Life in Limbo: Venezuelan Immigrants in Chicago Grapple with Uncertainty
Carlos Carpio has spent the past two years building a new life in Chicago, a city he now cherishes. He works at a factory, rents an apartment, and has made meaningful friendships. Every Sunday, he attends church, finding solace in the community he has become a part of.
Yet, for Carpio—a 50-year-old Venezuelan immigrant living legally in the U.S. under Temporary Protected Status (TPS)—that hard-earned stability was shattered when Donald Trump became president. Trump's campaign promise of the largest mass deportation in U.S. history left Carpio and many others like him living in fear.
"Since the day Trump became president, I live in fear," Carpio said.
Carpio is one of approximately 1 million people in the U.S. under TPS, a program granting temporary legal status due to civil unrest or natural disasters in their home countries. Though his status was set to expire in April, the Biden administration extended TPS protections for another 18 months for individuals from Venezuela, Ukraine, Sudan, and El Salvador. However, TPS provides no pathway to permanent residency or citizenship without leaving the country.
On Monday, Trump issued an executive action calling for a review of the TPS program, questioning whether it had been "appropriately limited in scope." Previously, his administration targeted the termination of TPS for some nations, arguing that conditions in those countries had improved sufficiently.
For Carpio and others like him, the uncertainty has upended daily life.
Fearful Days
Carpio has withdrawn from the vibrant life he once enjoyed in Chicago. Trips to the bank, running errands, or even attending church have become fraught with anxiety.
"We go straight home after work," he said. "I don’t even feel safe taking the train or bus anymore. I carry my documents everywhere."
The factory where Carpio works is abuzz with whispered fears about immigration enforcement. Even church, once a sanctuary, no longer feels secure after the Trump administration ended policies preventing immigration arrests in sensitive locations like churches and hospitals.
“We are all afraid. We carry that fear and anxiety every day,” Carpio said.
Daisy, a 36-year-old Venezuelan immigrant, echoed these fears. After two years in Chicago, she has come to love the city and the community she’s built.
"I feel like this is my home. I love Chicago," Daisy said. But the uncertainty around immigration policies has left her feeling “anguished.”
Like Carpio, Daisy limits her outings to work and home. “I don’t even want to go out. I’ve been praying to God to get me through,” she said.
Living with Purpose
Some migrants, like Jhovanny Jiménez, are finding ways to push through the fear. A 43-year-old Venezuelan migrant with TPS and an open asylum case, Jiménez uses his time in Chicago to assist others. His apartment doubles as an office where he helps fellow immigrants with legal paperwork, asylum applications, and work permits.
"We can’t get into a panic," Jiménez said. "We have to have a firm conviction in what we want to do here in Chicago. If you are doing things legally, you shouldn’t have to be so afraid."
Still, Jiménez cannot escape the fear of being forced to return to Venezuela. He fled the country after facing political persecution and threats to his life.
"For the future, yes, I am afraid," he admitted. "I can’t step foot on Venezuelan soil. I could be arrested, tortured, or killed."
Not all Venezuelan migrants in Chicago live in constant fear. Oscar Peñalver Sanchez, a 46-year-old with TPS, agrees with Trump’s focus on deporting criminals but believes law-abiding immigrants should not be punished.
"I don’t have anything to hide," Peñalver Sanchez said. "I want to establish myself as an American."
For Carpio, Daisy, and countless others, Chicago represents safety and opportunity. Yet their futures remain uncertain, shaped by shifting immigration policies and the ever-present fear of being forced to leave the lives they’ve built.
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