On June 11, as the sun bore down on an uncomfortably hot afternoon in Baltimore, four neighbors met under the shade of a tree on Ellerslie Avenue, a quiet road that divides Waverly from Ednor Gardens. Most were meeting for the first time, brought together by outrage over a Mother’s Day ICE raid just a block away and a shared commitment to take action. They were armed with clipboards and “know your rights” flyers tucked under their arms. Their goal: over the next two hours, knock on as many doors as possible to warn neighbors about escalating ICE activity and invite them to join a growing community defense network.

“We’re just part of a network of neighbors,” explained one canvasser, who declined to give their name, citing safety concerns. Those with more experience helped the newcomers run through the script: knock gently but firmly, introduce yourself, ask if the resident has heard about recent ICE activity, and offer ways to get involved. For those interested, there was a Signal group — an encrypted messaging app designed to keep participants secure from surveillance. Residents could choose their level of participation: receive alerts, observe, film, or engage more directly when ICE is spotted. That day’s efforts recruited more than two dozen new members to the group.

This grassroots mutual aid effort in Baltimore is part of a growing national movement: communities taking it upon themselves to defend their own as the Trump administration ramps up deportations and expands ICE’s reach. Driven by a quota of 3,000 arrests a day, ICE is increasingly targeting longtime community members — day laborers, asylum seekers, parents — over 70% of whom have no criminal history or have overstayed visas in a broken immigration system with few viable legal pathways to citizenship.

The neighbors’ work that day followed a march of hundreds through Highlandtown, a neighborhood with one of the city’s biggest immigrant communities. Marchers expressed solidarity with recent mass protests in Los Angeles sparked by a wave of ICE raids and the deployment of armed troops to suppress peaceful demonstrations. They visited grocery stores and other businesses where 16 day laborers were recently detained during ICE raids. 

Organizers from CASA, a leading immigrants’ rights organization, reminded the crowd that many of those being targeted fled violence fueled by decades of U.S. policy in Latin America, including funding death squads and economic sanctions. Now, they’re being met with plainclothes agents dragging fathers from grocery stores in front of their children.

The Trump administration has launched a full-scale campaign to turn its violent rhetoric into reality, increasingly using military tactics and equipment on anyone in its path. Trump has accused migrants of “poisoning the blood of the country” — echoing Nazi propaganda. Cities like Baltimore, which have large immigrant populations and limit cooperation with ICE, are in the crosshairs. 

“Current ICE actions are pushing people further into the shadows,” said Crisaly de los Santos, Baltimore and Central Maryland Director at CASA. “They’re creating a climate of fear where many in our communities no longer trust local law enforcement — largely because they can’t tell ICE apart from other agencies. That lack of clarity and transparency discourages people from reporting crimes or seeking help, which only further harms our communities.”

A new report from the Kaiser Family Foundation highlights how immigration enforcement is stoking fear and uncertainty among undocumented immigrants and their families. Many parents report skipping medical appointments, avoiding public spaces, and feeling heightened anxiety — conditions that researchers say directly undermine mental and physical health.

On June 8, masked ICE agents in an unmarked vehicle detained two brothers near the intersection of E. Baltimore and Ellwood Street. Word spread quickly, and neighbors rushed to respond, several witnesses told Baltimore Beat. Some stood in front of the ICE vehicles, chanting and physically blocking their path. Others used their own cars to try and prevent the agents from leaving.The crowd had no training, no coordinated plan — just a shared sense of urgency. 

“Masked men are taking our neighbors. It shakes me up in a way because my maternal uncle was a Holocaust survivor. The idea of sticking up for the people around you—it’s just really important,” one witness who declined to be named due to safety concerns told the Beat.

Buzz Grambo, a local resident and military veteran, saw a post on a private Facebook page that tracks ICE activity, and rushed over. “I arrived after ICE had people in custody. I was yelling at ICE, telling them they were violating their oaths,” he said. “I also ride around the city on my scooter looking for ICE to yell at. I’m retired, so I have lots of free time.” Grambo sees resistance to ICE as a patriotic duty. 

ICE called for backup, and Baltimore police arrived on the scene — though, according to witnesses, BPD officers mostly stood by, conducting crowd control rather than assisting ICE. Ultimately, police cleared the way, and the brothers were taken into custody.

Baltimore is a welcoming city, meaning it limits cooperation with federal authorities seeking to detain immigrants without a signed warrant. Now that the Baltimore Police Department is under local control for the first time since the Civil War, advocates are calling for stronger protections. As Councilmember Mark Parker told the Beat during the march, the incident revealed how unprepared the city is to respond to ICE activity. “We had policies written on paper. Now we need to tighten them up,” he said.

The neighbors’ intervention wasn’t successful, but it wasn’t in vain. It added urgency to local organizing and helped build support for the City Council’s recent two million dollar budget allocation for immigrant services and legal defense. The additional funding for the Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs will support case management, legal support, and wraparound services for families torn apart by detentions.

Parker emphasized the importance of legislative action on a local level.

“The biggest impact, given the constraints of the legal governing system we’re sitting in, is to make sure that people who are detained get every single opportunity to access legal services and to make sure that their families, who are left behind in our communities, whose loved ones have been ripped away from them by the federal government, are cared for,” Parker said.

At the canvassing meetup in June, neighbors recounted how ICE often arrives in unmarked SUVs, with agents dressed in plainclothes. “We don’t want our neighbors snatched off the street,” said another canvasser. “We want to be ready.”

And that readiness is growing. The neighborhood Signal group now includes over 86 local residents. Volunteers also collect phone numbers of elderly neighbors who don’t use Signal, and commit to calling them directly if ICE is spotted. The group connects residents with regular trainings through organizations like the Baltimore Rapid Response Network and Sanctuary Streets Baltimore.

They remind neighbors that the city may call itself a sanctuary, but that status won’t protect anyone unless people look out for each other.

Across the country, community members and elected officials have increasingly put their bodies on the line and faced arrest for nonviolently resisting ICE detaining individuals without due process or judicial warrants, or for demanding accountability from notorious ICE facilities. 

“I think we need to use whatever means necessary to stop this from happening, including nonviolent resistance, suing them, and using every legal and legislative tool we have,” said Councilmember Odette Ramos, the first person of Latinx heritage on the City Council. 

And so, neighborhood by neighborhood, door by door, Baltimoreans are offering a blueprint not just for solidarity, but for community defense.

The post Baltimore residents are mobilizing to protect their immigrant neighbors from ICE appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

At graduation ceremonies across Baltimore this spring, students turned their moments of celebration into protest — waving Palestinian flags, denouncing their schools’ complicity in Gaza’s devastation, and risking discipline from both their universities and the Trump administration.

“I can’t just walk across the stage and not say anything,” said August, a University of Maryland School of Social Work graduate and member of the Anti-Imperial Movement,  who asked that their full name be withheld out of fear of harassment. “I can’t just sleep well knowing that my tuition money is complicit in this.” 

August was among the students that marked their May 19 commencement ceremony by demanding their school cut ties with Israel. Over a dozen students wore keffiyehs, waved Palestinian flags, covered their hands in blood-red dyed water and signs reading, “Genocide is not a social work value” and “Disclose, Divest from Israel.”

Colleges across the country have cracked down on similar displays: days earlier, at George Washington University, Cecilia Culver was banned from campus after using her graduation speech to declare, “I am ashamed to know my tuition is being used to fund genocide.” At NYU, Logan Rozos’s diploma was withheld after denouncing the “genocide… paid for by our tax dollars and live-streamed to our phones.”

The goal was urgent: to speak out against institutional complicity in Gaza’s humanitarian catastrophe, where the official death toll nears 55,000, hundreds of thousands of people face starvation, and Israel has vowed to enact President Donald Trump’s ethnic cleansing plan for the survivors. 

Protest has become a constant on college campuses since Hamas’s deadly attack on October 7, 2023, and Israel’s genocidal response. Over 19 months, students have staged walkouts, encampments, hunger strikes, and civil disobedience — even as administrators rewrite rules to ban and restrict protests and impose harsh discipline. More than 3,000 protesters across the country have been arrested, with hundreds suspended or expelled. Protestors are routinely accused of antisemitism, their calls for accountability dismissed as hatred rather than outrage over humanitarian law. 

Resistance has grown since this March, when the U.S.-backed Israeli blockade choked off food, water, and medicine to Gaza — and public perception is starting to shift with it. An April Pew survey showed a majority of Americans now view Israel unfavorably for the first time in decades. That finding was confirmed by a May University of Maryland poll that also found more than a third of Americans, including a majority of Democrats, see Israel’s actions in Gaza as war crimes or “akin to genocide.”

“The only way forward is for everyday Americans — not just students or leftists — to speak up,” said August. “Sometimes it feels hopeless, but the data shows we’re not fringe. A lot of people are waking up to what’s happening in Gaza.”

In conversations with more than a dozen local student activists, Baltimore Beat heard that they see their Pro-Palestine advocacy as part of a broader, generational fight against injustice.

As the crisis in Gaza has deepened, so too has the Trump administration’s crackdown on campus activism — framing student protest as antisemitism. Federal investigations are now underway at more than 60 universities, and hundreds of student visas have been revoked. At institutions like Johns Hopkins University, the administration has threatened to pull billions in federal funding unless university leaders suppress dissent. A federal antisemitism task force — backed by Republicans, key Democrats, and major Jewish organizations — has vowed to stamp out what it deems antisemitism at Hopkins and other campuses.

The administration has targeted prominent foreign-born student activists, claiming their advocacy constitutes support for Hamas and antisemitic incitement. In March, Mahmoud Khalil, a prominent organizer at Columbia University and a legal U.S. resident, was detained by ICE, had his green card revoked, and has languished in detention for several months. “As a Palestinian student, I believe that the liberation of the Palestinian people and the Jewish people are intertwined — you cannot achieve one without the other,” Khalil told CNN in 2024.

Pro-Palestinian protesters — including many Jewish students — emphasize that their opposition is to Israel’s occupation, not Judaism. They warn that equating criticism of Israel with antisemitism threatens free speech and undermines Jewish safety by turning antisemitism into a political weapon.

Avery Misterka, Jewish student at Towson University and lead organizer of the campus Pro-Palestine movement, has spoken out at multiple protests against Trump administration policies and in defense of targeted student activists. 

“Trump isn’t serious about fighting antisemitism — it’s a weapon for his Christian nationalist project,” said Misterka. He heads the campus chapter of Jewish Voice for Peace, the nation’s largest anti-Zionist Jewish organization. Misterka noted that Trump has long-standing ties to antisemitic extremists, including several current White House officials.

“We’ve seen what happens when students speak out — they get punished. But we’re still showing up,” he added.

The protests have persisted even as university responses grow increasingly harsh. In the early hours of May 8, tents sprang up on the Keyser Quad at Johns Hopkins University. Students quickly established a small encampment, renaming it the Dr. Hussam Abu Safiya Liberated Zone, in honor of a Gazan pediatrician abducted by Israeli forces. While last year’s encampment at Hopkins lasted for two weeks, this time it was cleared immediately: more than 30 Hopkins armed private police force and Baltimore police officers swept onto the quad within the hour, tearing down tents and detaining students.

The crackdown at Hopkins — carried out by its newly empowered private police force — sparked swift criticism from students and faculty alike. 

“Campuses have always been strongholds of dissent. Trump knows critical thinking lives here, and his agenda can’t survive it,” said Claude Guillemard, a French professor at Johns Hopkins University, at a recent rally. 

Both students and faculty have led calls for the Baltimore City Council to hold a hearing on the Hopkins Police Department, arguing that the force remains unaccountable to the communities it is supposed to serve. They argue that university leaders are capitulating to a pressure campaign designed to stifle dissent and academic freedom.

At Morgan State University, where student protest played a key role in the civil rights movement, professor Jared Ball sees the pattern repeating: “Faculty in Maryland can’t unionize, governance keeps shrinking, and corporate and military influence keeps growing. Private security is everywhere, yet students still say they don’t feel safe. Administrators confine protests to ‘designated spaces’ and punish anyone who strays — proof that the crackdown on dissent isn’t new, just more aggressive.”

At Towson University, the movement has only broadened. One year after passing a 12-1 divestment resolution, university leaders have rejected calls to divest from Israel as students built an even larger coalition. 

Mina, vice president of Towson’s Muslim Student Association, withheld their last name due to ongoing Islamophobic harassment. Despite administrators rejecting their demands, Mina says they remain undeterred.

“We’ve been here since October 7, and we’re not going anywhere,” Mina said. 

Even after meeting with the president, none of their demands have been met.

“I guess he thought if he met with us, we’d stop — but we haven’t.”

While protesters face arrest, suspension, and expulsion, no U.S. official has been held accountable for violating laws that prohibit aid to governments committing war crimes.

Organizing extends well beyond protests and marches. On a chilly Saturday in April, Red Emma’s became a marketplace of resistance for students’ political art.

Students from area schools shared food and strategies for continued action, including University of Maryland College Park, where in April, students voted to divest from Israel and other countries that fuel human rights abuses, joining Towson and University of Maryland Baltimore County, where student bodies approved divestment resolutions last year. The event, organized by Baltimore Artists Against Apartheid, raised more than $3,600 for Palestinian families. 

“If we let the repression students face stand, artists will be next,” said organizer Nic Koski. “Defending students under attack is inseparable from defending Palestinian rights — and everyone’s rights.”

One of the participating artists was Qamar Hassan, a graduating senior at the Maryland Institute College of Art, who raised over $500 by selling pieces that had been removed from public spaces by campus administrators.

In May, Hassan also took part in a protest during their graduation. “We really wanted to highlight that [MICA was] still actively censoring students,” Hassan said. They coordinated with classmates to disrupt the ceremony with chants for Palestine, and a few walked the stage carrying Palestinian flags, determined to make their message visible even as most held back, fearing repercussions. The school president refused to shake their hand — a small gesture that captured the tension of the moment.

“We wanted to show that even if it’s just a handful of us, we’re not going to let our school go about with a land acknowledgment and then censor students who want to talk about Palestine,” Hassan reflected. 

“It’s important to show others who are scared that you can do these things — and you’ll be okay. You have a voice, and you can use it.” 

In a year defined by fear and repression, even a small act of defiance became an example for others — and a signal to Baltimore that the city’s students, and their movement, aren’t going away.

The post To Maryland college students, speaking out about Gaza means more than any potential discipline appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

Students, faculty and organizers are calling on the Baltimore City Council to exercise its new authority over the Baltimore Police Department to hold the first ever hearing on the Johns Hopkins University Police Department. 

Unlike BPD, the public currently has no mechanism to hold JHPD accountable or even to have their questions about the department answered in a public forum, organizers said at a late April press conference in front of City Hall.

“Every opportunity to speak that the community has had to date has been organized by Hopkins, run by Hopkins, and controlled by Hopkins,” said Fiona Chamness of the Baltimore Abolition Movement, emphasizing that the push against JHPD is part of a broader fight for a new vision of public safety. “We want a neutral space where community voices are truly heard.”

Hopkins leadership maintains that the force is intended to ensure campus safety and notes community members can provide oversight and accountability through the Police Accountability Board. The university did not respond to a request for comment, but in a recent public statement, Branville G. Bard Jr., Hopkins’ vice president for public safety, said, “During my time at Hopkins, I have met with over 100 community and stakeholder groups, and I commit to continue our work with the community to shape the JHPD as a model, community-oriented, transparent, and constitutional public safety organization.”

But residents are concerned that federal political pressure could change that. As the Trump administration cracks down on universities and dissent nationwide, residents warn that Hopkins — a university that in fiscal year 2024 received more NIH funding than any other — is vulnerable to coercion.

Speakers at the April rally highlighted a chilling precedent: In May 2024, when faced with a peaceful student encampment at Johns Hopkins, the mayor rejected calls to clear the protest, citing the protesters’ right to assemble. Activists worry that a fully empowered private police force under Hopkins’ control would not.

“If they had their own police force, they wouldn’t have needed to ask,” said organizer Emil Volcheck. 

“Hopkins doesn’t understand that protest is not a threat — it’s a right,” Volcheck said.

The timing to act is critical, organizers said. As of this year, Baltimore has regained local control over BPD for the first time since the Civil War. Yet Hopkins’ private force operates under a 2022 Memorandum of Understanding signed with BPD as an agency of Maryland — a body that no longer oversees local policing. Activists say a hearing would clarify how JHUPD’s authority differs from BPD’s and expose the lack of independent oversight over the university force.

The April 28 rally is the latest in the long-running opposition to JHPD. In 2019, students occupied Garland Hall for over a month, demanding Hopkins cancel its plans for a private police force and sever contracts with federal immigration authorities.

Despite the protests, the Maryland General Assembly voted to establish the JHPD that year. The private force’s rollout was paused in 2020 amid national protests following the murder of George Floyd, but resumed in 2022. Hopkins currently employs 12 sworn officers, with plans to expand to 100. The university reportedly could add 20 to 30 new officers in 2025.

More recently, in November 2024, the university moved its Police Accountability Board meetings online in response to threats of protest, citing safety concerns.

Notably, some of the people speaking out at the rally were Hopkins students and faculty — the very people the Hopkins police force is aimed at protecting.

Professors Suzanne Roos and Claude Guillemard noted that JHPD was established despite broad internal opposition, including a unanimous faculty resolution opposing it in 2022.

Calls for public oversight of the Hopkins police are also not new. In February 2024, the JHU Krieger School Faculty Senate urged the City Council to hold a hearing on the private police force.

“You can vote out the mayor… but community members don’t have any recourse. You can’t vote out the president of the university,” Roos said. As chair of the Faculty Senate’s police committee, Roos noted that faculty have no mechanisms to hold the Hopkins police accountable.

Guillemard stressed the threat to international students, pointing out that 37 international student visas were recently revoked by the Trump administration. “Criminalizing dissent puts the international community at risk,” she said. Guillemard warned that Hopkins’ inaction amid federal targeting of universities signals how a private police force could be turned against students and faculty.

“It’s extremely worrisome that our institution is not standing up for students,” Guillemard said. “Going any further with the police department on campus would mean that at some point it would turn against the students.”

Five neighborhood associations — Abell, Harwood, Charles Village, Waverly, and CARE — are also part of a growing push to stop JHPD’s expansion and subject it to real public oversight.

Activists are seeking support from at least five City Councilmembers to compel a hearing. So far, only Councilmembers Odette Ramos and Jermaine Jones have voiced their support, their offices confirmed with Baltimore Beat.

Activists also challenged the broader notion that policing makes communities safer.

Chamness stressed that true public safety requires investing in housing, healthcare, education, and addressing systemic poverty — not expanding police forces.

“We see public safety as holistic,” Chamness said. “It means investing in communities, not criminalizing them.”

Correction: The Johns Hopkins University Police Department Memorandum of Understanding signed with the state of Maryland was signed in 2022. A previous version of this story said it was signed in 2019.

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Thousands of Baltimoreans flooded the streets downtown on May 1 to demand a future defined by justice, hope, and investment in the public good — not billionaire control. Organized under the banner #MayDayStrong, the citywide mobilization brought together labor unions, students, immigrant rights organizers, and community groups calling for bold action to defend democracy and human dignity.

“Trump and his cabinet are the richest cabinet in U.S. history,” said Anna Evans-Goldstein, an organizer of the May Day demonstration in Baltimore. “They’re taking rights away from working families. They’re taking funding away. They’re taking jobs away. They’re taking our students’ futures away. And we’re here to come together in solidarity. And Baltimore is saying hell no to that.”

Organizers estimate that tens of thousands of people took part in 900 May Day actions across the U.S., demanding a future that puts families over fortunes, public schools over profits, and healthcare over hedge funds.

While May Day traces its roots back to the bloody 19th-century fight for the eight-hour workday and has long held deep significance for the labor movement, commemorations in Baltimore in recent years have been relatively small. This year’s action marked a notable resurgence — both in size and in the wide range of issues represented. 

Baltimore’s May Day protest was the culmination of months of local organizing against Trump administration policies. From the devastating impacts of mass ICE detentions and funding cuts tied to Project 2025 to attacks on academic freedom, the march reflected a city-wide response to policies that demonstrators argued threaten marginalized communities and democracy itself.

The action was endorsed by more than 50 local organizations, including unions like 1199 SEIU, the Baltimore Teachers Union, AFSCME Council 3, and grassroots groups like CAIR and the Trans Rights Advocacy Coalition. Attendees carried signs reading “Fund Families, Not Billionaires,” “Hands Off Our Students,” and “Ceasefire Now.”

Organizers passed around clipboards and encouraged participants to sign up to join local efforts such as the Baltimore Rapid Response Network, which mobilizes residents to support communities in crisis and offers political education, and the Free State Coalition, which is helping organize weekly protests — every Monday outside the ICE offices downtown and every Saturday at the Tesla dealership in Owings Mills.

Throughout the afternoon, dozens of speakers representing many of the endorsing organizations took the stage and echoed those calls, urging attendees to stay engaged and continue to organize in defense of marginalized communities.

One of the most raucous rounds of applause came for 16-year-old Zion Parran, a student at Baltimore City College, who urged her peers to continue to lead the fight for justice. 

“We believe that as students with voices… we should be able to stand up and fight for those things,” she said. “You should make demands on the city, on the state, or this country… because this is not where our story ends.”

For many, the protest was also a response to attacks on marginalized communities. Hannah Pursley, who lost her job working with an organization that served immigrant children in March, said that’s exactly why she showed up. 

“The overall message is that all these issues are intertwined — worker issues, the genocide in Palestine, immigration reform,” she said. “These are all connected. And so we’re all here as neighbors, as community members, to show up and show out together.”

Many speakers addressed the Trump administration’s attempted deportation of dozens of international students who vocally opposed U.S. support for Israel.

“I think everyone should be afraid that our First Amendment rights are in jeopardy right now,” said Evans-Goldstein. “Especially students being disappeared with no due process. It’s something that should concern us all. We are also always concerned about where our country is spending their money. We think that those dollars that are being sent to Israel to drop bombs could be spent on working families here in the States.”

Seven different feeder marches launched from locations across the city — including Penn Station, Rash Field, the Enoch Pratt Library, and Camden Yards — each highlighting a distinct frontline struggle. Hundreds took part in each, rallying under banners like Hands Off Our Students & Faculty; the 99 vs 1 March; the Cultural Workers March; the March for Palestine; the Family & Kids March for Justice; the March for Migrant Justice; and the March for Worker Justice.  As they converged at McKeldin Plaza in the Inner Harbor, the crowd swelled and their chants merged into one. 

“It’s just really important that as many of us gather together on this day for workers and recognize the genocide in Gaza and how we are all connected people,” Jessica Smith, who attended with her 11-year-old son, said. “As a human being and as a parent, it’s important to take a stand when things are definitely wrong. We discussed coming down and participating in one of the rallies. He chose the Palestine one. We talked about it, and he feels really strongly about it too. “

In the original tradition of May Day, this year’s marchers rallied against rising inequality, state violence, and what they described as a growing authoritarian threat from the Trump administration. Many referenced recent efforts to criminalize campus protests, cut social services, and grant even more power to the wealthy.

Aimée Pohl, who also marched with her children, said she came because the consequences of far-right policies are already hitting close to home. “Migrant kids, public school kids, trans kids — they are the ones we’re here to protect,” she said. 

“This is just the beginning. A lot of organizing has to happen. This is the moment where we’re rising up and saying we’re here and we’re not alone.”

The post Thousands Rally in Baltimore on May Day to Demand Justice and a Better Future appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

In the shadow of Johns Hopkins University, about three dozen people gathered at Wyman Park Dell on April 22, to renew a demand that’s gaining traction across the country: make the city’s wealthiest tax-exempt institutions contribute their fair share to the communities they inhabit.

“We are here for a thriving Baltimore City,” said Christina Duncan Evans, Teacher Chapter Chair of the Baltimore Teachers Union, who kicked off the rally. “Too many Baltimore residents are disproportionately carrying the burden of institutions with endowments, with boards of directors, with development arms.”

Organized by the With Us For Us Coalition (WUFU) — a mix of union members, organizers, policy advocates, and residents — the rally launched a campaign to renegotiate Baltimore’s current Payment in Lieu of Taxes (PILOT) agreement. The current deal, which expires in 2026, allows 14 of the city’s largest hospitals and universities to pay a small fraction of what they’d owe if fully taxed, and far less than what many other cities are receiving from their PILOT agreements, according to a report from the office of City Comptroller Bill Henry. 

The city’s tax-exempt anchor institutions argue that they do give back through charity and as job creators. But advocates question whether those benefits offset the city services these institutions consume. 

According to the report, which is titled “Promising PILOTs: A Look at How Baltimore and Other Cities Manage Tax Gaps with Non-Profit Institutions,” if the properties owned by the 14 institutions were fully taxed, they would bring in $108 million annually. The current PILOT agreement allows them to pay just $6 million a year, while they use $47 million worth of city services annually, the report found. 

This $41 million shortfall is the equivalent of “72 miles of road repair, 480 teachers and librarians, or preventing 15,000 evictions every year,” Chris Meyer, a research analyst at the Maryland Center on Economic Policy, pointed out at the rally.

Speakers highlighted the impact on the city’s budget. Baltimore’s property tax rate is the highest in Maryland — more than double of the state average — in part because so much valuable land is exempt from taxation, speakers argued. The comptroller’s report found that in total, property owned by city nonprofits is worth $389 million annually— leaving residents to pick up the slack.

In a city where one in four residents face food insecurity, speakers argued, the unfavorable PILOT deal exacerbates long standing racial and economic divides that shape daily life and result in underfunded essential services for Black and working-class communities. 

“If these institutions want to be part of our community, they should make fair PILOT contributions so the benefits go to everyone,” said healthcare worker Antonia Brooks. Brooks said the extra revenue would, “make people’s lives better, especially for our young people, by investing in parks and recreation centers.”

At the heart of this campaign is Council Bill 25-0036, introduced by Councilmember Phylicia Porter, and backed by 11 co-sponsors. The measure would create a 17-member task force that would renegotiate the PILOT agreement. Baltimore’s previous PILOT negotiations were conducted behind closed doors without public input. This time around, union reps and residents earning below the city’s median income would have a seat at the table.

The push for a new PILOT agreement comes as states and cities face growing budget uncertainty. The Trump administration has already slashed hundreds of millions of dollars of health grants to Maryland. Baltimore receives  $350 million in federal funds which are potentially at risk.

The city’s large institutions have also been impacted, with Johns Hopkins, the city’s largest private employer, losing $800 million dollars in federal grants. 

But as Hopkins Graduate Student Melissa Kissling noted, the University has a $13 billion endowment to fall back on; the city’s residents don’t have that luxury. 

“A giant number that sits in bank accounts and stock portfolios does nothing for the benefit of real people” Kissling said, calling it “disrespect for the community of Baltimore.”

Organizers are looking at cities like Boston, New Haven, and Providence, which have negotiated far better deals that are also more transparent. Boston, for instance, collects $35 million annually under its voluntary PILOT program, which requests nonprofits to contribute 25% of what they’d owe in property taxes.

Providence, R.I., recently negotiated a PILOT agreement that more than doubled its previous deal, securing $223 million over 20 years from its four major universities. Organizers believe Baltimore can follow that example — and push even further.

“The floor for PILOT payments should at least cover the $47 million in services these institutions consume,” said Lester Spence, professor at Johns Hopkins University. “That would give the city breathing room to fund schools, to sustain public health, to stop relying on grant money just to keep essential departments running.”

Nneka Nnamdi of Fight Blight Bmore, an organization working to reduce the number of dilapidated buildings in the city and help communities build equity, highlighted another cost: “When anchor institutions hold vacant properties, it worsens the housing crisis. Their development plans drive speculation, pushing up costs in surrounding neighborhoods.”

Nnamdi pointed to a deeper injustice. “The services these institutions receive are subsidized by the very residents they underserve. Around 30% of properties in Baltimore — many of the most valuable — are exempt from taxation because they’re owned by nonprofits.”

As the task force proposal advances, organizers are making it clear this isn’t just about balancing the books—it’s about making the powerful institutions accountable to city residents. They’re calling for a transparent formula, annual inflation adjustments, and public reporting on institutional contributions.

For now, the clock is ticking. With the current agreement expiring in 2026, the With Us For Us Coalition is building pressure. They know that without community power, Baltimore risks signing another deal that leaves working people holding the bag.

“The directly impacted need and deserve to be at the table,” said Duncan Evans, “And this is an opportunity to transform the relationship between institutions and Baltimore community members.”

The post Organizers demand Baltimore’s tax-exempt hospitals and universities pay their fair share appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

On Saturday, April 19, Baltimore marked ten years to the day since Freddie Gray died from injuries inflicted in police custody through protests, art exhibits, and community gatherings — to remember Gray’s death, the subsequent Baltimore Uprising, and to renew calls for justice against what organizers called “ten years of broken promises.”

About three dozen people gathered outside the Penn-North Metro station — steps from where Gray was chased by police in 2015 — to mourn his death and denounce ongoing police brutality and racism.

The event, organized by the People’s Power Assembly, began at 1 p.m. with a speak-out. Protesters then marched down North Avenue toward Mondawmin Mall, retracing key locations from the Uprising. Participants chanted “No Justice, No Peace” and held signs reading “We Remember Freddie Gray,” “Cell Block for Killer Cops,” and “Jobs Not Police Killings.” Half a dozen police vehicles followed with lights flashing.

“It’s been ten damn years and zero fucking progress,” said PPA member Joyce Butler. “The people who did it, they got away with it. Everybody in Baltimore needs to be out here.”

Gray was 25 when police chased and tackled him on April 12, 2015. Cell phone video shows officers dragging him, screaming, into a police van. By the time the van reached the Western District station, Gray was unconscious and his spine severed. He died in a hospital bed seven days later, sparking nearly two weeks of mass protests remembered as the Baltimore Uprising.

No officers were convicted in his death, but many of the hundreds arrested during subsequent protests faced severe charges and bail as high as $500,000. Baltimore City paid Gray’s family $6.4 million to settle a wrongful death lawsuit. The Sandtown-Winchester neighborhood where Gray lived has remained disinvested and blighted. Many local residents say promised investment has failed to materialize.

A much larger crowd took part in a simultaneous “Hands Off” march and rally at City Hall, part of a national day of action against the Trump administration. That protest — organized by the Party for Socialism and Liberation and allied groups — drew hundreds and culminated in a march through downtown, including to the Baltimore City Police Department Headquarters, where protestors chanted, “All night, all day, we will fight for Freddie Gray.” 

“Freddie Gray’s murder at the hands of BPD was central to our march,” said Nic Koski, an organizer with Baltimore Artists Against Apartheid, which helped organize the protest. A speaker from PSL highlighted how many of the same issues that plagued the BPD in 2015 persist today — underscoring the urgent need to continue the fight until there is real justice for victims of police brutality.

At Penn-North, the Freddie Gray memorial rally consisted largely of longtime PPA members, though some local residents joined to listen and speak.

“It’s like a family member died when he passed away,” Amos Jones, a resident who joined the rally to share his memories of Gray, told Baltimore Beat. Jones said he had been Gray’s barber and remembered him as a kind person.

“It will never really be justice,” Jones said. “He lost his life… I just want him to rest in peace.”

“You’ll never forget about Freddie Gray,” Jones added. “His name is stamped in this city.”

PPA member and longtime activist Cortly “C.D.” Witherspoon said Gray’s death was a catalyst that exposed systemic injustice and galvanized a generation. He criticized efforts to criminalize Gray and the protests that followed, instead describing them as a symbol of resistance against state violence.

“Freddie Gray has risen in my son, in your sons and daughters who are involved in the fight for justice,” said Witherspoon, introducing his son, C.J. Witherspoon, now a teenager.

C.J. Witherspoon, who was just five when Gray was killed, recalled the moment he learned about Trayvon Martin — a 17-year-old whose killing by vigilante George Zimmerman sparked nationwide protests — and realized that his own life expectancy might be cut short.

“America presents itself as bold and beautiful, yet it allows young Black men and women to die like flies,” C.J. Witherspoon said.

In the lead-up to the anniversary, activists renewed criticism of Baltimore’s budget priorities. The city this year proposed increasing its police budget by $22 million, pushing it to over $600 million this next fiscal year.

Carrington Scott, a member of the PPA who works at The Walters Art Museum, connected Gray’s story to broader struggles for self-determination. 

“The same systems that murdered Freddie Gray are used to terrorize Black and brown people here in Baltimore and around the world,” Scott said.

Later that evening, Rise Bmore, a free, annual evening of words and music honoring Freddie Gray, featured a conversation among local artists and activists, followed by a concert. The gathering included artwork by and about Tyrone West, who was killed by BPD and Morgan State University police in 2013. 

West’s sister, Tawanda Jones, was in attendance. Jones is a tireless advocate who has held weekly vigils since her brother’s death to demand justice for victims of police brutality.

“We’ve come a long way, but we’ve still got a long way to go,” Jones told the Beat. “It breaks my heart that Freddie Gray had to die so young, and still, nothing’s really changed to keep us safe. But seeing some accountability in cases like George Floyd’s gives me hope we’re not fighting for nothing.”

The post Through protests, art and community gatherings, Baltimore remembers Freddie Gray appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

As day turned to night in Baltimore on April 27, 2015, the number of arrests for disorderly conduct, failure to obey, and destruction of property ticked upward. What began as street protests over the death of 25-year-old Freddie Gray exploded into a raw expression of fury. Thousands took to the streets to express their outrage both at Gray’s death and the decades of disinvestment and unjust policing of Black communities in Baltimore.

Many of the hundreds of people who would be arrested in the coming days would be held for more than 18 hours; many would not face charges and be released without explanation. 

The media in the city were laser-focused on the unrest — not the violation of rights that protesters were experiencing. 

A small group of legal professionals and activists, including Iman Freeman, Matthew Zernhelt, Dorcas Gilmore, Charlene Dukes and Jenny Egan, began organizing efforts to support those detained.

“We were a part of a small group of lawyers who helped set up legal observing, 24-hour jail support, and helping to bail folks out,” recalls Freeman, one of the founding members and the executive director of Baltimore Action Legal Team (BALT).

BALT was founded to make sure no one swept off the streets disappeared without due process and a network of care on the outside. They set up a legal hotline, tracked arrests in real time, and waited outside jails to meet people as they were released.

“I remember sitting in [Office of the Public Defender]’s office, writing down the names of everyone who was arrested. At first, it was minimal — just a few people. And then it was thousands. I remember seeing $300,000, $400,000 bails,” Freeman said. 

BALT’s jail support program, inspired by work done in Ferguson and New York after the police killings of Mike Brown and Eric Garner, provided critical resources for those detained. Legal volunteers worked around the clock to track detainees, provide legal representation, and, when possible, secure bail.

Police were caught on camera brutalizing and pepper-spraying protesters, further fueling the sense of injustice. Prosecutors failed to convict the officers involved in Gray’s arrest and death, while many protesters faced severe charges and exorbitant bail as high as $500,000 — the people protesting Gray’s death faced harsher punishment than the officers whose actions led to it.

A decade later, BALT is among the few initiatives launched in the wake of the Uprising that continues to operate. What started as an emergency legal response has transformed into a long-term fight for systemic change both through the courts and through grassroots organizing. 

Along with expunging hundreds of criminal records, the organization has filed lawsuits to win  the release of police misconduct records and led advocacy efforts to address Baltimore’s pretrial detention system, which disproportionately affects low-income residents and people of color.

That kind of systemic reform may be the end goal, but the real change happens through BALT’s boots-on-the-ground community work. Client by client, BALT workers strategically post up in disenfranchised communities, working with residents to ensure the broken legal system can no longer rob them of their livelihoods.

On an unseasonably warm day this February, a handful of residents signed in at an addiction treatment center in Baltimore’s raucous Penn North neighborhood. The location is tucked away in the heart of one of the city’s most notorious drug markets. 

Outside, it was a typical day in the West Baltimore neighborhood. Gospel music blasted, Black Baltimoreans chatted outside of Narcotics Anonymous meetings and nearby street pharmacists shouted out what they had in stock that day.

Inside, however, a renewed sense of hope was alive. Some sought sobriety; others wanted freedom from the weight of a criminal record. Long after a sentence ends, the punishment persists. A criminal record can be a lifelong sentence to poverty, slamming shut doors to decent jobs and housing. 

BALT began hosting clinics in 2022 to provide low-barrier legal services to anyone who may need them. For many, access to qualified legal professionals can be out of reach, increasing their chances of being weighed down by a criminal record — or incarcerated.

One of the primary services BALT offers is expungements, which can get rid of sometimes decades-old charges, ranging from simple misdemeanors to some felonies. This work is imperative, organizers say, as criminal records can interfere with access to employment, housing and some social services.

But it’s not just about doing away with cases of the past. The organization also provides warrant recall services, which can put a stop to ongoing law enforcement action. A warrant recall is a judicial order that revokes someone’s arrest warrant, interfering in the enforcement process and potentially preventing incarceration.

Since its inception, BALT has offered free expungement and warrant recall services to nearly 400 Baltimoreans.

Clearing the slate isn’t easy, nor is it a panacea. Yet it can provide opportunities to those who have faced off with a system that entraps Black Americans by design, attendees said.

At the treatment center, Matt Parsons, a community lawyer with BALT, sat upstairs in a conference room. One by one, residents ascended the stairs of Penn North Recovery Center with hopes they’d leave with a clean record. 

Nearly all of BALT’s clients are Black, which the organization takes into account by intentionally making its services available in neighborhoods with high Black populations such as Penn North, Parsons said. 

Reggie Johnson, who struggled to find gainful employment because of his criminal record but now works in the security field, had four offenses expunged with the help of BALT last year. It opened the world up to him again.

“Now I could do anything I want,” Johnson said.

He was such a satisfied client that he was sitting in the waiting room of the treatment center with his friend, Dennis Hughes, whom he brought to BALT’s February clinic with hopes Hughes could experience the same relief.

“I’m going to get my concealed carry (permit), and it don’t bother me because they’re not violent crimes. But I just wanted them off my record,” Hughes said. Hughes could have as many eight records expunged, Parsons said.

The excitement from former and current BALT clients in the waiting room was palpable. Whether the expungements gave way to new job opportunities or simply the peace of mind offered by a clean slate, clients expressed gratitude for the nonprofit’s work.

The criminal justice system is one piece of the deep inequities that plague Baltimore. Morgan State University professor Lawrence Brown coined the term “Black Butterfly” to describe the city’s apartheid-like disparities: wealthier, predominantly white areas in the central corridor receive the lion’s share of opportunities and investments at the expense of predominantly Black neighborhoods in the east and west parts of the city that are starved of resources.

These inequalities are even reflected in life expectancies: Those living in wealthy, white neighborhoods live nearly two decades longer than residents of the Black Butterfly. 

Residents in these neighborhoods are also disproportionately targeted by policing. The police arrest them; the judges and juries sentence them; the prisons hold them; and the system itself grips them and refuses to let them go. In Baltimore, this oppressive system largely impacts those in the Black Butterfly.

It’s a vicious, carceral cycle not only in Baltimore but nationwide. Black Americans are imprisoned at five times the rate of white people and experience the highest recidivism rates of all racial groups.

Even a brush with the criminal justice system can have devastating lifelong consequences, especially when whole communities are targeted. People imprisoned early in their lives go on to earn half as much as those untouched by the criminal justice system, a 2020 Brennan Center for Justice report found.  

BALT interrupts the cycle to free them from the shackles of a system designed to hold them captive.

“There’s an acknowledgment that people whose rights are violated deserve remedies. I think as far as what we value, which is movement lawyering — community lawyering — we want to focus on community relationships,” Parsons said. 

“My job shouldn’t really have to exist. These are not natural conditions. They were created by systems of oppression, by oppressors. We view providing pro bono services as being consistent with what we value in terms of Black people not deserving to be dehumanized and incarcerated en masse.”

BALT’s research found that in 2019, 75% of defendants denied bail later had their charges dropped or were acquitted. For those caught in the system, pretrial detention can mean months — or even years — of incarceration without a conviction, which can result in loss of employment and housing. Since 2020, BALT’s bail fund has assisted 78 people using $600,000 in bail funds. And between 2020 and 2022, BALT spent $300,000 covering electronic monitoring fees to help alleviate the financial burden on those awaiting trial.

“When you think of the role of law in achieving justice, a lot of people truly buy into that myth that through the law we can shift power because that’s what’s needed,” said Freeman, executive director of BALT. “History has taught us time and time again that that’s not right — it’s a people solution, and that includes lawyers utilizing legal tools.”

A decade after Freddie Gray’s death, Freeman acknowledges the progress made but says the work is far from over.

“We were born out of Black pain,” Freeman said of the organization’s founding after the killing of Freddie Gray in police custody. “It’s not lost on us that we stand on someone’s grave. And it’s not lost on us that nearly 10 years later, we’re still fighting many of the same battles. We’ve pushed for more transparency around police misconduct, and we did a lot of work around the consent decree that followed Freddie Gray’s death.”

BALT has survived this long because of its deep connections to the community and its ability to adapt. Sustaining a movement for the last decade and the years to come also means navigating challenges and responding to the evolving needs of the communities it serves. 

“We’re very good at the reaction. We’re very good at pulling up when people need us without the plan in place,” says Santana Alvarado, BALT’s director of operations. “But it’s nice that we’re able to also have this vision of the next five, 10 years and how we want to sustain this work in between disasters.”

BALT aims to fundamentally transform the legal landscape so its services are no longer needed. In 2022, a lawsuit brought by BALT led the State’s Attorney’s Office to release a list of more than 300 police officers flagged for credibility concerns based on Internal Affairs complaints. The following year, BALT secured a legal victory against the Baltimore Police Department, with the Maryland Supreme Court ruling that the department acted arbitrarily in denying public interest fee waivers for records requests.

By exposing the failures of policing, increasing transparency, and making legal knowledge accessible, BALT aims to equip Baltimore communities with the tools to advocate for themselves. Rather than relying on outside intervention, people should have the language, expertise and direct access to power needed to fight for their rights in courtrooms and beyond. 

“We want to put ourselves out of work,” says Zernhelt, BALT’s legal director.

The light that BALT brings to the community isn’t only found in its success in the courts, however. It’s visible in the people it helps.

The weight of criminal records that can make progress seem impossible is lifted. Incarceration is prevented, allowing people to be with their families and continue with their lives. And for some, such as Qiana Johnson, it can allow them to overcome the oppressive legal system and reinvest the hope that BALT gave them back into the community.

Johnson spent two and a half years incarcerated, found guilty of numerous charges related to real estate and theft in two separate cases. Her sentence could have been significantly longer, but she was released in 2017.

With BALT’s help, she got numerous records expunged after they were able to get felony charges converted to “probation before judgment.”

The organization also helped her fight nearly $300,000 in restitution set by a judge, which a higher court struck down as illegal. The latter helped prevent her from spending five more years in prison.

“I had to fight so hard,” Johnson said through tears. “I had to develop so many relationships; I had to beg so many people to listen to me that this was illegal. This was not supposed to happen to me. And BALT said, ‘I gotchu, we’re going to do this. We’re not going to see you back in prison.’”

Nearly a decade after her release, Johnson is still fighting to resolve remaining legal issues. She founded Life After Release, a nonprofit led by Black women that offers services to the formerly incarcerated, in response to a “barbaric” prosecutor in her case. 

The organization now partners with BALT in the arduous battle against a system created to put people like her down. That design is perhaps most evident in a key exemption in the 13th Amendment: Slave labor remains legal behind bars. And as the so-called “justice” system has grown, so has the complex structure that entraps the descendants of those who fought for their freedom many years ago.

“Most people think that [the system] is broken, but it’s not,” Johnson said. “It’s functioning in the way that it was designed to function.” 

“BALT has to exist, Life After Release has to exist in order to abolish what is currently in place and build a system of rehabilitation, a system of transformative justice and a system that would work for everybody. But the current system was built to oppress; it was built on the backs of slavery and has formed from that time until now.”

The post From emergency response to sustained resistance: How Baltimore Action Legal Team endured after the Uprising appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

Detainees at the Baltimore Immigration and Customs Enforcement Field Office are reportedly being held for a week or longer in an office building never designed for long-term detention, according to immigration attorneys who have spoken with former detainees and their families.

As the number of immigrants being detained has skyrocketed due to the Trump administration’s push for mass arrests, facilities around the country are faced with overcrowding and inhumane conditions. In Baltimore, detainees have been forced to sleep on the floor, denied access to showers, and refused critical medical care, according to immigration advocacy organizations CASA and Amica Center for Immigrants Rights. 

“People are being thrown into cages for prolonged periods and denied basic necessities, including medical care,” Ama S. Frimpong, CASA’s legal director, told Baltimore Beat. “We are hearing from families who say their loved ones were held incommunicado, without access to medication, and forced to sleep on the floor in overcrowded conditions.”

“We have seen cases where individuals with diabetes, HIV, and hypertension were denied access to life-saving medications,” Frimpong added. “Family members who tried to deliver prescriptions were turned away.”

After a March 10 social media post by Amica Center for Immigrant Rights first exposed the inhumane conditions inside the Baltimore ICE facility, activists quickly mobilized. 

The Free State Coalition, a recently formed grassroots group that aims to protect democracy and the rule of law, called for a protest with support from the Baltimore Rapid Response Network, a group of community organizers that support local residents engaged with movement building efforts.

About three dozen protesters rallied outside the ICE field office in downtown Baltimore on March 14, chanting, “Down, down with deportation! Up, up with liberation!” and holding signs that read “Don’t deport our families” and “Asylum is a human right.”

Organizers argued that the Trump administration is scapegoating immigrants to deflect attention from its deeply unpopular gutting of social programs to pay for tax breaks for the wealthy. Polls show 60% of voters disapprove of Trump’s deep cuts to government programs and mass layoffs of federal workers. Across the country, Republican lawmakers are facing angry town halls, where constituents demand answers for their support of Trump’s policies.

“Trump and his billionaire allies like Elon Musk are using immigrants as a smokescreen while they dismantle the government and rig the system in their favor,” said Sergio España, an organizer with Baltimore Rapid Response Network. “They’re gutting agencies meant to hold them accountable, making it easier to dodge taxes and loot public resources. This isn’t just about immigration — it’s about eroding democracy itself while distracting the public with fear mongering.”

Along with demanding immediate relief for detainees, local activists are calling for sweeping changes to state and federal immigration laws to protect immigrant communities.

“No one should be treated this way — every human being deserves dignity,” said Franca Muller Paz, a Baltimore public school teacher and member of the Baltimore Teachers Union executive board, who called for the immediate release of the detainees. 

“If ICE doesn’t have the facilities to handle this, then let these people go home to their families,” Muller Paz added later.

The situation in Baltimore, where ICE in February arrested at least three cooks at HomeSlyce pizzeria in Mount Vernon, reflects a broader national trend. The store’s manager, who identified himself by his first name Ziya, said ICE agents came into the restaurant, gathered information from the kitchen staff, and took three employees away in handcuffs. Since the arrests on February 6, Ziya said he has not heard from the detained workers. The restaurant has been struggling with a staffing shortage, forcing the remaining employees to work significantly longer hours to keep operations running.

With the administration ramping up deportations, ICE has struggled to find space to detain the growing number of people it is arresting. Instead of securing proper facilities, the agency is cramming detainees into makeshift holding spaces like the Baltimore field office, which lacks beds, medical services, and proper sanitation. 

Organizers have emphasized that this is a manufactured crisis — one created by the Trump administration.

In order to deliver on his campaign pledge to deport millions of “criminal” immigrants, the Trump administration has imposed arrest quotas on ICE field offices and used high-profile, made-for-TV immigration raids to arrest over 33,000 people during his first 50 days in office. 

However, living in the U.S. without legal status is a civil offense, not a criminal one. And according to an analysis of government data by Axios, less than 0.5% of cases in immigration courts — just 8,400 out of 1.8 million nationwide — include alleged crimes.

To increase arrests, ICE has begun detaining anyone they suspect of being undocumented, including asylum seekers and spouses of citizens who are on the path to becoming citizens. New directives allow ICE to raid “sensitive” locations such as hospitals and schools. 

U.S. citizens and legal immigrants have been caught up in the arrest frenzy.  

Advocates say such “indiscriminate” mass immigration raids cause deep harm to communities. 

“These mass arrests create a climate of fear where people are afraid to go to work, attend school, or even seek medical care,” said Eric Lopez, deputy program director with Amica Center for Immigrant Rights. “It’s not just undocumented individuals who are affected — entire families and communities, including those in mixed-status households, are living under constant threat.”

To protect public safety and prevent local law enforcement from acting as an extension of ICE, Maryland passed the Trust Act in 2022. Widely known as “sanctuary laws,” these measures aim to rebuild trust within communities by restricting cooperation with immigration enforcement — except in cases when they have signed warrants from a judge — and prohibiting federal authorities from detaining immigrants in local jails. 

Baltimore Mayor Brandon Scott has stated local law enforcement won’t shift their focus to enforcing immigration law or be required to ask detainees about their legal status. Baltimore Police Department officers are not allowed to ask residents about their immigration status.

As ICE detentions surge, federal officials have blamed Maryland’s restrictions for the overcrowding — rather than acknowledging that mass arrests are fueling the crisis. In response, advocates are pushing for additional protections through legislation the Maryland General Assembly is now considering. 

The proposed bills include the Protecting Sensitive Locations Act (SB0828), which would bar ICE from conducting enforcement actions at schools, hospitals, courthouses, and places of worship in Maryland. 

The Maryland Data Privacy Act (SB0977) aims to prevent ICE from accessing local and state agency data without a warrant. Meanwhile, the Maryland Values Act (HB1222) seeks to end 287(g) agreements, which allow local police to act as ICE agents.

As advocates highlight the real-world harm of Trump’s immigration crackdown, some media outlets are amplifying his administration’s talking points and using fear-driven narratives to justify mass detentions.

Right-wing news outlets like the Sinclair-owned Fox45 Baltimore have long amplified dehumanizing narratives falsely linking immigration policies to crime, despite research that shows counties with protections for immigrants have lower crime rates. 

At the March 14 rally, activists pushed back against these narratives. One protester, who declined to give their name, said they attended because they witnessed the struggles of immigrants firsthand through their work at an immigration law firm.

“The idea that people are coming here the ‘wrong way’ is completely false,” the law firm employee said. “Our clients spend thousands of dollars trying to navigate the system, yet many don’t realize it can take more than 20 years to get through the legal process. I have the ability to be here, so I will continue to use my voice for my community.”

The post “Every human being deserves dignity”: Baltimore Activists Fight Against Inhumane ICE Detentions appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

The morning his book tour was to launch in Baltimore, New York Senator Senator Chuck Schumer indefinitely postponed his public appearances this week amid a wave of backlash over his support for a Republican budget bill to avoid a government shutdown.

Schumer was scheduled to speak at the Enoch Pratt Library Central Branch at 7 p.m. on March 17 about his book “Antisemitism in America.” Pratt Library announced on social media at 10 a.m. that Schumer’s book tour events for the week of March 17 were being postponed for “security reasons.”

The Baltimore chapter of Jewish Voice for Peace planned to protest outside the library to assert that criticizing Israel is not antisemitic. JVP is a Jewish group committed to fighting antisemitism and supporting Palestinian liberation.

A demonstration organized by Jewish activists will continue, JVP confirmed to Baltimore Beat.

“Senator Schumer works with organizations like the ADL and AIPAC who support white supremacists like Trump and Elon Musk and Jewish supremacists like Netanyahu. If the Senator really cares about fighting antisemitism, it’s time to cut ties with these complicit organizations,” Baltimore resident Dr. Zackary Berger said in a JVP press release.

Schumer has also drawn the ire of many fellow Democratic lawmakers who saw rejecting the Republican budget bill as one of the few ways to leverage their power in Congress where Republicans control both chambers and refused to negotiate.

Schumer’s decision has been widely criticized as a strategic blunder, with some House Democrats reportedly supporting a primary challenge against him and some senators questioning whether he should remain in leadership. 

Before the vote, House Democrats urged Schumer to vote against the bill, writing that the “American people sent Democrats to Congress to fight against Republican dysfunction and chaos” and that the party should not be “capitulating to their obstruction.”

Over the weekend, plans to protest Schumer’s book talk in Baltimore grew beyond JVP as progressive and liberal organizations in Baltimore and nationally, like Baltimore Artists Against Apartheid and Indivisible, encouraged members to join in.

JVP’s rally and town hall is scheduled for 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. on March 17 in coordination with Baltimore Artists Against Apartheid and Greater Baltimore DSA.

The group is demanding Schumer publicly oppose President Trump’s Executive Order 14188, or Additional Measures to Combat Anti-Semitism, which calls for the deportation of students deemed antisemitic.

Additionally, they are urging him to withdraw support for Antisemitism Awareness Act, which directs the Department of Education to adopt the controversial International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition of antisemitism when investigating alleged antisemitic acts on campus. The American Civil Liberties Union and other critics argue the bill is designed to suppress legitimate criticism of Israel’s occupation of Palestinian Territories, which is considered illegal under international law. 

JVP is also calling on Schumer to sever ties with groups like the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), a civil rights group that praised the detention of Columbia student and U.S. permanent resident Mahmoud Khalil but defended Elon Musk after his Nazi-salute-like hand gesture.

Activists say Schumer’s portrayal of pro-Palestine protests as antisemitic has helped legitimize the Trump administration’s crackdown on student activism — which is widely seen as an attack on First Amendment rights.

The post U.S. Senator Schumer’s Baltimore book talk indefinitely postponed after planned protests appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

Ahead of New York Senator Chuck Schumer’s March 17 visit to Baltimore’s Enoch Pratt Free Library to discuss his new book Antisemitism in America, local Jewish activists are planning a demonstration outside to assert that criticizing Israel is not antisemitic. 

Schumer, the highest-ranking Jewish lawmaker in Congress, has denounced campus protests against the United States’ support for Israel. Baltimore organizers view his visit as a key moment to challenge his rhetoric, arguing that by labeling student protests antisemitic, Schumer has helped legitimize Trump’s suppression of voices condemning Israel’s actions in Gaza.

“As a Jew, I was raised hearing ‘never again,’ but now I’m watching Jewish American leaders like Senator Schumer send weapons to Israel to enable a genocide against Palestinians. It’s horrifying,” said Jon Monfred, a member of the local chapter of Jewish Voice for Peace (JVP), which is organizing the rally. JVP is a Jewish group committed to fighting antisemitism and supporting Palestinian liberation.

Activists say Schumer’s portrayal of pro-Palestine protests as antisemitic has helped legitimize the Trump administration’s crackdown on student activism — which is widely seen as an attack on First Amendment rights.

On March 8, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents arrested a prominent student activist at Columbia University, Mahmoud Khalil, who is a permanent resident in the U.S. The agency is seeking to deport him despite his legal residency status and without any criminal charges — he is only accused without evidence by The White House of “siding with Hamas.” 

​​Activists see Khalil’s case as an attack on due process and free speech, and argue that the administration, emboldened by Democratic leaders’ rhetoric, is using allegations of antisemitism to justify its attack on fundamental democratic rights. Student groups from campuses across Maryland report facing retaliation for their activism and fear they may be the administration’s next targets. They are also lobbying against a bill in Annapolis they say will further stifle their free speech.

“For me, and all other Jewish students and faculty in solidarity with Mahmoud Khalil, the message couldn’t be clearer: we can all be safe only through collective liberation, and that includes a free Palestine,” said Nikki Morse, an organizer with the Baltimore Chapter of JVP.

JVP plans to rally outside the Enoch Pratt Free Library Central Branch from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. on March 17. 

They are demanding Schumer publicly oppose Trump’s Executive Order 14188, or Additional Measures to Combat Anti-Semitism, which calls for the deportation of students deemed antisemitic. Additionally, they are urging him to withdraw support for Antisemitism Awareness Act, which directs the Department of Education to adopt the controversial International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition of antisemitism when investigating alleged antisemitic acts on campus. The American Civil Liberties Union and other critics argue the bill is designed to suppress legitimate criticism of Israel’s occupation of Palestinian Territories, which is considered illegal under international law. 

The group is also calling on Schumer to sever ties with groups like the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), a civil rights group that praised Khalil’s detention but defended Elon Musk after his Nazi-salute-like hand gesture.

“Senator Schumer works with organizations like the ADL and AIPAC who support white supremacists like Trump and Elon Musk and Jewish supremacists like Netanyahu. If the Senator really cares about fighting antisemitism, it’s time to cut ties with these complicit organizations,” Baltimore resident Dr. Zackary Berger said in a press release.

Khalil’s detention has drawn widespread condemnation from immigrant rights groups, civil rights organizations, and student groups. On March 13, hundreds of protesters staged a sit-in in the lobby of Trump Tower in New York City demanding his release; at least 98 were arrested. A federal judge in New York blocked Khalil’s deportation and ordered him to remain in ICE custody ahead of a March 27 deportation hearing.

Khalil was a lead organizer with Columbia University Apartheid Divest, a group that positioned Columbia at the epicenter of a national wave of student protests. The campaign led multiple student bodies at the university to pass non-binding resolutions calling for divestment from Israel. As part of a broader campus movement inspired by the anti-apartheid activism of the 1980s, the effort sought to challenge leading institutions’ financial ties to Israel.

His activism made him a primary target of pro-Israel groups, who organized a social media campaign urging the Trump administration to deport him. Days before his arrest, he appealed to Columbia University for protection, according to Zeteo, who reported he was the target of a doxxing and harassment campaign orchestrated by Columbia affiliates. 

“Their attacks have incited a wave of hate, including calls for my deportation and death threats. I have outlined the wider context below, yet Columbia has not provided any meaningful support or resources in response to this escalating threat,” he wrote.

According to court filings, Khalil and his wife, who is eight months pregnant and a U.S. citizen, were returning home when plainclothes Department of Homeland Security agents arrested him, claiming his student visa had been revoked. When his wife showed documentation proving his status as a Green Card Holder and lawful permanent resident, agents reportedly informed them that his green card had been revoked, a step that legally requires a court ruling. 

“It feels like my husband was kidnapped from home, and at a time when we were supposed to be planning to welcome our first child into this world,” Khalil’s wife, who requested anonymity in media coverage, said in a press release.

The Trump administration says it plans to deport more student protestors. 

“The arrest, detention, and attempted deportation of a prominent Palestinian human rights activist for his constitutionally protected activity that the administration disagrees with is not only patently unlawful, it is a further dangerous step into modern-day McCarthyist repression. The courts must stop this lawlessness before this chilling form of repression expands further,” said Baher Azmy, Legal Director for the Center for Constitutional Rights, an organization that is helping represent Khalil. 

Schumer, in a statement on social media platform X, said that while he strongly disagreed with Khalil’s views, the Trump administration failed to provide legal justification for its actions.

“I abhor many of the opinions and policies that Mahmoud Khalil holds and supports, and have made my criticism of the antisemitic actions at Columbia loudly known,” Schumer wrote. “If the administration cannot prove he has violated any criminal law to justify taking this severe action and is doing it for the opinions he has expressed, then that is wrong, they are violating the First Amendment protections we all enjoy and should drop their wrongheaded action.”

Activists argue that Schumer has contributed to the political climate enabling Khalil’s detention.

“A student was just abducted and disappeared by plainclothes officers as punishment for his political views, and yet Senator Schumer continues to spread the falsehood that our focus should be on the feelings of Zionist students who are uncomfortable when the State of Israel is criticized,” said Morse.

Khalil’s detention is part of a growing effort to silence dissent on campus. Days before his arrest, the Trump administration cut $400 million in federal funding to Columbia University, accusing the school of failing to combat antisemitism. The Department of Education has also announced investigations into 60 universities, including Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, another epicenter of student activism since October 2023.

At the state level, Maryland lawmakers are considering a bill that could further restrict campus activism. The Maryland Campus Accountability Act (HB1462) has been framed by its sponsors as a way to combat campus antisemitism and protect students from harassment, but opponents argue that it could be used to limit free speech.

Student groups from JHU, UMBC, and the Maryland Institute College of Art have opposed the bill, arguing that it would disproportionately impact students of color, immigrant students, and those involved in pro-Palestinian activism. They also say it would result in increased police presence at student demonstrations, expand coordination between campus security and ICE, and allow anonymous reports of “hate speech” that could be used to target political protesters.

“An attack on student protest is a stand for exploitation and injustice. The student movement has historically struggled alongside oppressed peoples domestically and abroad,” student groups from across Maryland said in a joint statement posted on social media. “From the Civil Rights Movement to the protests against the U.S. invasion of Vietnam to successful divestment campaigns from apartheid South Africa, students have put their careers and lives on the line to take a stand for progressive change.”

Ahead of the March 17 protest, Morse emphasizes that their fight is about more than just campus crackdowns — it’s about the crisis unfolding in Gaza.

“With everything happening in the U.S. — from Khalil’s detention to the disturbing implications of Schumer’s Antisemitism Awareness Act, to Maryland’s attempt to repress campus protests — we can’t lose sight of the bigger picture. Right now, Israel has cut off aid, is starving our cousins, and is attempting ethnic cleansing. That’s the heart of why we do this work. That’s the heart of why we care. We have to stay grounded in our commitment to justice for Palestine — both now and in the future.”

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