A Recording, a Chokehold, and a Phone That Disappeared
It began as an ordinary evening—one that should have ended with nothing more than fast food wrappers and a drive home. Sixteen-year-old Arnoldo Bazan, a tenth-grade student and U.S. citizen, was riding with his father to get McDonald’s. There was no warning, no sign that this routine moment would transform into a traumatic encounter now at the center of troubling new reporting about federal immigration enforcement.
According to an in-depth investigation by ProPublica, masked agents believed to be affiliated with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement stopped the vehicle. What followed, Arnoldo says, unfolded with sudden force and fear—leaving lasting physical and emotional scars.
Arnoldo reports that agents immediately targeted his father, Arnulfo Bazan Carrillo, who is undocumented. Witnessing the encounter from only a few feet away, Arnoldo says he saw agents force his father to the ground, pressing a knee into his neck. The situation escalated rapidly, with no clear explanation given in the moment for the level of force used.
As Arnoldo attempted to record what was happening on his phone, he says another agent turned on him. The teenager alleges he was grabbed and placed into a chokehold so tight that he could not breathe. “I started screaming with everything I had,” Arnoldo later recalled. “I felt like I was going to pass out.”
Arnoldo says he repeatedly told the agent that he was a minor. He told them he was a U.S. citizen. According to his account, none of it stopped the restraint. The pressure continued until he feared he would lose consciousness.
ProPublica’s reporting places Arnoldo’s experience within a broader pattern. Their investigation documented more than forty cases in which ICE agents allegedly used chokeholds or other potentially dangerous restraints on civilians, including minors. Medical experts interviewed for the report noted that such techniques carry serious risk, particularly when applied to young people.
What distinguishes Arnoldo’s case is what happened after the restraint ended.
Arnoldo had been recording the encounter on his phone—evidence, he believed, of what he and his father endured. That phone was confiscated by agents. Arnoldo says he assumed it would be logged as evidence or held by authorities.
It wasn’t.
Using location-tracking technology, Arnoldo later attempted to locate the device. What he found stunned him. The phone’s signal did not lead to a police station or secure evidence room. Instead, it appeared at a used electronics vending machine near an ICE detention facility.
ProPublica independently confirmed that the phone had been taken into ICE custody and later surfaced in a resale system. How or why it was sold remains unexplained.
Tech journalist Mike Masnick captured the disbelief shared by many observers: “Not the key part of this story, obviously—but they sold his phone?”
The question remains unanswered.
For Arnoldo and his family, the disappearance of the phone was not a minor detail. It represented the loss of recorded evidence and the unsettling sense that accountability itself had vanished. The phone did not simply go missing—it appeared to have been converted into cash after being taken during a law-enforcement action.
Legal experts consulted by ProPublica raised serious concerns about evidence handling, civil rights, and oversight. Confiscating a device that documents an encounter—then allowing it to enter resale circulation—runs counter to standard law-enforcement protocols, they said.
The broader implications extend beyond one family.
ICE has long defended its enforcement methods as necessary for public safety. The agency maintains that it operates within legal guidelines. However, ProPublica’s findings suggest repeated instances where force was used on individuals who posed no immediate threat, including citizens and minors.
Critics argue that these patterns reflect an agency culture shaped by political rhetoric and policy direction. Former President Donald Trump repeatedly praised ICE during his administration, calling for more aggressive enforcement while minimizing oversight. His language surrounding immigration—often framing immigrants as inherently dangerous—has been cited by advocacy groups as contributing to a climate where excessive force is normalized.
For Arnoldo, these debates are not theoretical.
He describes lingering anxiety, fear of authority, and the lasting memory of being unable to breathe while pleading for help. His father remains detained, while Arnoldo navigates school and adolescence carrying trauma few of his peers can imagine.
Civil rights organizations say the case underscores a critical point: enforcement practices aimed at one population inevitably affect others. When oversight weakens and force escalates, citizens, children, and bystanders become vulnerable.
“This isn’t just about immigration,” one advocate told ProPublica. “It’s about power without accountability.”
Federal agencies have not publicly detailed how the phone left ICE custody or entered a resale channel. As of now, no disciplinary action related to the incident has been announced.
Arnoldo’s family is left with questions that remain unanswered—about the chokehold, about the missing phone, and about whether recording law enforcement has become a risk in itself.
For many readers, the most disturbing aspect is not a single alleged act, but the system that allowed it to happen without immediate explanation. A teenager restrained. A recording taken. Evidence sold. Silence afterward.
Stories like Arnoldo’s force a difficult reckoning: Who is protected when enforcement goes unchecked—and who is not?
And perhaps the most unsettling question of all remains unanswered:
If a U.S. citizen minor can be restrained, silenced, and have evidence disappear—what happens to those with even fewer protections?