In the echoing hallways of 26 Federal Plaza, a towering symbol of federal authority in Lower Manhattan, a moment of raw human desperation unfolded into a national firestorm. On Thursday, September 25, 2025, as families navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the immigration court, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents moved in with practiced efficiency. Their target: an Ecuadorian man attending what should have been a routine asylum hearing. What followed, captured in stark, unfiltered cellphone footage, has ignited outrage, prompted swift disciplinary action, and reignited fierce debates over the human cost of America’s escalating immigration enforcement under the Trump administration.

The video, which has amassed over 15 million views across social media platforms in less than 72 hours, shows a plainclothes ICE officer—later identified in internal reports as Agent Marcus Hale—shoving a distraught woman to the ground with brute force. The woman, 32-year-old Monica Moreta-Galarza, had just witnessed her husband, Javier Ruiz-Moreta, being wrestled away by federal agents in front of their two young children, ages 6 and 9. As Moreta-Galarza reached out in a plea for mercy, touching the agent’s arm, Hale responded by grabbing her wrist, slamming her against a wall, and then hurling her to the tiled floor. Her head struck the ground with a sickening thud, audible even in the chaotic audio of the clip, as her children wailed nearby.

“The officer’s conduct in this video is unacceptable and beneath the men and women of ICE,” declared Tricia McLaughlin, Assistant Secretary for Public Affairs at the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), in a statement released Friday morning. “Our ICE law enforcement are held to the highest professional standards, and this officer is being relieved of current duties as we conduct a full investigation.” The phrase “relieved of current duties” has become a flashpoint, with critics arguing it amounts to little more than paid administrative leave, allowing Hale to retain his badge and benefits while the probe drags on.

By midday Friday, the footage had transcended viral novelty, drawing condemnation from city officials, congressional leaders, and immigrant rights advocates. New York City Comptroller Brad Lander, who was present at the courthouse that day advocating for migrants, posted the video on X (formerly Twitter) with a caption that resonated across the political spectrum: “An ICE agent violently threw this bereft woman to the ground in front of her kids. She had not touched him. She did not pose any threat. She had to be taken to the hospital.” Lander, a Democrat who was himself arrested by ICE agents in June during a similar courthouse standoff, called for criminal charges, labeling the act “an egregious assault on basic human dignity.”

The incident at 26 Federal Plaza is not an isolated outburst but a symptom of a broader, more aggressive posture by ICE in recent months. Since President Donald Trump’s inauguration in January 2025, his administration has pursued what it terms a “zero-tolerance” deportation strategy, prioritizing the removal of undocumented immigrants with pending asylum claims. This has led to a surge in courthouse arrests—tactics decried by legal experts as a violation of due process, as migrants are often detained immediately after appearing for hearings, rendering their court appearances futile. In New York alone, ICE operations at immigration courts have tripled since March, according to data from the city’s Immigrant Affairs office, transforming what were once sanctuaries of judicial review into ambush zones fraught with tension.

To understand the harrowing events of September 25, one must first grasp the stakes for the Ruiz-Moreta family. Javier Ruiz-Moreta, 35, fled Ecuador in 2023 amid escalating gang violence in Guayaquil, where he had worked as a mechanic. Extortion threats from local narco-groups forced him to seek refuge in the United States, arriving via the Darién Gap migration route—a perilous 66-mile jungle trek that claims hundreds of lives annually. He crossed into Texas in early 2024, was briefly detained, and released with a notice to appear before an immigration judge. Moreta-Galarza, his wife of 12 years, followed months later with their children, Sofia and Mateo, after selling their modest home to fund the journey. The family settled in Queens, where Javier found intermittent work in construction, and Monica took up sewing alterations for a local tailor shop.

Their asylum case, filed in February 2025, hinged on Javier’s credible fear interview, where he detailed beatings and death threats from the Choneros gang, one of Ecuador’s most notorious criminal syndicates. “We came here because America is supposed to be a beacon of hope,” Moreta-Galarza told reporters from her hospital bed on Saturday, her voice trembling as she clutched a faded photo of the family back in Ecuador. “Instead, they treat us like criminals. My husband was just trying to tell his story, and they ripped him away like he was nothing.”

The morning of September 25 began like any other hearing day at 26 Federal Plaza. The Beaux-Arts building, completed in 1935 and home to both ICE’s New York field office and Executive Office for Immigration Review (EOIR) courts, buzzed with anxious families. Volunteers from groups like the New York Immigration Coalition (NYIC) handed out water bottles and legal tip sheets, while plainclothes agents—identifiable only by their earpieces and subtle bulges under jackets—milled about the lobby. Moreta-Galarza arrived at 8:15 a.m., Javier in tow, the children trailing with backpacks stuffed with coloring books to pass the time.

Their hearing was scheduled for 10 a.m. before Judge Elena Vasquez (no relation to this reporter), a veteran of the EOIR bench known for her measured approach to asylum claims from Latin America. As Javier entered the courtroom, Moreta-Galarza waited in the third-floor hallway with Sofia and Mateo, chatting softly with a NYIC advocate about the backlog—over 3 million cases nationwide, with waits stretching years. But within 20 minutes, chaos erupted. ICE agents, acting on a tip from the National Criminal Information Center (NCIC) database flagging Javier’s prior border crossing, moved to detain him post-hearing.

Eyewitness accounts, corroborated by multiple videos, paint a scene of frantic resistance and overwhelming force. As Judge Vasquez recessed for lunch, agents burst into the hallway. Javier, emerging with his court folder in hand, was immediately seized by two masked officers. “No, please! He’s got a hearing!” Moreta-Galarza screamed in Spanish, lunging forward with Sofia clinging to her leg. Mateo froze, his small face crumpling as agents pried Javier’s arms behind his back. One video, shot by freelance journalist Till Eckert of ProPublica, captures an agent yanking Moreta-Galarza’s hair to separate her from her husband: “Just grab her, grab her and pull her away,” a voice barks off-camera.

Javier fought briefly, not out of defiance but desperation, shouting, “Mis hijos! Don’t take me from my kids!” The agents, outnumbered by onlookers but undeterred, zip-tied his wrists and dragged him toward the elevators. Moreta-Galarza, disheveled and sobbing, pursued them down the corridor, her pleas echoing off the marble walls: “¡Por favor, señor! He’s not a criminal—he’s running for his life!” It was here that she encountered Agent Hale, a 12-year veteran of ICE’s Enforcement and Removal Operations (ERO) unit, stationed at the plaza since the policy shift.

Hale, 42, from Staten Island, had a reputation among courthouse regulars for his no-nonsense demeanor. Local news outlet AMNY reported last month that he was involved in another controversial arrest, where he forcibly separated a 15-year-old girl from her father during a similar courthouse sweep. Witnesses described him as “intimidating,” often patrolling the halls with a holstered Glock 19 and a stare that silenced protests before they began. On this day, as Moreta-Galarza blocked his path, Hale waved her off dismissively: “Adios, adios,” he repeated in a mocking tone, his New York accent thickening the Spanish slur.

In the heat of the moment, Moreta-Galarza placed a hand on his chest—not to strike, but to implore. “You guys don’t care about anything!” she cried. Hale’s response was instantaneous and violent. He seized her arm, twisted it behind her back, and propelled her forward into the wall with enough force to crack the plaster, according to building maintenance logs reviewed by this reporter. As she stumbled, he swept her legs, sending her crashing to the floor. Her head snapped back, striking the ground; blood pooled from a gash above her ear. Sofia and Mateo rushed to her side, the girl shielding her mother’s face from the growing crowd of reporters and advocates who had begun filming.

The video, first posted by NYIC volunteer Maria Gonzalez on X at 10:47 a.m., exploded online within minutes. By noon, it had been shared by high-profile accounts, including Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-N.Y.), who wrote: “This is not enforcement—it’s brutality. ICE is terrorizing families in broad daylight. #AbolishICE.” Hashtags like #JusticeForMonica and #EndCourthouseArrests trended nationwide, amassing 2.5 million engagements by evening. Mainstream outlets—CNN, ABC, BBC—looped the footage in primetime, framing it as a microcosm of Trump’s deportation machine, which has removed over 1.2 million individuals since January, per DHS figures.

Moreta-Galarza’s injuries were severe but not life-threatening. Paramedics from FDNY Station 10 arrived within eight minutes, stabilizing her on-site before rushing her to Bellevue Hospital. An initial assessment revealed a mild concussion, a fractured wrist, and lacerations requiring 12 stitches. “She kept asking for Javier, even as they wheeled her out,” said EMT Carlos Rivera, who treated her. “The kids were hysterical—Sofia wouldn’t let go of her hand.” The family was released Saturday morning, but Javier remains in detention at the Varick Street facility, his asylum hearing postponed indefinitely.

Rep. Dan Goldman (D-N.Y.), whose district encompasses the courthouse, has taken a leading role in the fallout. A former federal prosecutor, Goldman announced Friday that his office has referred the case to the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of New York, seeking felony charges of assault and civil rights violations under 18 U.S.C. § 242. “This wasn’t self-defense; it was an abuse of power against a vulnerable woman fleeing persecution,” Goldman’s spokesperson told CNN. “We’re looking at potential felony prosecution to ensure accountability.” The referral carries weight—Goldman prosecuted cases in the SDNY during his DOJ tenure, including high-profile civil rights probes.

DHS’s response was measured but telling. McLaughlin’s statement, echoed across outlets, emphasized the agency’s “highest professional standards” while sidestepping specifics on Hale’s status. Sources familiar with ICE protocols, speaking on condition of anonymity, clarified that “relieved of duties” typically means reassignment to desk work or suspension with pay pending the Office of Professional Responsibility (OPR) review, which can take 60-90 days. Hale, who joined ICE in 2013 after a stint with the NYPD, has no prior formal complaints on record, but advocates point to a pattern of unreported incidents.

This event unfolds against a backdrop of heightened ICE scrutiny. Trump’s executive orders, including the expansion of “expedited removal” to interior enforcement, have emboldened agents, leading to clashes in cities like Chicago and Los Angeles. In July, a federal judge in California issued a temporary injunction against courthouse arrests, citing due process concerns, but the ruling was stayed pending appeal. Critics, including the ACLU, argue these operations chill access to justice: Migrants skip hearings out of fear, exacerbating the backlog.

Immigration experts trace the tactic’s roots to the Obama era but note its weaponization under Trump. “Courthouses were meant to be safe spaces,” said Professor Hiroshi Motomura of UCLA Law, author of Immigration Law and the U.S-Mexico Border. “Now, they’re traps. This video exposes the emotional terrorism involved—families torn apart not just physically, but psychologically.”

For the Ruiz-Moreta family, the trauma lingers. On Sunday, Moreta-Galarza addressed a rally outside 26 Federal Plaza, organized by NYIC and Make the Road New York. Over 500 attendees, including faith leaders and union organizers, chanted “No human is illegal” as she spoke, her arm in a sling. “I came to this country for safety, for my children’s future,” she said through tears, Sofia and Mateo at her side. “But what I saw—what I felt on that floor—is not safety. It’s fear. Javier is a good man, a father who sings to his kids at night. Why punish us for surviving?”

Javier’s detention has upended their fragile existence. Without his income, Moreta-Galarza relies on a GoFundMe campaign that has raised $45,000 in two days, earmarked for legal fees and rent. Pro bono attorneys from the Legal Aid Society have taken up his asylum appeal, arguing that his detention violates the 1951 Refugee Convention, to which the U.S. is a signatory. Yet, with ICE’s daily quota pressures—unofficially 1,000 removals per day nationwide—the path forward is uncertain.

Agent Hale’s story adds layers of complexity. Colleagues describe him as a “by-the-book” officer, hardened by years on the front lines. Born to Italian-American parents in 1983, Hale served two tours in Afghanistan with the Marines before joining the NYPD’s counterterrorism unit. Recruited to ICE amid the 2016 hiring surge, he specialized in fugitive operations, boasting a 92% apprehension rate in his personnel file. But whispers among courthouse staff suggest burnout: “He’s seen too much—raids gone wrong, kids screaming,” one security guard confided. “Doesn’t excuse it, but explains the edge.”

DHS’s investigation, led by OPR, will scrutinize body-cam footage (none was activated, per preliminary reports), witness statements, and Hale’s use-of-force training records. ICE policy mandates de-escalation as the first resort, with physical intervention reserved for imminent threats. Moreta-Galarza’s touch, advocates argue, was a cry for help, not aggression. If substantiated, Hale could face termination, civil penalties, or referral to the Justice Department’s Civil Rights Division.

The political reverberations are profound. NYC Mayor Eric Adams, navigating his own tightrope with federal funding, issued a cautious statement: “Like so many, we have seen the upsetting images… and we are pleased to hear this incident is being investigated.” Behind closed doors, sources say Adams pressed DHS for assurances that local police won’t be deputized for ICE ops, fearing backlash in his reelection bid. Nationally, the episode fuels Democratic calls for oversight reform, with Sen. Chuck Schumer (D-N.Y.) vowing to attach ICE accountability riders to must-pass spending bills.

As the sun set on Sunday’s rally, Moreta-Galarza knelt to hug her children, the crowd’s cheers a fragile shield against uncertainty. “We’ll fight,” she whispered to Javier’s empty space. “For you, for us.” In the shadow of 26 Federal Plaza, where justice and enforcement collide, her words echo a larger American reckoning: How far will we go to secure borders before we shatter the humanity within them?

This incident, raw and unyielding, demands more than an investigation—it begs a mirror. For in Monica Moreta-Galarza’s fall, we glimpse not just one agent’s lapse, but a policy’s precipice. As videos fade from feeds and headlines shift, the family’s ordeal persists, a testament to the enduring cost of division.