By George Cassidy Payne
I live in Rochester, New York, now. I’ve called this city home for the past 20 years. But I come from a place where the cows outnumber the people.
Lowville, New York — my hometown in rural Lewis County — is nestled deep in the North Country, a region defined by dairy farms, long winters, and tight-knit communities. I grew up playing basketball and lacrosse against kids from West Carthage, just twenty minutes away. Some of my best friends were born there. We’d spend Saturday nights partying in the fields under stars so clear they made you believe in something bigger.
For all my efforts to outrun the identity, I was — by most measures — a country boy from the sticks.
So, when I learned that Tom Homan, acting director of ICE and a central architect of the Trump administration’s immigration crackdowns, was born and raised in West Carthage, I felt two things at once: surprise and recognition. Surprise, because very few people from my neck of the woods rise to national prominence in government. Recognition, because Homan’s brand of xenophobic nationalism — his cold efficiency in tearing families apart — is not some foreign strain in the North Country. It’s native to the soil.
Folks don’t just vote for Trump here. They adore him.
In the most recent presidential election, 75% of voters in Lewis County cast their ballots for Donald Trump — up from 68% in 2020. In neighboring Jefferson County, home to Sackets Harbor, Trump’s support jumped from 54% to 61%. According to Jefferson County Democratic Elections Commissioner Michelle LaFave, many of these were first-time voters — an eerie indication of which vision of America is motivating people to the polls.
It’s in this political climate that a recent tragedy unfolded.
On March 27, a mother and her three children — one in third grade, the other teenagers — were arrested by ICE agents during a search warrant operation at a local dairy farm in Sackets Harbor. They were detained not for any crime, but because they were “illegal aliens” encountered on-site. Despite having declared themselves to immigration judges, attending court dates, and following the legal process, the family was flown 1,800 miles away to a detention center in Texas.
Three kids. Ripped from their school. From their friends. From their community.
The story made national news. Protesters marched through the streets of Sackets Harbor — some of them my parents’ neighbors — demanding the family’s release and directing their outrage at Tom Homan’s home. “Our students are not criminals,” said Sackets Harbor School Principal Jaime Cook. “What happened was traumatic and unjust.”
Homan, in an interview, doubled down. “We have to ensure any children in the area are safe,” he said, suggesting the family may be material witnesses or somehow connected to the crime ICE was investigating — a case involving child sexual abuse materials. The implication was vague but chilling.
This wasn’t a raid, he insisted. But for the children in handcuffs, it certainly felt like one.
My parents have lived in Sackets for more than two decades. I’ve walked those streets, attended Fourth of July celebrations in the park, and watched boats come in at sunset. It’s a beautiful place. And like so many beautiful places in America, it is politically split but increasingly leaning right. The North Country is not MAGA-curious. It is MAGA-converted.
In West Carthage, Tom Homan is seen by many as a local hero. The fact that he now resides in Sackets Harbor is no accident. He lives comfortably in a community where the majority of people agree with him — or at least won’t challenge him. His vision of America — cold, guarded, fearful — has taken root in this region. But as Mark Twain once said, “Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it.” Loving your hometown doesn’t mean staying silent when it veers away from justice.
This is personal for me. Not just because I know the towns, the roads, and the rhythms of rural life. But because I know how easy it is to let silence fester into complicity. As Elie Wiesel wrote, “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” I’ve been in rooms and said nothing when someone told a racist joke or made a remark that was dehumanizing to migrants. I know the pain of loving a place that taught me how to work hard and be loyal, even as it turned its back on compassion.
Here’s another truth: we are all immigrants. Even those New York residents who claim 100% Indigenous roots trace their origins, ultimately, to somewhere else. Migration is the human story. Borders are the fiction. Empathy is what makes us civilized.
The family has now been released from the detention center, thanks to an extraordinary wave of public pressure and advocacy. Nearly 1,000 people rallied in Sackets Harbor demanding the children’s release. Local teachers and administrators, trusted figures in small towns, stood up and said this was wrong. The New York Immigration Coalition and civil liberties groups amplified the story. The Governor herself weighed in, calling ICE’s actions “cruel” and “unfathomable,” and demanded the family be returned.
National media coverage spotlighted the injustice. And crucially, the fact that the family had been complying with the immigration court system exposed ICE’s action as overreach, if not outright abuse of discretion. Put simply: the government backed down because ordinary people, institutions, and leaders refused to let them get away with it.
This wasn’t just a lucky break or an isolated case. It offers a model for resistance. Sackets Harbor showed us that when a community mobilizes quickly, centers the human story, uses respected local voices, and demands accountability, even a federal agency like ICE can be forced to reverse course. Not every town will have the same conditions, but the principles are universal: act fast, speak clearly, and make injustice visible.
I am immensely proud of the people of the North Country who showed up — those who stood firm in the face of fear and refused to look away. Without them, this family would still be in custody. It was a powerful reminder of what communities can accomplish when they choose what is right over what is easy.
Because this isn’t just about one family, one ICE operation, or one political figure. It’s about a country deciding who belongs, and who doesn’t. It’s about whether we want our small towns to be places of welcome or places of fear.
And it’s about those of us from these places finding the courage to speak up, even when the barn doors are closed, the porch lights are off, and the neighbors are watching.
How Sackets Harbor Won: A Community Playbook
Act Fast. Nearly 1,000 people rallied in the streets within days.
Make It Human. The story centered on kids torn from classrooms, not abstract laws.
Use Trusted Voices. Teachers and principals said, “Our students are not criminals.”
Link to Bigger Networks. Statewide groups amplified the outrage.
Turn Up Political Heat. Gov. Hochul demanded the family’s return.
Keep Cameras Rolling. National media showed the injustice to the world.
Expose the Truth. The family had followed the law — ICE had overreached.
The Takeaway: This wasn’t luck. It was strategy. Communities can fight back — and win — when they act with speed, clarity, and unity.
George “Casey” Payne is a writer, educator, and crisis counselor based in Rochester, NY. He explores themes of justice, identity, and rural America through personal storytelling and public advocacy.
