In my many years investigating human rights abuses, few stories have affected me as deeply as Jasmine Mooney’s account of her detention by ICE. As a Canadian citizen with a legitimate work visa, Jasmine found herself suddenly imprisoned without explanation or legal recourse—a victim of what detainees call “Canada Freezes,” ICE’s notoriously cold holding cells used as instruments of psychological torture.
“It felt like I had been kidnapped,” Jasmine told me during our conversation. Her story begins innocently enough—a successful professional from Whitehorse, Yukon, building a career in the health and wellness industry in the United States. With an approved NAFTA work visa and no criminal record, she had traveled between the US and Canada multiple times without incident.
Then, without warning or explanation, everything changed. “One minute I was in an immigration office talking about my work visa, the next I was told to put my hands against the wall and patted down like a criminal,” she explained.
The detention conditions Jasmine described reminded me of accounts from political prisoners I’ve interviewed in authoritarian regimes. Held in a freezing cement cell with only an aluminum foil “blanket” for warmth, denied basic necessities, and given contradictory or no information about her situation, Jasmine endured what can only be described as deliberately cruel treatment.
“You know, Ronald,” she said during our interview, “the most terrifying part wasn’t even the cold or the lack of privacy—it was the complete uncertainty. Nobody would tell me how long I’d be there or what would happen next.”
What makes these “Canada Freezes” particularly insidious is their deliberate design. The facilities are kept unnaturally cold—hence the nickname—which forces detainees to endure physical discomfort while simultaneously depriving them of sleep, proper nutrition, and dignity. Many detainees report temperatures so low that their lips turn blue and extremities go numb.
“The aluminum blankets they give you are a joke,” Jasmine told me. “They’re these thin sheets of foil that crinkle loudly whenever you move. Between the noise, the cold, and the lights that never turn off, it’s impossible to sleep.”
Having researched detention conditions worldwide, I can attest that sleep deprivation is a well-documented form of torture. It’s particularly effective at breaking down resistance and creating psychological distress—a fact that hasn’t escaped those who designed these facilities.
What’s perhaps most disturbing about Jasmine’s case is that she had access to lawyers and media attention—privileges many detainees never receive. Yet even with these advantages, she remained imprisoned for two weeks without explanation or due process.
“I was one of the lucky ones,” Jasmine emphasized repeatedly during our conversation. “There were women who had been there for months, some separated from their children, others with legitimate asylum claims, all stuck in limbo.”
This brings to mind the countless historical examples of administrative detention being used as a tool of oppression. From Japanese internment camps during WWII to politically motivated detentions across various regimes, the pattern remains disturbingly similar—dehumanization through bureaucratic processes that strip away individual rights.
Jasmine’s experience highlights a troubling reality about immigration enforcement in America today. Even legal immigrants with proper documentation can find themselves suddenly detained, their rights suspended, and their dignity violated—all without formal charges or clear pathways to resolution.
As we concluded our conversation, Jasmine shared her determination to speak out for those still trapped in the system. “I had people fighting for me on the outside,” she said. “But who fights for those who have no one? Who speaks for them when their voices are literally frozen in those cells?”
