinical framework—it’s a worldview.
It teaches us to look beneath the surface, to see people in their full context, to respond with compassion rather than control.

What if we brought that lens to the immigration debate?
What if we told the truth—not just the politicized headlines?

That truth is this:
Our NICUs are microcosms of the world’s beauty and suffering.
And immigrant families—so often marginalized—bring with them resilience, love, and strength that should be honored, not criminalized.

Let’s stop mistaking fear for safety.
Let’s stop allowing media soundbites to shape public policy.
And let’s stop treating trauma with more trauma.

Because when we mistake fear for truth, we build walls where bridges belong—
and lose sight of the humanity we’re all meant to protect.

Sincerely,
Someone who believes in safety through solidarity, not suspicion

Mary

P.S. Trauma-informed care belongs in every NICU—and every national conversation. If we want to build systems of safety, we must begin by telling the truth about who we are and how we care for one another.