OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA — One Saturday in February, as she criss-crossed town going to community events, Oakland Mayor Libby Schaaf received a message from a credible source: Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers were on the verge of conducting a large sweep in Northern California. It was the second such tip she’d received in the last few days, and she was sensitive to it.

The previous August, when ICE’s Homeland Security Investigations raided a home, Oakland police officers had blocked off traffic, and immigration advocates accused Schaaf of working hand-in-glove with ICE — a no-no in progressive Oakland. The advocates told Schaaf that the next time immigration officers came to town, they wanted to know about it.

And so on Feb. 24, only hours before the impending sweep, Schaaf organized a conference call with local immigrant advocates and religious leaders. She wanted to talk through an extraordinary decision she would eventually make — to warn the public that the feds were coming. The move would catapult Schaaf to the national stage and into the crosshairs of President Trump.

The episode also would mark a turning point in the already tense relationship between federal officials who favor strict immigration enforcement and local leaders in sanctuary cities that forbid cooperating with deportation efforts. It’s unclear if, in these cities, any collaboration with ICE will ever be tenable again.

But first, before she could consider a move that would cause crowds to chant that she should be locked in prison, the mayor of Oakland had to clean up her son’s bedroom, clearing it out so that the wood floors could be repaired, a promise she had made to her husband amidst all of her other mayoral tasks. Since Schaaf’s schedule is relentless, with work not stopping on the weekends or in the evenings, she takes promises to her family seriously.

“As you can imagine, the mayor of Oakland is not the best wife,” she said.

So, that Saturday afternoon, Schaaf put on her iPhone headphones and dialed-in to a call that featured local advocates and a priest. As she cleaned the room, Schaaf heard a split opinion: some said that telling the public would cause undue panic and fear in the immigrant community.

Meanwhile, Schaaf’s mind turned to two people: one, an Oakland nurse, Maria Mendoza-Sanchez, who was targeted by the Trump administration, even though she had no criminal background, a successful job, and US citizen children. The case caught local media attention and got politicians involved, advocating for her to stay in the country, but in the end she was deported.

The second was personal: Karely Ordaz, a DACA recipient and then special assistant to Schaaf. The day after the election, Schaaf saw Ordaz, and the two began to cry.

“I am so sorry. This must be so horrible for you and your family. You must be so frightened,” Schaaf told her that day.

“Mayor, honestly, it doesn’t change anything,” Ordaz responded. “We live in fear all of the time.”

Schaaf thought of those words, and of the nurse’s family, as she heard the arguments for and against the public notice.

“I thought, this information is not going to panic people. People live in a state of panic, we have neighbors, co-workers, people we sit next to in the church pews that live in this constant state of fear and yet it is invisible to us, because it is a status they don’t wear,” she said. “How could I live with myself if it came to be that my sharing this information could have kept a family together? And, of course, I am thinking about Maria.”

At the end of the call, Schaaf told the group plainly: she was going to do it. Throughout the day, in between community events, Schaaf would continue to work on a statement that would be released that night. They focused on not panicking the public, encouraging awareness, and pointing out resources. They wouldn’t do a press conference, no TV hits: just a plain statement.

Finally, by that evening, Schaaf got to Aisle 5, a gastropub in Oakland’s Grand Lake district, to meet up with her family and friends, who had just wrapped up a basketball tournament. As everyone piled around the table, Schaaf looked up from her phone and told them she needed five minutes.

While they talked, and waiters passed by delivering burgers, Schaaf read over the statement — the bomb — they were about to drop.

“I signed off on the final version. While I was in there it went out,” she said. For the rest of the night, she focused on her family and friends. She tried to let it go.

Shortly after, a tweet went out from her account with no words, just a screenshot of a statement: “Mayor Schaaf Encourages Residents To Consult Immigration Resources Due To Potential ICE Activity.” It spread quickly.