This holiday season, I had the opportunity (and a privilege that I don’t take lightly) to cross the U.S. border and enjoy some time in Quebec with my partner. It was by far the coldest vacation I have ever had, but we tromped around in all our winter clothes and practiced French and felt rested and refreshed after a long year. The only thing we were asked at the border was where we were going, for how long, and what we had with us. A week later, on the way back, we exchanged a friendly “bonjour” with the border agent and were asked what we had done on vacation and whether we were bringing anything back. That was it.
Meanwhile, in cities and towns across Massachusetts and the country, thousands of my Black and brown peers were being chased, harassed, threatened, and/or kidnapped while going about their daily lives. People are being picked up, questioned, violently harassed, and detained while working, going to school, driving, and buying groceries for their families. Immigrants and bystanders are being murdered on the streets. They are not even in the process of crossing borders. They are not committing crimes. Many were born here or are naturalized citizens, permanent residents, and lawfully present immigrants. Those who are here without documents or with pending or liminal legal statuses may have risked a civil offense to live here, but they are not criminals. Some are here after fleeing unspeakable tragedies and violence, and others are just here because they, like me, are global citizens. It is heartbreaking.
At LZC, we are in the process of finalizing a public report–coming next month–about the actions and impacts of ICE in Massachusetts based on 100 stories we collected and analyzed in 2025. We have evidence of consistent patterns of violations of human rights, violence, and fear, with immediate and long-lasting impacts for our collective well-being in Massachusetts. The effects of the second Trump administration go far beyond the well-documented “chilling effects” that individuals and families experienced 10 years ago. We are in new territory–federal policies, narratives, and actions have created a climate of terror that pervades entire institutions and communities. We are all impacted, and implicated. As we describe further in our report, we are “ICEd in.”
So, I have been thinking a lot about frozen water. In Quebec, we visited an entire community of fishing huts that are driven out onto a frozen river and become a permanent fixture in that community for 2-3 months each year. We watched a ferry cut a line through ice in the St. Lawrence river every day as it brought people across to Quebec City. We ate hot maple caramel poured onto a table of snow that magically became a taffy lollipop. We learned about the history and contemporary lifestyles of the Inuit and 10 First Nations in Quebec that have always been in relationship with ice and snow as part of their survival, habitat, and worldview. I skied at a gorgeous old school mountain where every tree from base to summit was encased with ice. Ice and snow brought incredible joy!
Interestingly, I learned that communities have a way to assess when a lake or body of water becomes “iced in.” This is the moment when there is evidence of ice on all parts of a body of water (with varying depths) and the underlying ecosystem stabilizes for the winter. It is also when people start to bring out their ice fishing huts, clear paths for winter sports and leisure, build fires right out on the ice, and/or hunker down for the coldest part of winter. Definitions differ from state to state: Lake Stewards of Maine provides a definition and map tracking “ice-in” and “ice-out” for the lakes across the state, and in New Hampshire each year Emerson Aviation declares the day of “ice-in” for Lake Winnipesaukee based on reports from residents and an observational fly-over of the five ferry ports (this year it was January 13, 2026).
But here’s the thing: What we see frozen is only a sliver of the depths below. Geologists think about ice as a process; animals and plants adapt and survive under the surface and the ice changes composition daily. That is why the Native Alaskan Inupiaq language has such an expansive language for talking about ice and snow–each term refers to consistency, strength, depth, direction of flow, whether it is heating up or cooling off, the original source of the water, etc. The warmth of the sun, the wind, slight shifts in the ecosystem, or even movements of the earth constantly create cracks, bubbles, and crevasses underneath and around what might appear to be a smooth surface.
We have a lot of work to do to better understand and thaw the unprecedented climate of fear that ICE has created in Massachusetts and across the United States over the past year. This is long-term work and every type of contribution matters. Find your points of engagement. Experiment with feeling the real winds of disbelief and fear while also recognizing the stability of your own values and commitment to safe communities. Turn up the warmth of compassion, look below the surface, and find strength and hope in the cracks. Spring is on its way.
