Slop.

We receive income from the trust, which earns money from several other things as well; it’s all bundled together. Figuring out what portion of my rental income comes from the ICE client is not possible, as the family member who manages it declines to go to the trouble, which I understand is considerable.

I feel pretty horrible about getting money from an immigration prison, but I’m the only beneficiary of the trust who cares. I could resign from the trust, but my husband of 50 years would get my share — and anyway, our funds are completely mingled.

I’m not sure you can make me feel any better about this, but I’m curious about the ethics of receiving money from an entity you consider kind of evil. I went to a lot of Catholic schools, including a Jesuit university. I don’t know all the finer points, but it feels unethical. My husband and his family think this is ridiculous. What is your opinion? Is there a correct action? — Name Withheld

From the Ethicist: It’s understandable that you’re troubled. Court rulings, investigative reporting and firsthand accounts have shown that ICE has acted in ways that not only harm noncitizens but also erode the rights of citizens.

Even so, the existence of an immigration-enforcement agency isn’t inherently the problem. Most people accept that states have a right to control their borders and that there’s a legitimate role for authorities charged with enforcing immigration policy, especially when it comes to those who have committed serious crimes. ICE also investigates trafficking, smuggling and other transnational offenses that clearly require federal oversight.

The core issue is less the agency’s mandate than its methods. Well-documented abuses — denials of due process, inhumane conditions and politically motivated enforcement — have undermined public trust and raised serious ethical concerns. The worry is not whether immigration law should be enforced but how, and at what human cost.

The holding facilities ICE uses are part of this system: They house people awaiting deportation, court appearances or further investigation. What’s in dispute isn’t the need for such spaces; it’s the treatment of detainees within those spaces. Many facilities have drawn criticism for degrading or dangerous conditions. Still, as a beneficiary of a trust that rents a property to ICE, your leverage is minuscule. You can’t unilaterally break the lease. Even if you could, ICE would simply relocate its facility. And while moral complicity is a serious concern, receiving income from a legal tenant, however problematic, isn’t generally considered an ethical transgression on its own.

We’re all entangled in systems we don’t control. As citizens, we’re already implicated in the actions of government agencies that act in our name and that we help fund. If those actions are shameful, they cast a shadow on all of us. But that shared entanglement also opens the door to shared responsibility — and response.

You mentioned your Jesuit university. You’ll probably remember, then, the emphasis placed on “discernment” — not just abstract moral reasoning but the habit of examining one’s own position in the world, with clarity and courage, and then acting on that understanding. So here’s one constructive path: If this money feels tainted, redirect it. Use it to support organizations that advocate for the rights you believe ICE has violated — groups like the A.C.L.U., the American Immigration Council or local legal-aid nonprofits that provide support for detainees. Back candidates pushing for humane immigration reform. It’s a way to turn your sense of passive complicity into a measure of active redress. You may not be able to change the trust’s lease, but you can choose what your share of the proceeds stands for.