- Bruna Ferreira, a 33-year-old DACA recipient and mother, was detained by ICE during a school pickup and separated from her 11-year-old son.
- Her detention exposes DACA's vulnerability under enforcement priorities; attorneys dispute DHS claims of ineligibility and prior criminality.
- Family disappointment over Karoline Leavitt's silence contrasts with Ferreira's expressed admiration for Leavitt and hope for reunification.
In the dim confines of a Louisiana immigration processing center, far from the crisp New England fall she once called home, Bruna Ferreira finds herself grappling with one of the cruelest ironies of modern American life.
The 33-year-old Brazilian national—mother, DACA recipient, and once the quiet backbone of a blended family tied to the highest echelons of the Trump administration—has been separated from her 11-year-old son for weeks.
Yet, even from behind the bars of her detention, Ferreira’s words cut through the political noise with a quiet grace: no bitterness, no blame, just a lingering “deep respect and admiration” for the woman she once chose as her boy’s godmother—White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt.
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It’s a story that tugs at the heartstrings in an era when family ties and federal policy collide like thunderheads over Washington.
Ferreira’s detention, which began on a routine school pickup in Revere, Massachusetts, earlier this month, wasn’t supposed to make headlines.
But when the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) swept her up, citing an alleged overstay of a tourist visa from 1999, it ripped open a wound in the Leavitt family—and thrust a deeply personal saga into the glare of national scrutiny.
The Arrest That Shattered a Routine Afternoon
Picture this: It’s a chilly November day in a working-class suburb north of Boston.
Ferreira, a fixture in her son’s school community, pulls up to collect Michael Leavitt Jr.—her pride and joy, named after his father, Michael Leavitt, the press secretary’s brother.
The two share a life built on resilience: Ferreira entered the U.S. at age 6, grew up under the protective umbrella of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA), and forged a path as a hardworking single mom after separating from Michael Sr.
She wasn’t just co-parenting; she was family, woven into the fabric of the Leavitts through love, choice, and that sacred godparent bond.
Then, in an instant, ICE agents appeared. Handcuffs. Questions. A whirlwind transfer to the South Louisiana ICE Processing Center in Basile, over 1,500 miles from the life she knew.
Her son, confused and heartbroken, was left in his father’s care, but the emotional toll has been immediate and raw.
“Bruna’s absence has been especially painful for her 11-year-old son, Michael Leavitt Junior, who needs his mother and hopes every single day that she’ll be home in time for the holidays,” reads a poignant note on a GoFundMe page set up by family friend Graziela Dos Santos Rodrigues.
The fundraiser, which has pulled in $35,875 as of Sunday morning, paints Ferreira not as a statistic in the immigration debate, but as the “hardworking, kind” woman who’s always the first to lend a hand.
For Michael Leavitt Sr., the priority is crystal clear.
Speaking to WMUR, an ABC affiliate in his native New Hampshire, he laid bare his anguish: “I was most concerned about the well-being and safety of his son,” he said, emphasizing the close relationship Ferreira maintains with the boy despite their separation.
It’s a father’s plea, stripped of politics, focused on the child caught in the crossfire.
Echoes of DACA: A Program Under Siege
Ferreira’s story isn’t just about one family—it’s a stark reminder of DACA’s fragile lifeline.
Enacted in 2012 under President Obama, the program shielded roughly 800,000 young immigrants like her from deportation, granting work permits and a shot at stability.
But under the Trump administration’s renewed crackdown on immigration, even those with clean records find themselves vulnerable.
DHS claims Ferreira’s tourist visa lapsed decades ago and points to a prior battery arrest, painting her as ineligible for DACA’s protections.
Her attorney, Todd Pomerleau, isn’t buying it. “Bruna has no criminal record whatsoever. I don’t know where that is coming from,” he fired back to WMUR.
“Show us the proof. There are no charges out there. She’s not a criminal, illegal alien, we’re hearing that said about anyone who’s not a U.S. citizen.”
Pomerleau calls her case a “political football,” a limbo where “under the law, she should be released.”
And amid the legal wrangling, he shares a glimpse of Ferreira’s spirit: “She is not doing well, but she is strong and resilient.”
The distance only amplifies the isolation. From Basile, Ferreira has conveyed through Pomerleau that there’s “no bad blood” with the Leavitts.
She holds Leavitt—the 28-year-old firebrand who’s become one of Trump’s most visible defenders—in the same high regard that led her to select her as godmother over her own sister.
“She literally picked Karoline to be the godmother of Michael Jr., over her own sister,” Pomerleau told CNN on Wednesday.
It’s a testament to bonds that transcend headlines, even as Ferreira remains civil with her ex’s family for the sake of their shared child.
Silence from the Podium: A Family’s Frustration
Back in New Hampshire, where Leavitt grew up and where her star rose through local politics before landing in the White House briefing room, the silence has been deafening.
Family members have publicly lamented the “radio silence” from the press secretary on her relative’s plight—a criticism that has amplified the story’s viral reach.
Leavitt, ever the poised communicator, declined to comment when reached by WMUR.
The White House, too, has stayed mum, leaving observers to wonder: In a MAGA world that champions family values, how does one navigate the fault lines when policy hits home?
This isn’t abstract debate; it’s lived trauma.
Ferreira’s detention highlights the human cost of enforcement priorities that prioritize volume over nuance.
As Pomerleau puts it, she’s “caught up in this limbo”—a DACA holder with deep U.S. roots, now facing an uncertain holiday season apart from the son who idolizes her.
Looking Ahead: Hope and Hurdles
As Thanksgiving leftovers fade and Christmas lights flicker on, the clock ticks for Ferreira.
Her legal team is pushing for release, armed with evidence of her spotless record and lifelong ties to America.
The GoFundMe pleas keep coming, each donation a small rebellion against the machinery of separation. And through it all, Ferreira’s message remains steady: admiration for Leavitt, love for her son, and a quiet hope for reunion.
In a divided nation, stories like this force us to confront the faces behind the policies.
Will the high road Ferreira’s taking—from inside an ICE facility—pave a way home?
For now, a little boy in Massachusetts waits, dreaming of his mother’s embrace under the mistletoe.
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