Marie-Thérèse Ross-Mahé arrived at the Alabama home of her late husband expecting to begin a new chapter. Instead, she found herself handcuffed and removed by immigration officers, still dressed in her bathrobe and slippers, thrust into a Louisiana detention facility holding 58 other women and the sound of children crying through the night.
The 85-year-old French citizen was arrested on April 1 after missing an immigration appointment, a consequence of mail being redirected following her husband William B Ross's death in January. The pair had reunited after decades apart, having met when Ross was stationed in France as a US soldier and she worked as a secretary at NATO. They married in April 2025 and settled in Anniston, Alabama, but after Ross died, a dispute over his estate meant critical correspondence never reached her.
When five men identifying themselves as immigration officers arrived at her door that morning, the arrest moved with shocking speed. "Five men, who identified themselves as immigration officers, banged on her door and windows at 8am before handcuffing her and placing her in a vehicle," Ross-Mahé said of the moment.
Two days later, she was transferred to the Basile, Louisiana facility, where she spent her time confined with dozens of women, many of them mothers separated from their children. The most persistent memory from her detention was the constant noise and the tone with which staff communicated.
"The guards could not speak without yelling," Ross-Mahé said. "Everybody was talking loudly, so everybody could hear what they were saying. But when silence came, you could hear children crying and even babies crying."
The environment was clean and the food adequate, but the psychological weight was substantial. Yet there were small acts of kindness. Other detainees, who called her "Grandma," looked after her at night, ensuring her bedcover stayed in place. She still wears a handmade friendship bracelet given to her by another woman in custody, a tangible reminder of the connections forged in that place.
Her case drew attention from the French government, with the country's foreign minister, Jean-Noël Barrot, publicly calling for her release and criticizing ICE methods as inconsistent with French standards. A probate judge overseeing the inheritance dispute also demanded an investigation, suggesting that one of Ross's sons, who works as a federal employee, may have exploited his position to prompt her detention. That stepson has denied involvement.
The US Department of Homeland Security responded to the controversy by stating that Ross-Mahé had indeed overstayed her 90-day visa and that detention facilities are regularly audited. The agency defended its standards, saying detainees receive proper meals, water, blankets, medical care, and access to family and lawyers. "ICE has higher detention standards than most US prisons that hold actual US citizens," the department said.
Now back in France with her family, Ross-Mahé is struggling with memory gaps and emotional distress. She is seeking treatment for symptoms consistent with post-traumatic stress and continues to think about the South American women she met in custody, none of whom, she believes, deserved to be detained.
The experience has fundamentally altered her view of the United States. Her late husband had been a Trump supporter, and they watched Fox News together regularly. But direct exposure to immigration detention has shaken her faith in the country she once saw as a beacon of freedom and fair treatment. "Their only fault was to be South American," she said of the women she met, an observation that has stayed with her since her release.
Author James Rodriguez: "An 85-year-old Frenchwoman's month-long detention over a missed appointment reveals how immigration enforcement can upend lives in moments, leaving psychological scars that linger long after release."
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