MINNEAPOLIS — A south Minneapolis mother cried as she watched her daughter get ready for high school graduation. She wouldn't be there as her daughter crossed the stage. It was too dangerous.
The girl wore a white dress and cowboy boots, a nod to her parents' native Mexico.
"Take my coat so you can bring a little of me with you," the mother tearfully said in Spanish.
Her mother hasn't left the house in two months and didn't attend the graduation because she is fearful of being deported amid themassive immigration operation in the city, which DHS said has resulted in the arrest of 3,000 people. Similarly, the girl's father has stayed inside for almost three weeks after closing his small service-based business indefinitely. NBC News is not describing his business in order to protect his identity.
Their adult children, all U.S. citizens, have decided they would stay behind if their parents were removed from the country.
"It's so heartbreaking," the mother said, wiping away tears. "I always wanted to see her graduate."
Four years ago, the girl's eighth grade graduation was canceled because of the Covid pandemic. Now, her parents will have to settle for a livestreamed high school graduation because both lack U.S. citizenship and they're too afraid to leave home.
The couple, who asked NBC News not to use their names, isamong thousands of Minnesota residentswho are not U.S citizens.
The mother, 53, stopped leaving the house a week after the family moved into their new rental in December. She heard reports that Operation Metro Surge would intensify in Minneapolis and worried that her pending work permit, which she submitted in 2024, would make her a target.
The husband, 58, began staying indoors after the shooting death of Renee Good by federal agents, which coincided with the deportations of several friends and relatives, he said. Once Alex Pretti was killed, he began to wonder who would be next.
"At this point anything can happen," he said.
Their anxiety has made even daily tasks, like taking out the trash, a struggle. Just stepping into their own backyard could attract immigration agents, the wife said. One of their two daughters who still live at home has taken on the trash responsibility.
A tiny hamster running inside a clear plastic ball rolled around on the living room carpet. A brown labradoodle wearing a diaper watched from underneath the dining room table. The dog was wearing a diaper because it rarely goes outside for walks as the family fears drawing attention to themselves.
Like the couple, these furry companions are trapped inside this one-floor home.
Outside the home, two medium-sized boxes sat untouched by the front door. The father inspected one and left the other untouched before quickly ducking back inside, locking the door and securing a deadbolt.
One of the boxes had been at his doorstep for several days and the other one was new, he said. He refused to bring them in, he explained, because he worried that accepting unknown packages could tip off Immigration and Customs Enforcement about who lived there.
Inside, cases of bottled water sat neatly stacked near the kitchen. The family had been relying on food and water delivery from a local pastor. A friend of some 20 years, Pastor Sergio Amezcua of Dios Habla Hoy church has organized an ambitious mutual aid network comprising some 5,000 volunteers who are helping to feed nearly 28,000 people afraid of being detained or deported if they go in public.
Interest in his church's operation skyrocketed after Pretti's death, Amezcua said. He said he was shocked when this family called saying they had run out of food and feared going to the grocery store.
"To hear a big strong man crying, asking for food, is horrible," Amezcua said earlier this week while sitting in his office.
The immigration enforcement crackdown has upended everything the family planned for this year. The idea had been for the husband to be closer to work and for his wife to sell her colorful desserts and Mexican dishes through a small catering operation.
She hasn't sold a single thing since moving, she said.
"There's no one to buy my food," she said. "If things return to normal, I would like to bake and cook for people again."
Still, on a cold morning, she made chicken tamales and champurrado, a hot chocolate drink, from scratch while her daughter dressed for graduation.
The family's two eldest came here as young children with their parents and received protection from deportation under the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, program, devised by President Barack Obama, the couple said.
But the parents have failed where their children succeeded in becoming citizens. The wife said she has not received a response from the federal government on her work permit.
She carries the application neatly folded in her wallet along with Mexican pesos. The small leather wallet stays with her at all times, she said, even inside her home, in case immigration agents arrive to detain her.
"If they're willing to kill white, U.S citizens, what will they do to me?" she asked, referring to Pretti and Good.
Her husband, who came to the U.S. in 1996 from Mexico, said he never applied for citizenship, thinking it was out of reach. He heard stories from friends and relatives who paid their lawyers thousands of dollars and still waited several years before receiving green cards or work permits, he said.
The couple, who grew up in the same Mexican village, did not get married until 2023. They shared the same vision for their families. They wanted their children to receive a good education so they would never struggle for work and money like their parents did.
The husband started in Los Angeles and found the smog and traffic overwhelming. He heard through word of mouth that Minnesota had the kind of access to nature he was used to, and the sparsity of population he preferred.
Sitting at their dining room table on a freezing January afternoon, he joked that he once wanted to have his ashes spread over one of Minnesota's many lakes when he died. But now that he and his wife are in hiding, he said perhaps moving back to Mexico is safer.
"We still love this country," he said of the United States. "But with everything that's happening, I'm determined to leave."
Husband and wife have watched from their phones and TV as immigration agents flooded their snow-covered city, arresting people allegedly here unlawfully and protesters who oppose President Donald Trump's immigration policies.
After the deaths of Pretti and Good, the couple contacted family in Mexico and in the U.S. to start making plans to relocate. They said they feelcomforted by protesters' support, but remain terrified of being ripped from their home without the chance to pack or ensure their two youngest daughters, 18 and 19 respectively, have somewhere to live without them.
"I've been here 30 years. That's how many presidents?" the father said.
"I've never seen anything like this," he added, referring to immigration enforcement.
Each day is blending into the next, the mother said. Eat, watch TV, sleep and repeat. Except the couple can't get more than a few hours of sleep at a time, they said. Both are on edge, expecting ICE to show up any moment and tear their lives apart. The wife said she frequently has headaches, which she attributes to the lack of fresh air. The husband, who has diabetes, gets his insulin prescription directly from his doctor, who he said is sympathetic to their plight.
Ideally the couple would have two or three more years to save more money before returning to Mexico, where the wife still owns a small home, they said. The husband is confident he can open a business like the one he has here and bristles at the idea of leaving behind his expensive equipment, some of which cost several thousand dollars, he said.
Like many Mexican-Americans in the United States, each of the couple's children speaks a different level of Spanish, they said. The son's Spanish fades every year and his older sister has stopped using it altogether, their dad said. The two oldest children support Trump's immigration crackdown and now have strained relationships with their parents, the couple said.
Their youngest daughters, on the other hand, prefer to speak Spanish even with their friends.
"They look Mexican and sound Mexican," the mother said. "I'm worried they will get picked up by ICE."
Standing in the living room touching up her makeup, the high school graduate looked like any other girl her age preparing for the big day. Her mom pushed back a stray hair and straightened the small chain with a crucifix around the girl's neck.
When asked if she has any plans after graduation, the girl paused. She said she was considering joining the National Guard. Parents of service members can potentially gain citizenship or legal status through programs that provide temporary deportation relief or expedited naturalization options.
Whatever she chooses for her future, her father said one thing is certain.
"I came here to give them a different life," he said. "Now they have it."
MINNEAPOLIS — A south Minneapolis mother cried as she watched her daughter get ready for high school graduation. She wouldn't be there ...
