Texas Nun Detained by ICE While Walking to Mass Speaks Out About Her Arrest

McALLEN, Texas Sister Leticia “Letty” Ugboaja was thinking about Scripture as she walked toward Sunday Mass near the United States-Mexico border. She wore her religious habit, held her rosary and cellphone, and expected to begin the morning inside Our Lady of Sorrows Catholic Church.

Instead, two armed immigration officers approached her on a street in McAllen, Texas.

The 56-year-old Nigerian nun said fear swept over her as she realized the men were coming for her. She did not understand why she had been stopped or what would happen next. Within moments, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers had taken her into custody.

Ugboaja was released several hours later, but the questions surrounding her detention did not disappear with her freedom. Nearly a month after the June 28 arrest, she publicly described the encounter for the first time during a news conference at the church she had been trying to reach.

Her account has placed a deeply human face on the nation’s intensifying immigration debate. Ugboaja is a Catholic sister, a registered nurse, a longtime South Texas health care worker and a church volunteer. She also remains subject to a removal order, even though an immigration judge previously determined that she would likely face torture if returned to Nigeria.

That legal tension sits at the heart of the case. Ugboaja has protection from deportation to her native country, but she does not have asylum or permanent legal status. Her attorney says she followed the government’s requirements and had permission to work, yet federal officers still detained her with little explanation.

Now, she is speaking not only about what happened to her, but also about immigrants living under similar uncertainty.

Armed ICE Officers Stopped Sister Letty on Her Way to Church

Ugboaja’s Sunday morning began with an ordinary walk to Mass. Dressed in the habit of the Daughters of Mary Mother of Mercy, she carried few possessions and reflected on the Bible readings she expected to hear during the service.

The quiet routine ended when she noticed two armed men approaching.

Ugboaja later said she broke into a cold sweat because she could not understand what was happening. The officers identified themselves as immigration agents and prevented her from continuing to the church.

She pleaded with them to let her attend Mass and receive Holy Communion before being taken away. The request was refused.

For Ugboaja, missing the service was not a minor disruption. Sunday Mass and Communion stand at the center of Catholic religious life. A nun’s daily work, community obligations and spiritual identity are closely connected to prayer and worship.

She described being denied Communion as especially painful. The arrest therefore affected more than her physical freedom. It interrupted an act of faith that had shaped the purpose of her morning.

The June 28 detention occurred in McAllen, a South Texas city located only a few miles from the Mexican border. Immigration enforcement is a familiar presence across the Rio Grande Valley, but the image of federal officers detaining a nun in her habit attracted immediate attention.

Parish officials shared information about the arrest, and community members began asking why Ugboaja had been taken into custody. Members of Congress eventually intervened on her behalf, helping bring pressure to a case that might otherwise have remained largely invisible.

She was released later that day. The speed of her release did not explain the arrest, however, and it did not remove the possibility of future immigration action.

An Immigration Judge Protected Her From Removal to Nigeria

Ugboaja’s immigration status cannot be explained simply by calling her documented or undocumented. Her case shows how complicated a person’s legal position can become after years inside the immigration court system.

Her attorney, Carlos M. Garcia, said an immigration judge denied her asylum application in 2019. At the same time, the judge granted protection preventing the government from returning her to Nigeria because she would probably face torture there.

Asylum and protection from removal are not the same.

A successful asylum case can provide a route toward permanent residency and, eventually, citizenship. Protection such as withholding of removal is narrower. It prevents deportation to a specific country where a person is likely to face persecution or serious harm, but it does not erase an underlying removal order.

The Justice Department explains that a person granted withholding of removal cannot be sent to the country where that person’s life or freedom would be threatened. That protection does not necessarily prevent the government from attempting removal to another nation.

Garcia said Ugboaja had complied with everything required of her and held authorization to work in the United States. Her years of compliance did not transform her into a permanent resident, but they allowed her to live, work, and serve her community while remaining under immigration supervision.

That distinction is crucial to understanding why the government could still detain her.

Ugboaja was protected from being sent to Nigeria, yet she continued to live under a removal order. Federal officials could therefore explore deporting her to a third country, provided they followed the legal procedures governing such action.

Garcia said the government planned to remove his client to another country when ICE detained her. The potential destination was not publicly identified.

Third-Country Deportation Plans Deepen the Controversy

Third-country removal has become one of the most disputed parts of the Trump administration’s immigration strategy.

The policy allows the United States to deport certain immigrants to countries other than their homelands. It can be used in cases where a person has a final removal order but cannot legally or practically be returned to the country of origin.

Supporters argue that third-country arrangements prevent people with removal orders from remaining indefinitely in the United States. They say the government needs alternative destinations when home countries refuse to accept deportees or when courts have barred removal to a particular nation.

Immigration lawyers and human rights organizations have raised serious concerns. They argue that deportees may receive little notice about their destination and insufficient time to explain whether they fear persecution, torture or other abuse in the receiving country.

Ugboaja’s case illustrates why those procedures matter. An immigration judge had already concluded that sending her to Nigeria could expose her to torture. A third-country plan would require a separate examination of whether she could be safely and legally sent somewhere else.

Her attorney said officers gave her little explanation when they detained her. The government’s third-country plan remained unclear, including where she might have been sent and what opportunity she would have received to challenge the destination.

The uncertainty has fueled criticism that immigration enforcement can move faster than the legal safeguards designed to protect vulnerable people.

Ugboaja’s supporters are not claiming that a religious habit places someone beyond federal law. They are questioning why detention was necessary when she had court-ordered protection, work authorization, community ties and a history of following immigration requirements.

They are also asking whether officers adequately reviewed her file before approaching her on the street.

The Diocese Questions Why a Nun Was Handcuffed

The Diocese of Brownsville responded publicly after Ugboaja’s arrest became known.

Church officials confirmed that she was walking to Our Lady of Sorrows Catholic Church when ICE officers detained her. The diocese also highlighted her religious service and years of work within the local health care system.

Bishop Daniel E. Flores described Ugboaja as a source of goodness and hope within the community. He questioned enforcement procedures that allowed a Catholic sister to be handcuffed while peacefully walking to worship.

The Diocese of Brownsville called for answers about the reason for the detention and the manner in which it was carried out. Its response focused on human dignity and due process rather than arguing that clergy members should receive immunity from immigration law.

That distinction has shaped the church’s position. Catholic leaders generally recognize the government’s authority to enforce national borders. Still, they have repeatedly argued that immigration policies must respect human life, family unity and the rights of people seeking protection.

The Rio Grande Valley sits at the center of that debate. Catholic organizations in the region frequently assist migrants with food, shelter, clothing, transportation and legal referrals. Religious workers regularly encounter families who have crossed the border, requested asylum or become trapped inside complex immigration proceedings.

Ugboaja’s arrest brought those national questions inside a familiar parish.

She was not an unknown traveler passing briefly through the region. She had become part of the community, serving patients during the week and parishioners through her religious ministry.

Sister Letty Has Spent Years Caring for South Texas Patients

Ugboaja belongs to the Daughters of Mary Mother of Mercy, a Catholic congregation founded in Nigeria. At Our Lady of Sorrows, she volunteered as an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion, assisting with the distribution of the Eucharist during church services.

Her service extended beyond the parish.

She works as a registered nurse at South Texas Health System. Before earning that role, she spent roughly 10 years working as a certified nursing assistant in Edinburg.

Health care work is often physically and emotionally demanding. Nurses and nursing assistants care for patients during illness, injury, recovery and death. They perform practical tasks while also offering reassurance to families experiencing some of the most frightening moments of their lives.

Ugboaja’s professional history has therefore become an important part of the public reaction. Her supporters see a woman who spent years caring for residents of South Texas, only to be detained without a clear public explanation.

Her employment does not cancel an immigration order. Community service does not automatically create lawful permanent status. Still, those facts influence how people evaluate the government’s use of discretion.

Immigration authorities make choices about whom to arrest, when to use detention, and whether a person can remain under supervision. Ugboaja’s record of compliance, employment and religious service has led critics to question why she was treated as an urgent detention priority.

The case also shows that immigration enforcement does not affect only people with recent border crossings or criminal convictions. It can reach workers, caregivers and longtime community members whose cases have remained active for years.

ICE and Homeland Security Have Not Publicly Explained the Arrest

Ugboaja and her attorney continue to seek a full explanation for what happened.

The Department of Homeland Security and ICE did not publicly respond to requests for comment after the arrest. They also did not provide an explanation when Ugboaja later spoke about the case.

Without an official response, several important questions remain unanswered.

It is unclear why officers chose to intercept her while she was walking to Mass rather than address her status through a scheduled immigration appointment. It is also unclear whether agents knew about her protection from removal to Nigeria before taking her into custody.

The government has not publicly explained why detention was required or what conditions led to her release several hours later.

That silence has allowed the case to become a symbol of broader concerns about transparency. Immigration enforcement involves enormous government power, including the authority to arrest, confine, and deport people. When that power is exercised without a clear explanation, affected individuals may struggle to understand how to defend themselves.

Ugboaja had legal representation and support from a large religious institution. Parish leaders raised attention, members of Congress intervened, and news of her arrest spread quickly.

Many immigrants do not have those advantages.

A person detained without an attorney may have difficulty accessing documents, identifying available legal protections, or contacting relatives. Transfers between detention centers can make communication even harder.

Ugboaja said that reality motivated her decision to speak publicly.

She Says Her Release Does Not Allow Her to Remain Silent

At the news conference, Ugboaja expressed gratitude to the people who helped secure her release. Her appreciation did not erase her concern about others facing similar circumstances.

She said many people have received some form of legal protection, followed the rules imposed on them, and still live with uncertainty. Her appeal centered on a basic request: people should have a chance to be heard before the government takes them into custody.

That argument reaches beyond her personal immigration case.

Ugboaja is asking whether officers should pause long enough to understand a person’s legal history before using detention. She is asking whether years of compliance should matter and whether people facing third-country deportation should receive a meaningful opportunity to explain their fears.

She is also drawing attention to how quickly an ordinary day can collapse.

Her morning began with Scripture and a walk to church. It became an encounter with armed officers, a denied request for Communion, and hours in federal custody.

The arrest transformed a local nun and nurse into a national figure in the immigration debate. Yet her immediate future remains uncertain. She still faces ICE supervision and the possibility that the government could pursue another attempt to remove her to a third country.

Her release was therefore not a final victory. It was a temporary return to the community she has served.

Ugboaja’s story captures the contradictions of the American immigration system. A judge can recognize that a person faces torture in one country without giving that person permanent security in the United States. The government can authorize someone to work for years while still retaining the power to detain and deport that person elsewhere.

For Sister Letty, those contradictions are no longer legal abstractions. They arrived on a Sunday morning in the form of two armed men standing between her and the church doors.

Her decision to speak has now placed a larger question before the country: whether immigration enforcement can remain forceful without becoming indifferent to individual circumstances, legal protections and human dignity.