From Award Winner to Detainee: A Transgender Activist's Ordeal Under Trump's Immigration Crackdown
Arely Westley's journey embodies both profound resilience and systemic injustice. An undocumented transgender woman who grew up in New Orleans, Westley spent six traumatic months in immigration detention as a youth. That experience, marked by cruelty, confusion, and isolation, forged a powerful resolve within her. After her release, with the help of community organizers who secured her safe housing, she dedicated her life to fighting for other trans migrants navigating the complex and often hostile immigration system alone.
A Champion for the Vulnerable
Westley's advocacy was hands-on and deeply personal. She met with trans detainees in immigration facilities across Louisiana, connecting them with vital legal representation, raising commissary funds for their basic needs, and campaigning to shut down facilities with documented histories of abuse. Her impactful work did not go unnoticed. In 2024, the Robert & Ethel Kennedy Human Rights Center (formerly the Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Center) honored her with its prestigious annual human rights award. At the ceremony, Westley courageously shared her story of surviving human trafficking and the horrific conditions she endured during her earlier detention.
A Targeted Community Leader
When Donald Trump returned to the White House last year, campaigning on a platform that denigrated both transgender people and immigrants, Westley was working as a campaign director at BreakOut!, an organization supporting Black and Latinx trans youth. She was in the process of obtaining a special visa for trafficking survivors and had received gender-affirming surgeries. Her home was a sanctuary where she felt safe, surrounded by her ten dogs, two cats, bunnies, and chickens. She had been granted an Order of Supervision in 2024, similar to probation, allowing her to live in the U.S. while awaiting final deportation orders and a visa update.
Thus, she was not particularly worried when she received a call last January from the New Orleans field office of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). An officer, via phone and a follow-up text message, praised her role as a community leader and offered more lenient supervision. However, this was a ruse. When Westley reported to the office, agents immediately handcuffed her.
Systemic Neglect and Abuse in Detention
Over the next several months, Westley was detained at the South Louisiana ICE Processing Center (SLIPC) in Basile. She alleges she was denied access to necessary medical care, subjected to long stretches of solitary confinement, and endured verbal abuse and transphobic harassment. Medical personnel reportedly told her they did not know how to care for her, leaving several infections untreated. Her lawyer, Sarah Decker, a senior staff attorney with the Robert & Ethel Kennedy Human Rights Center, noted that people under Orders of Supervision became "very easy targets" early in Trump's deportation campaign.
Westley, now 33 and originally from Honduras, was ultimately ordered deported to Mexico in November due to the extreme danger for trans people in her home country. "I represent everything that Trump hates," Westley stated. "I'm an immigrant, I'm a trans person and I'm an activist. I think I was the perfect target for his administration."
A Broader Pattern of Cruelty Under Trump
The Trump administration has significantly increased the dangers faced by transgender immigrants in ICE custody. While trans migrants have historically faced discrimination in detention, the president's promises of mass deportation and rolling back trans rights have collided with brutal force. An investigation by HuffPost, based on interviews with about a dozen detainees, lawyers, and advocates, and a review of over 1,000 pages of documents, reveals new levels of cruelty.
Three individuals reported serious medical neglect, harassment, and solitary confinement for weeks—a practice the United Nations considers torture. All felt uniquely targeted for abuse due to their transgender identity. "The Trump administration is taking a very aggressive and violent approach toward immigrants... that's emboldening bigots everywhere," said Dale Melchert, a senior staff attorney for the Transgender Law Center.
Eroding Safeguards and Transparency
Accountability has become nearly impossible. ICE has abruptly stopped providing data on the number of transgender people in detention, despite congressional requirements. Advocates' access to detention centers and an LGBTQ+ liaison within ICE has been curtailed. Three Department of Homeland Security (DHS) agencies tasked with immigration oversight have been shuttered. "Now we only hear about the harm after the fact," said Isa Noyola, director of the Border Butterflies Project. "We will never know the depths of the harm happening inside detention centers."
On his first day in office, Trump signed an executive order declaring sex to be binary and immutable, directing detention centers to house people based on sex assigned at birth. DHS removed all mentions of transgender people from its detention standards, replacing references to gender with biological sex. ICE deleted an Obama-era memo on transgender care. An investigation by Senator Jon Ossoff's office found over 1,000 reports of human rights abuses in the past year, including 206 of medical neglect.
Medical Neglect as Policy
Westley's health deteriorated rapidly at SLIPC. She was denied daily medication for a chronic illness and, critically, her estrogen hormone therapy. Denial of hormone therapy after surgeries can cause severe gender dysphoria, anxiety, depression, and bone density issues. She developed a painful infection at her vaginoplasty site but was denied her necessary dilation tools for a month. When finally provided, she was placed in solitary confinement to use them. Medical staff admitted they were "not equipped" to treat her, and external specialist referrals were never honored before her deportation.
DHS spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin broadly denied claims of medical neglect but explicitly stated, "We are NOT wasting U.S. taxpayer dollars to provide hormone therapy to illegal aliens seeking to change their sex." This policy stance, coupled with ICE's failure to pay third-party medical providers, has created a crisis where essential care is being denied, a situation advocates fear could be fatal for trans immigrants requiring complex healthcare.
Parallel Stories of Suffering
Westley's story is not isolated. Melissa, a 37-year-old trans woman from Iran detained in Arizona (identified by a pseudonym), faced nearly identical barriers. She experienced vaginal bleeding and discharge for two months and was denied hormone therapy for four months. She was placed in medical isolation when advocating for care, and agents mocked her dilation tools. Disoriented by medication given to her, she slept constantly. Her asylum journey, delayed by Trump's first-term "Muslim ban," ended with humiliation at the border where an official deemed her forehead "too masculine," leading to solitary detention.
Luis Renteria-Gonzalez, a 37-year-old transgender man detained at SLIPC, alleged he was sexually harassed, forced into an "off the books" labor program without protective gear, and subjected to transphobic taunts. After sharing his story with The Guardian, he faced retaliation: 40 days in solitary confinement and inadequate medical care. He has since been deported to Mexico, a country he barely knows after arriving in the U.S. at age five.
Life After Deportation: Trauma and Resilience
The trauma lingers. In Mexico, Westley had six toenails removed due to a bacterial infection contracted in detention. She is still recovering from the vaginal infection, which complicates dilation and threatens the functionality of her vaginal canal. Living in fear in a city known for violence against trans people, she stays indoors and has food delivered. She dreams of returning to the United States but knows it may take years. Undeterred, she is drawing up plans to create a sanctuary home in Mexico to support other deported trans migrants.
"I FaceTime my animals every day," Westley said, referring to the pets she had to leave behind in New Orleans. "That's the thing that's keeping me strong." Her story, and those of Melissa and Renteria-Gonzalez, stand as stark testaments to the human cost of policies that target some of society's most vulnerable individuals.
