This June, La Casa de las Madres honors Immigrant Heritage Month by centering the stories, struggles, and strength of immigrant survivors of domestic violence. At the intersection of relationship violence and displacement lies a unique and urgent crisis, one marked not just by personal struggle but by systemic barriers to safety, support, and justice.
California is home to nearly 11 million immigrants, and over 1.4 million reside in the San Francisco Bay Area. Of those, approximately 647,900 are noncitizens, people potentially at risk of deportation. Nationwide, there are more than 47 million immigrants living in the U.S., nearly 2 million of whom are undocumented. Behind these numbers are millions of people navigating the stress of uprooting, the isolation of resettlement, and the fear of state surveillance. For some, intimate partner violence becomes another layer of trauma.
Immigrant survivors, like anyone, may experience a variety of forms of intimate partner violence: such as physical, emotional, sexual, financial, spiritual, threats, and coercion. However, they also face unique and compounding risks. Language barriers, lack of culturally responsive services, and unfamiliarity with U.S. legal systems make it harder to seek help. Survivors may worry they won’t be believed because they don’t speak English fluently. They may fear that leaving an abusive partner will mean losing their children, their housing, or their chance at staying in the country. Many do not know their rights, and even in moments of extreme danger, feel they must choose between silence and exposure.
Studies show that immigrant women are more likely to experience IPV than U.S.-born women, and that undocumented survivors are especially vulnerable, often unable to access protective services due to fear of immigration consequences. In one national survey, nearly 80% of advocates reported that immigrant survivors had expressed fear of contacting the police. And immigrant Latina women who experienced abuse were less than half as likely to seek help from formal services than their non-immigrant counterparts. Even in a sanctuary city like San Francisco, the threat of deportation, detention, or retaliation looms large. Abusers exploit this fear, using immigration status as a weapon: threatening to call ICE, withholding or destroying legal documents, sabotaging a partner’s ability to apply for asylum or citizenship. The result is living in perpetual fear and silence.
Undocumented survivors live in a state of heightened vulnerability. Without legal status, they are often forced into informal or cash-based labor, where exploitation and abuse thrive unchecked. For many, the person inflicting violence is not only their partner but also their employer or sponsor, someone who controls their wages, housing, immigration paperwork, and access to the outside world. The fear of losing everything, children, income, shelter, legal standing, can keep survivors trapped for years.
While citizenship is often framed as a solution, the pathway to safety through legalization is neither quick nor accessible. Immigration relief is a long, costly, and uncertain process. Depending on the type of case, applicants may wait years, sometimes over a decade, for their petition to be reviewed. Many survivors cannot afford the thousands of dollars in application fees, legal representation, translation, and travel that are often required. A single missed court
date or a poorly translated form can jeopardize an entire case. For someone experiencing IPV, these hurdles are nearly impossible to overcome alone.
The reasons people migrate are complex. Many survivors today are climate migrants, displaced by drought, disaster, or environmental collapse. Others flee political and/or gender persecution, religious violence, war, or the threat of criminal networks. And many come seeking a better life for themselves and their children. But once in the U.S., they are often met with new forms of marginalization, poverty, racism, xenophobia, and labor exploitation.
And yet, even in these conditions, immigrant survivors resist. They care for their families, organize within their communities, and advocate for others. They survive in the face of systems designed to silence them. At La Casa de las Madres, we believe that no one should have to choose between freedom and family, between safety and citizenship.
We provide support to all survivors. This includes emergency shelter, legal referrals, court accompaniment, safety planning, and culturally specific services in multiple languages. Immigrant Heritage Month is a time to celebrate culture, identity, and resilience. But it is also a time to recognize the systems that fail survivors. Until then, we keep showing up, with solidarity, with care, and with unwavering belief in the power of community.
Author: Lexi Kleinberg, Volunteer
