It’s 1 a.m. at Las Rosas in Allapattah, where over the past hour, the audience has heard wailing guitars, crashing cymbals and screamo-inspired cries. Yet during this set by rising Miami alt-metal outfit Achroite, nothing has rung out or resonated quite so loudly as the lone guitar sitting silent on its stand center stage with a red scarf draped around it.

That guitar belongs to Raul Reinefeld, the band’s guitarist. Its strap should at this moment be slung over his shoulder; its strings should be vibrating and obeying his nimble, dancing fingers. But on Aug. 21, ICE detained the guitarist on his way to work. A Venezuelan immigrant, Reinefeld had previously been shielded from the enforcement regime by the humanitarian umbrella of the recently revoked Temporary Protected Status designation. Rather than focus on the next recording session or gig, Achroite is headlining this ICE Meltdown benefit show to help raise money for Reinefeld’s GoFundMe and legal fees. 

“It’s been devastating,” Achroite vocalist Juliana Camargo says. “He’s not just a bandmate. He’s one of our closest friends. This was definitely something we were worried about because TPS had been taken away. But somehow you just don’t expect it to ever really happen to such a good, hardworking, loyal person — the kind of person who is there for everyone, no matter what they’re going through.”

“He’s always happy — the happiest person we know,” guitarist Benjamin Lehman adds. “Even when we’re all fighting as a band, he’s the guy who brings us back together. He’s definitely the mediator of the band.”

The truth of Reinefeld’s friends’ words is reflected in the large, rapt turnout; in the “Fuck ICE!” chants on the club floor; in the steady line of people visiting the 50501 South Florida table to pick up photocopied pamphlets with titles like “How to Report ICE” and “Know Your Rights Field Guide”; in the ecstatic, cathartic dancing; in the fact that the very first comment on the Achroite Instagram post announcing Reinefeld’s arrest is from Las Rosas offering to organize a benefit show “as well as an informative community event to help people understand their rights and know how to protect themselves.”

All of it testifies to art and community. Still, the remaining band members admit a sense of melancholy, performing without their friend. “It’s definitely bittersweet,” Lehman says. “He’s such an integral part of the band that it just feels like we lost an arm or a leg. But Raul needs resources, and we need to raise awareness about the very real people this is happening to.”

Lost is an apt word. By the night of the show — for which the band got Reinefeld’s blessing to play — they no longer could reach the guitarist by short, scratchy phone calls.

“It’s dystopian,” Camargo says. “I want people to know this isn’t something just happening in online videos you scroll through. It’s real. Thousands of people are being ripped away from their homes, their friends, their families — their lives — have their rights stripped away, be sent to countries where they’re unsafe.”

Camargo takes the Las Rosas stage to dedicate a fiery version of the band’s song “Vespertine” to Reinefeld. Their pain is on display as they play. So is a defiant hope. 

Degnis Bofill’s story

Two days before Reinefeld was detained, Latin Grammy-winning percussionist Degnis Bofill landed at Miami International Airport. He was returning home from a triumphant performance at the Pocket Jazz Club in Midtown Manhattan and a visit to the Latin Alternative Music Conference.

As he deplaned at MIA, he found ICE agents waiting for him. 

In shock, Bofill was escorted down to the tarmac. Agents collected his luggage and took him to an office inside the airport. “The whole time they asked me questions about my visa and what documents I had,” Bofill, who has a pending asylum case, tells New Times. “Later, they told me I had two options: I had to sign my voluntary departure form within 24 hours, or immigration charges would be filed against me.”

Luckily Bofill had been allowed to call his wife Mara Delgado. She had only just landed in Canada, where she’d planned to spend a leisurely couple of days with friends. She told him not to sign anything. “It was very lucky that I had already landed when he called me,” she says now. “I would’ve been in the dark for longer if he had tried to call while I was flying.”

ICE handcuffed and shackled Bofill to a chain around his body and took him to a processing center in Miramar. A few days later, he was put in the same restraints on a bus to the Krome detention center — an institution so hellish that inmates in the yard spelled out “SOS” with their bodies in June of 2025. 

Bofill, an optimist, strove to remain positive.

“Talking to the detainees really helped me,” he says. “I met a lot of decent, caring, and compassionate people inside, especially during the first few days.” It didn’t hurt that more than 700 people contributed nearly $60,000 to a GoFundMe set up to support his fight. “I expected my family and friends to support me, but it went far beyond that,” he says. “I’m very grateful for all the support, and it feels so good to know that there are so many people rooting for me.”

On Thursday, Sept. 3, Bofill was released on bond. A judge ruled he was not a flight risk. Bofill says he has nevertheless been placed “under an intensive supervision program that requires me to wear an ankle monitor for an indefinite period of time.”

Bofill’s experience mirrors that of Andy Garcia, a Cuban pianist based in Miami. ICE detained Garcia at Los Angeles International Airport on Aug. 15 as he was traveling for performances. He, too, has a pending asylum case and spent almost a month at the Adelanto Immigration Processing Center, about 90 miles outside Los Angeles. (Garcia, who was released on bond Sept. 11 and raised nearly $50,000 via his own GoFundMe, made a triumphant return to Miami stages four days later with a gangbusters performance at Neme Gastrobar.)

Bofill has practical advice for other immigrant musicians who may feel vulnerable.

“My first recommendation is not to travel if you don’t have legal status, even if you have a pending process,” he says. “If you do travel, I recommend that you record everything on your cell phone from the moment you get off the plane until you’re on your way to your destination. If you’re detained, don’t sign anything, ask to make a phone call, and if you don’t have a lawyer, find one as quickly as possible. It’s very important to stay calm and remain mentally strong.”

How to protect yourself

The Trump administration is shuffling immigration policies constantly, almost at whim. Recall that Raul Reinefeld’s immigration status — along with more than half a million other Venezuelan refugees — changed overnight from legal to deportable. 

People trying to navigate this moment also find that enforcement is at the discretion of the enforcer. The same set of facts might lead to different outcomes depending on a given officer or judge’s temperament or sense of prevailing attitudes. “It’s a very difficult time for everybody — you really have to keep on your toes,” Larry S. Rifkin, a managing partner at Rifkin & Fox-Isicoff and past president of the South Florida chapter of the American Immigration Lawyers Association, tells New Times. “It’s better to prepare for the worst outcome, ready your cases in a conservative manner, and argue accordingly. Then you can always resort to the federal courts eventually if discretion is arbitrary and capricious. But that’s honestly a pretty high standard to overcome.” 

The so-called One Big Beautiful Bill Act set an effective deportations quota of 1 million people per year. Even when immigrants have a strong legal case, the Department of Homeland Security is shoving people out, often in defiance of court orders.

If you worry about your legal status, Rifkin says, you must recognize the new reality. What happened to Bofill and Garcia is not an anomaly.

“A few weeks ago, our clients who were applicants for political asylum with work authorizations could fly around the United States,” he says. “Now there’s a very real chance they could be taken into custody. They can’t fly now if they have an uncertain status.”

There is also evidence that ICE could be receiving information from license plate reading cameras, so public transportation may be smarter than driving. Out of an abundance of caution, it may be wise to avoid cultural heritage events that ICE has historically targeted. And stay aware of areas of immigration law in flux. Note, for instance, the chaos-inducing change in green card adjustment-of-status hearings from pro forma non-events to acceptable only under an “extraordinary circumstances” standard. The burdensome standard now requires immigrants to return to their home country to apply, with no guarantee they’ll be able to return to their jobs or families in the States.

Last, consult with a qualified immigration attorney — ideally, more than one — to get a complete picture of your circumstances and options.

“These are life-altering decisions, and sometimes we have to give people answers they don’t want to hear, unfortunately,” Rifkin says. “One would hope that we would have a consistent immigration policy that would take into account humanitarian factors and recognize the fact that immigration is a positive force in this country. Right now, that is just not the case.”

Back at Las Rosas, I ask Camargo whether she drew inspiration from her set with Achroite and her guest spot with openers Serotonia to cover System of a Down’s “Holy Mountains.” She pauses and looks past me, down the block, at the patrons still trickling into the packed benefit. Above them, the neon Las Rosas sign lights the night red.

“What else can we have except hope?” she says. “If none of us had hope, nothing would get done. We’d just all lose our shit.”