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John, It's Becca. I’m going to be honest with you — this was a hard week on the House floor. Hard because of what I needed to say. Hard because of what I had to witness. Hard because none of this had to happen — and yet here we are. I rose to give two speeches that I wish I never had to give. Speeches about cruelty dressed up as policy. About fear being used as a governing strategy. About people, yes, real people, being harmed by their own government. I took that anger — that heartbreak — to the House floor and didn’t hold back. This isn’t about catching violent criminals. It’s about power. It’s about control. And it’s about cruelty. I’ve spent time in Chicago. Minneapolis. Saint Paul. I’ve sat with families, organizers, faith leaders — folks who are scared but still brave enough to put their names and faces out there. People who knew this escalation was coming because they’ve been living with the rhetoric for years. When you demonize and dehumanize immigrants and refugees long enough, it doesn’t stay theoretical. It turns into policy. It turns into raids. Detentions. Deaths in custody. And now we have Americans being detained and even killed in broad daylight. People of color afraid to leave their homes because ICE and Border Patrol are sweeping up anyone they think can help meet a quota. Based on skin color. Based on an accent. This didn’t have to go like this. It didn’t. And then there’s Aliya. What happened to Aliya Rahman is chilling and it should be a warning to all of us. She is a U.S. citizen. A young software engineer. Disabled. Autistic. Living with a traumatic brain injury. She was on her way to a doctor’s appointment when ICE stopped her. They screamed conflicting orders. Dragged her from her car. She was crying out, “I’m disabled.” Begging them to understand. She was denied medical care. She lost consciousness in detention. Suffered a concussion and left in an ambulance. I said it on the floor and I’ll say it again here: This is not about immigration enforcement. This is not about public safety. Aliya was terrorized by her own government. And she’s not the only one. But I need you to know this. I will not stop demanding accountability. Not for Aliya. Not for the families living in fear. Not for the Americans being swept up in this dragnet. Not for anyone. But moments like this require more than speeches. They require pressure. They require organizing. They require people — like you — deciding this is the moment to step in. Look, I know folks are tired. Tired of the outrage cycle. Tired of feeling like the system won’t listen. Tired of wondering if anything we do actually matters. I feel that too sometimes. We’re human. But then I meet people back home. I hear their stories. I see their courage — quiet courage, everyday courage — and I’m reminded why this work matters so much. Because the measure of our country isn’t how we treat the powerful. It’s how we treat the vulnerable. The disabled woman on her way to a doctor’s appointment. The family afraid to leave their home. The neighbor wondering if they’re next. Moments like this test us. Test our courage. Test our compassion. I’m all in. I hope you are too. Always with you in this fight, — Becca If you've saved your payment information with ActBlue Express, your donation will go through immediately:
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