Minneapolis immigrants still feeling the sting of Trump's largest crackdown yet

Tim Evans for NPR hide caption MINNEAPOLIS — Three months ago, masked ICE agents in unmarked vehicles descended on the Twin Cities as part of Operation Metro Surge, the Trump administration's largest and most aggressive crackdown yet of immigrants. The agents arrested thousands of undocumented immigrants, in what the Border Patrol commander then in charge there, Gregory Bovino, called a "turn and burn" strategy. Agents also threatened journalists and activists documenting the arrests, and shot and killed two U.S. citizens — Renee Good and Alex Pretti. The crackdown has receded, and arrests of immigrants have dropped 12%. Commander Bovino was forced to retire, and the neighborhood watches that tracked ICE SUVs are no longer as active. But the surge left a mark that enforcement statistics can't capture, including a hollowed-out local economy that immigrants and their neighbors say they are struggling to rebuild. Tim Evans for NPR hide caption "We were left traumatized," said Y, a woman who asked NPR to identify her by her middle initial because she worries speaking out will affect her ongoing immigration case. NPR talked to nine immigrants about how Operation Metro Surge upended their lives and how they're adapting today. Y said she was surrounded by unmarked vehicles while driving home from work. The immigration officers, she said, arrested her despite her showing them her work permit and documentation showing she had applied for a U visa, one given to victims of specific crimes. But after being released from detention with an ankle monitor while her immigration case plays out, Y said things got bad. "It was hard to come out of detention and find so much debt," Y said. Y's 18-year-old daughter asked friends and family to borrow $7,500 to post bond for her mom. Y now owes more than $13,000 to friends and family members who pooled their money. Before detention, Y was hoping to save enough money to help send her 18-year-old daughter to college. The daughter wants to be a veterinarian. But now she worries college may be out of reach. "Now we have to find scholarships. It's been hard." During Operation Metro Surge, the areas where day laborers used to gather to get jobs — including the Home Depot or the empty lot on Lake Street — were completely emptied. Day laborers often seek work opportunities outside of home improvement retail outlets, with such locations becoming a common target of immigration enforcement operations. Tim Evans for NPR hide caption But months after the operation ended, migrant workers have started to return for work. V, an Ecuadorian man who asked NPR to identify him by the initial of his first name because he's undocumented, said "everything changed" for day laborers. He's now behind on his rent, he said. She told NPR she'd get paid anywhere from $20 to $25 per hour for cleaning offices and homes. Although she has returned to work following Operation Metro Surge, R has seen both a decline in work opportunities as well as a decrease in hourly wages being offered. "It's like starting again from zero," R said. She asked NPR to use her first initial because she's undocumented. "ICE destroyed our lives psychologically and physically," she said. It is a staple in the community. They lost about 60% in sales. "We won't recover because those sales are not going to come back, and we still have to pay rent, and the cost of food has increased," Zambrano said in Spanish. The couple fears that they will need to close their restaurant when their current lease ends, as the business suffered dramatic revenue losses during Operation Metro Surge and has struggled to recover in the months since. Tim Evans for NPR hide caption An employee preps food at El Tejaban Mexican Grill. Tim Evans for NPR hide caption The couple said they've decided to close in about two years, when their lease is up. They said they've crunched the numbers and realized there's no chance for them to fully recover. Both Zambrano and Hernandez Sr. That's not possible anymore. "We are not saving money to continue the business," Zambrano said. "We are saving to pay rent." Daughter Dianna Hernandez, 27, works at the restaurant and during the surge she said she had to lock its doors because of the presence of ICE agents in the parking lot. Dianna's parents have owned the restaurant for nearly two decades. citizens. Many people who talked to NPR have relied on their children, their community and their savings to continue to live. But others are facing economic ruin. "The economic, emotional, traumatic impact of everything that we went through here in Minneapolis is going to be felt for years," Myrka Zambrano, with the advocacy group Minnesota Immigrant Rights Action Committee, said. A bill making its way through the Minnesota Legislature would create a $100 million relief program for small businesses impacted by the crackdown. But Zambrano said that's not enough, especially when so many immigrants are struggling with other issues like food security and housing. Pablo Alcaraz and María Peñalosa, a couple that has been living in the U.S. for more than 20 years, are struggling, too. Husband and wife Pablo Alcaraz and Maria Peñalosa pose for a portrait outside their home in Inver Grove Heights, Minn. Paul after suffering dramatic revenue losses during Operation Metro Surge, have lost their only source of income. Tim Evans for NPR hide caption The commercial space that was previously home to Garibaldi Mexican Restaurant sits empty in West St. Tim Evans for NPR hide caption The couple have work permits and a U visa — a type of visa given to victims of specific crimes. But now the nonstop hum of the industrial fridge inside their cluttered trailer is a reminder of what could have been. "It's so unfair that in a few months the government has ended the work of 20 years," Peñalosa said. "They ended our dreams." Their restaurant, Garibaldi Mexican Restaurant, went out of business as a direct result of Operation Metro Surge. Before Operation Metro Surge, the couple said they would make about $15,000 in monthly profit, on average. During Operation Metro Surge, sales evaporated. There were many days, he says, when they made almost nothing in profit. Now they are living on the frozen meat and other food from the restaurant, but Alcaraz said they are likely to run out in a month. "Once we run out of it, that's when the problems will start," he said. Tim Evans for NPR hide caption Peñalosa, the wife, said she worries about her husband's mental health. Alcaraz recognizes he's desperate. He said that because he had to close the restaurant and has some debt, he doesn't know whether he'll be able to open a new restaurant or another business. "How am I going to move forward? I'm practically dead," he said, with tears in his eyes. "I need a credit line to open a restaurant, to pay rent, to reopen. I don't have it. Sponsor Message Become an NPR sponsor