Sara had been preparing for a radio interview earlier this month to promote her plans to open an at-home child care center in Central Texas when she learned that a new federal immigration order rendered her ineligible for legal status.
Sara, an undocumented Venezuelan who applied for asylum earlier this year, canceled the interview and indefinitely put her plans on hold.
Now, Sara, her husband and two sons follow strict rules: curtains must stay shut and doors locked at all times. If someone knocks on the door, they won’t answer. They don’t get together with friends unless it’s an emergency. For trips to the grocery store, they go individually, in shifts.
In an instant, the work — and hope — that the family had invested toward economic stability and living lawfully in the U.S. for nearly a decade disappeared.
“We don’t understand this administration’s reasons for leaving us in limbo like this,” said Sara, who asked to be identified by her first name because she fears being targeted by immigration authorities. “I came to contribute to this country. Why take those possibilities away and force us to leave and put us through this trauma? It deprives you of sleep, takes away your peace, it takes away everything, your dignity as a person.”
When the Trump administration halted immigration applications for people from 19 countries on a federal travel ban list in late November, it sent a fresh wave of upheaval and fear across Texas, experts, attorneys and families told The Texas Tribune. Immigration attorneys are scrambling to ensure their clients understand the ramifications. Community advocates are working to ensure the people they help have the correct information. Families who have spent years trying to obtain legal status have gone into hiding.
The order, experts said, has rippled through the immigrant community, even to people from countries that aren’t on the list, who now fear the policy could change again to include them.
“It’s going to make our job a lot harder, because not only will we have to convince the government that our client is eligible for the benefit, and thus should be given the status requested, but we will also have to convince the client to submit the application in the first place,” said Ali Zakaria, an immigration lawyer in southwest Houston.
And the sudden change could also affect the number of international students studying at Texas colleges and universities, said Sarah Spreitzer, vice president at the American Council on Education’s government relations division.
The number of international college students in Texas is relatively small, but the policy could still have a chilling effect, Spreitzer said. Colleges across the U.S. already reported a 17% drop in new international enrollment this fall, before the new policy took effect.
“All of this uncertainty means that you may choose to do your studies in another country, because the terms of your visa can suddenly change,” Spreitzer said.
Family separated six years
After a two-decade career as an elementary school teacher, Sara and her husband decided to leave Venezuela due to the political climate. Nicolas Maduro, the Venezuelan president who clung to the presidency and extended his 12-year rule, has had political opponents arrested, critics exiled from the country and blocked a referendum earlier this year calling for his removal.
Sara said she felt that in her home country, gripped by Maduro’s dictatorial rule, she couldn’t freely express her political opinion without endangering herself or her family. In addition to having to attend political rallies and meetings for a party she did not support, she said the politics had also been embedded in the school where she worked — which came with threats of decades-long imprisonment if she openly expressed disagreement.
The couple left on separate trips. Sara’s husband, a firefighter who graduated from law school in Venezuela, arrived first on a tourist visa a decade ago. A year later, she joined him with her own tourist visa.
When Sara arrived, her husband had already rented a home.
Their two sons had to stay behind, living with relatives or friends in Colombia and the Dominican Republic for six years while their parents petitioned for Temporary Protected Status, which allows immigrants from designated nations who can’t return safely to their home countries to legally live and work in the U.S.
After the government granted them TPS status, they requested permission for their children to join them. For the first four years, Sara worked at fast-food restaurants and worked as a nanny on the side to make ends meet. At the time, she hoped to apply for permanent legal status in the U.S.
“I was a line cook and a fryer, working wherever they needed me. They always gave me weekends, the hardest days,” she said. “But I always did it with love and pride, and knew that one day I’d get to do something I was passionate about.”
Eventually, she landed a job at a child care center thanks to one of her coworkers. At the center, she helped the teaching staff while she worked with several nonprofit organizations to obtain a license to open one of her own, which she applied for and received last year.
In 2024, their sons were given permission to join them in Texas. After saving their money, the couple hired an attorney earlier this year and requested asylum for their family.
Since then, the Trump administration has dealt them one setback after another. First, Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem canceled TPS for Venezuelans, as well as people from other countries like Ethiopia and South Sudan.
Then, after two National Guard members were shot by an Afghan national in Washington, D.C. in late November, the administration announced a sweeping new immigration order that barred people from 19 countries, including Venezuela, Cuba, Afghanistan, and others in Africa and the Middle East, from applying for green cards and citizenship.
Two days after that announcement, the Trump administration said it would temporarily halt all asylum decisions. The policy also orders the U.S. Citizen and Immigration Services agency to review the cases of people who are applying for a green card or already have been approved for one, which could include additional interviews with government agents.
“Fear won,” Sara said. “I felt like I had no rights since I don’t have anything to prove that I’m here legally.”
It’s a common sentiment throughout Texas immigrant communities. Joe Morales, a Lufkin resident who has helped undocumented people with immigration-related petitions for more than two decades, said the work has grown tense in the last year as immigration policies have created a sense of fear in East Texas. The people he helps are scared of deportation, the lack of due process and the potential separation from their families.
“The pervasive fear can create a ‘shelter in place’ mentality, causing individuals to neglect basic needs necessary for maintaining a healthy life,” Morales said. “This neglect can ultimately lead to health crises down the line, which create an impact not only on an individual level but on our community as a whole.”
Zakaria, the Houston attorney, calls it “just a depressing time.”
“Communities across the board are anxious, and we’d like to help as much as we can,” he said. “But given the policies, the only recourse we have is to run to the courts, and courts are definitely inundated with a number of applications being filed for the release of detained, legal and illegal immigrants.”
“You feel imprisoned, oppressed”
In the days since Trump’s orders, Sara’s family has stayed put, leaving the house only for essential errands such as groceries. After nearly a decade of building a new life, Sara said the country they call home increasingly feels like the one they fled.
Meanwhile, tensions between Venezuela and the U.S. have continued to escalate as the Trump administration carried out two military strikes on Sep. 2 on a boat they said was smuggling illegal drugs, a move that killed 11 people. And in December, the Trump administration seized an oil tanker off the coast of Venezuela. Trump also has not ruled out the possibility of a ground invasion targeting drug cartels.
Sara said she and her family work much less to avoid exposure to potential ICE raids. To make ends meet, Sara’s husband and two sons work odd jobs at restaurants — they’ve stopped driving for food delivery services because they feel it’s too risky. Sara still accepts a small number of nannying jobs for clients she’s known for years. They’ve sold belongings they don’t need — including one of the two cars — and deposited the money into a savings account.
“We came to this country where we were supposed to build a life, a country where you have to adapt to the culture, the laws, the norms,” she said. “And (the Trump administration) scrapped all of it, and you feel imprisoned, oppressed. It’s incredibly inhumane.”
“I understand that people have done bad things, and everyone’s responsible for their actions, and I’m not defending them,” Sara added. “But to generalize and lump us all into the same bucket hurts when you come and do everything right, when you’re careful, and, above all, when you contribute. It’s hurtful.”
Sara said she doesn’t know what’s next. The family hired an executor to look after their belongings in case they are separated again. But she said they don’t have a plan yet if that time comes. She’s afraid she might have to start over in another country, and be separated again from her two sons, she said.
But if they have to start over, she said, they will.
Jessica Priest and Alex Nguyen contributed to this story.
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