WASHINGTON — Rachel Griffin Accurso — Ms. Rachel, to her millions of followers — made her first visit to Capitol Hill on Tuesday afternoon, wearing a bubblegum-pink linen suit and wheeling a black suitcase filled with stapled packets of handwritten letters and drawings. They were the words and artwork of children, all of whom have been — or remain — in the custody of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement at the nation’s only family immigration detention center.
“I cry a lot,” read one letter from a 7-year-old boy held at the Dilley Immigration Processing Center in South Texas. “I want to get out of here.” Among the illustrations were portraits of crying faces, families standing together behind bars and a red house that a 9-year-old child longed to return to. Accurso clutched one packet in her hand, ready to offer it to the first lawmaker she encountered.
She had come with a plan: Over a brief two-day visit to Washington, she wanted to deliver the letters and drawings to members of Congress and tell them about the children she’d met. Her goal was to urge every official she spoke with — Democrats and Republicans alike — to end family detention and reunite the children and parents who had been separated by ICE enforcement.
It was a new foray into the political realm for the early-childhood educator, who became the reigning star of children’s media with her wildly popular educational videos on YouTube and Netflix. Through her adult-facing social media platforms, Accurso has also emerged as a powerful advocate for vulnerable young people around the world, making headlines — and sometimes drawing backlash — for speaking out on behalf of children in Gaza, Sudan, and other humanitarian crisis zones.
Now her efforts include children closer to home. Over the past few months, Accurso has become an increasingly prominent voice in the debate over family immigration detention and the mounting concerns about conditions at the Dilley detention center. She has spoken directly to 10 families there via video calls, she said, and has publicly shared clips from several of those conversations with her 5 million Instagram followers. Accurso helped launch a petition to close the Dilley facility that has more than 324,000 signatures, including dozens of celebrities (Ben Stiller, Ayo Edebiri, Cynthia Nixon, and John Legend are among the many signatories). She also shared an open letter addressed to CoreCivic, the private prison contractor that has operated Dilley since its Obama-era construction in 2014: “What we have to agree on is not harming children,” she wrote.
When Accurso arrived on Capitol Hill along with her husband, Aron Accurso, they were welcomed by Sen. Andy Kim (D., N.J.). He offered them a brief tour through the Capitol, noting that the Senate had voted just days before to approve $70 billion in funding for President Donald Trump’s immigration enforcement agencies. “When you’re talking about this,” he said, nodding to the packet in Accurso’s hand, “what’s funding this? That’s what’s happening in this building.” As they spoke, the House was preparing to vote on the same funding package.
Accurso and Kim posed for photos and filmed a brief video together in the Capitol Rotunda, then parted ways before she headed to the Hart Senate Office Building.
She was stopped repeatedly by enthusiastic interns and staff members who asked for selfies to show their own children, or their nieces and nephews. “What’s their name?” Accurso always asked, before deftly switching the phone setting to record a personalized video for each child: Hi, Ava! Hi, Maeve! Hi, Hugh!
Then she would steer the conversation toward the names of other children — some she had spoken with personally, and others whose circumstances were recounted to her by lawyers, advocates and journalists working with families at the Dilley facility. There was Amalia, an 18-month-old who suffered a near-fatal health crisis while in ICE custody at Dilley; Deiver, a 9-year-old who missed his friends at school and wanted to participate in the state spelling bee; Guri, a 12-year-old who has been detained with his family since February and has experienced chronic blood in his stool for months.
Accurso was greeted with joyful shouts of recognition in the office of Sen. Jeff Merkley (D., Ore.). She left a packet with the staff of Sen. John Cornyn (R., Texas) and noted that they seemed friendly. She walked into the office of Sen. Lisa Murkowski (R., Alaska) with a cheerful, lilting “Hi, friends!” and the staff member’s subsequent gasp — “Oh my gosh!” — was audible down the hall.
“Well, I hope this works,” Accurso said, as the clock ticked to a quarter past 6 and it became clear that most of the offices were now closed. She had visited 10.
So she headed for the exit and learned the news as she was leaving: Minutes before, the House had narrowly passed the $70 billion funding package — including $38 billion for ICE enforcement and $26 billion for the Border Patrol. The vote paved the way for the agencies to build a detention system and pursue what Trump had pledged would be the largest mass-deportation operation in the country’s history.
The day before she took the train to Washington from her home in New York, Accurso visited children and families at a hospitality tent set up by volunteers outside Delaney Hall, an immigration detention center in New Jersey where demonstrators and law enforcement have clashed in recent weeks.
Accurso delivered toys and art supplies to the tent and, with the families there, sang a song written by the Peace Poets along with children detained at Dilley: “I’ll sing from here and you sing from there, together we’ll sing down the walls everywhere.”
She spoke with a 13-year-old girl who described what it felt like to have only brief visits with her father, a truck driver who has lived in the United States for 20 years and supports his wife and three children, the youngest of whom has complex special needs.
“We went to go and visit my dad, and it was really sad,” the teen told Accurso, who wiped away tears as she listened. “He looked like a prisoner. But I knew in my heart that he shouldn’t be in there.”
Earlier this year, as she read more about the children being swept up in ICE enforcement operations, Accurso said, she began contacting legal experts, advocates, and journalists on the ground in Texas who detailed alarming conditions at the facility and helped connect her to families detained together there.
Those parents described children who were deteriorating physically and mentally; several kids said the water in the facility made them feel ill. Autistic children were suffering in particular, Accurso said; one nonverbal 5-year-old named Gael had not had a bowel movement in nine days and had begun hitting himself in distress. Families told her that their children couldn’t sleep because the lights were on all night.
She felt haunted by those conversations, Accurso said later, in an interview with the Washington Post: “I kept thinking, ‘How is this happening?’”
Several children and teens who were included on Accurso’s social media platforms were subsequently released from detainment, including Gael; Deiver, the 9-year-old who begged to go to the state spelling bee; and Olivia Mabiala Andre, a 19-year-old asylum seeker and nursing student. Accurso posted about her gratitude and relief in those moments, but she said she is acutely aware of how many children remain behind, including those who don’t feel safe speaking publicly about what’s happening to their families.
As of early June, about 320 people were at the Dilley center, including nearly 90 children, according to Faisal Al-Juburi, co-CEO of the Texas-based nonprofit Refugee and Immigrant Center for Education and Legal Services (RAICES). In the past year, he said, RAICES has documented roughly 1,500 medical concerns from families held at Dilley.
Accurso has highlighted concerns voiced by medical experts: In April, responding to mounting reports of dangerous conditions for children at the Dilley center — including unsafe water, the spread of measles, delayed medical care and declining mental health — the American Academy of Pediatrics requested urgent access to the facility, reiterating that “no time in detention is appropriate for a child.”
A spokesperson for CoreCivic said in an emailed statement that its facilities are safe, and noted that while some lighting is on during overnight hours, “lighting over sleeping areas is turned off during sleeping hours.”
The spokesperson referred to a statement by Kristen Dauss, the company’s vice president and chief medical officer: “The children and their families at DIPC receive care that is clinically rigorous, federally overseen and delivered with dignity.” Dauss added that children receive clean water from the same regularly tested municipal source that supplies local drinking water, appropriate nutrition and hygiene supplies.
Dauss echoed those points in a recent response to Accurso’s letter to CoreCivic. In a separate emailed statement, a spokesperson for the Department of Homeland Security echoed that families at Dilley are provided appropriate living conditions and medical care.
When Accurso talks to people about the firsthand accounts she has heard, “they’re shocked,” she said. “Why don’t people know? But I also feel like I didn’t know the extent of what was happening, either. We have to get the information out.”
This underscores the value of Accurso’s work and platform, said Elora Mukherjee, an attorney who represents numerous families detained at Dilley and serves as director of the Immigrants’ Rights Clinic at Columbia Law School. With her vast audience, Accurso represents a different way to inform people, beyond the reach of mainstream media: “Overwhelmingly, the American public still does not realize that, as a nation, we are imprisoning babies, toddlers and children who have done nothing wrong,” she said. “Sustained attention on cruelty against children is critically important.”
Al-Juburi noted that although the country’s current immigration policy represents “generations-long, systemic issues that need to be addressed, fundamentally, by our legislative branch,” there is a meaningful impact when prominent people raise their voices.
Culture often shifts before the law does, he said: “We will not see policy change until the public demands it. And that is what gives me hope when people like Ms. Rachel turn their spotlight onto a cause like this.”
The sun was falling through mottled clouds as Accurso left the Hart Building and wheeled her suitcase down Constitution Avenue toward the Capitol. She wanted to record a video there for the children detained at Dilley and the ones waiting in the tent outside Delaney Hall. She would tell them that she’d brought their letters and their artwork to the place where decisions about their future were made. “I have your words right here,” she would say into her phone camera, holding the stapled packet close to her chest. “I’m always going to stand with you.”
But when she arrived at the building, she first took a moment to sit quietly on the empty steps. The House’s vote, and its ramifications, were at the forefront of her mind. She felt a heavy sense of sorrow and defeat, she said.
She adjusted her knotted pink headband and looked up toward the towering dome, bathed in the softening light of dusk. She thought about how young people often stop her — more than a dozen had done so just in the past few hours — to thank her and urge her to keep going. The next day, she would come back and meet with more elected officials in the House. She would make sure that all 535 packets of letters and drawings were delivered to every member of Congress. She would keep telling the stories of the children she’d met.
“I’ll never stop trying, for them,” she said. “I can’t say, ‘I’m just one person, so I’m not going to make a difference.’ What if everyone said that?”
