Remarks delivered by Sudi Adow on February 26, 2026 to the Minnesota House Higher Education Finance and Policy Committee, on behalf of “Zumba”:
On the day it started, at a place I felt safe, in the community I called home, I thought about what was happening in our state. The years of math classes I took had me analyzing the chances of seeing an ICE agent. The chances of encountering one. The chances of being taken by one.
“Unlikely” I said to myself.
20% chance at worst.
On my work break, I got a notification from a Facebook group announcing that ICE activity started in my city. I was at work when I saw this, during the tail end of my shift. Seeing this made me feel uneasy, like the foundation beneath me was beginning to shake.
50% chance.
“Rochester is a big city” I thought to myself. I remember the moment clearly, when my coworker stopped me, telling me they saw what looked like ICE agents outside of our work place.
80% chance.
The shaky feeling beneath me turned into unbearable violent tremors. The air around me started to thin.
“This was it,” I thought to myself. The years my family and I put into building a better life in the place we called home was coming to an end. I had a panic attack in that break room. The sterile, sanitized smell of my workplace I grew to love felt nauseating. After what felt like hours after my shift ended, I made my way home and got there safely. Something I cannot say the same for many others in our communities.
I didn’t go to work the next day, in fact, I didn’t go to work the next few days. And what ran through my mind in those few days was not how am I able to afford missing work, not how I am able to afford missing class, nor was it the dwindling food in my fridge, but it was how the system that was created to protect us…failed us.
With no audience for these thoughts, fears and concerns, I felt helpless. Helpless because my parents, my guardian angels, who supported me through everything had to make the decision to leave America.
Or should I say that decision was made for them.
The future that I saw so vividly was crumbling in front of me. My education, my career, my safety, all put at risk because I looked different, talked different, was different.
My DACA status didn’t protect me from the discriminatory campaign launched into our community. But my story isn’t different from others. My fellow students feel this sense of impending danger everyday. When students feel unsafe, they begin prioritizing survival over education. They stay home instead of attending class. They take on responsibilities to protect or financially support their families. We look to you for support. For protection. For guidance. I witnessed firsthand how my community was affected.
Families stopped going to work. Children stopped attending school. Families missed medical appointments.
People avoided going to work or even grocery stores not because they committed crimes, but because they feared being targeted for who they are or how they look.
I cannot tell you my name, nor can I be there to testify in person. I fear that the unspeakable will happen if I do.
But what I can tell you is that Minnesota has been my home for most of my life. I am not asking for special treatment.
I am asking for students to be protected so that education remains accessible, stable, and safe.”