Jan. 31, 2026, 5:00 AM EST
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MINNEAPOLIS — A south Minneapolis mother cried as she watched her daughter prepare for high school graduation. She wouldn’t be there when her daughter walked across 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 take a piece of me with you,” the mother said through tears in Spanish.
Her mother hasn’t left the house in two months and hasn’t attended graduation because she’s afraid of being deported amid the crisis. massive immigration operation in the citywhich DHS says resulted in the arrest of 3,000 people. Likewise, the girl’s father remained indoors for almost three weeks after permanently closing his small service business. NBC News is not describing his business to protect his identity.
Their adult children, all U.S. citizens, decided they would stay put if their parents were kicked out of the country.
“It’s so heartbreaking,” the mother said, wiping away tears. “I always wanted to see her graduate.”
The family watched the immigration actions and protests unfold from their phone and television.Christian Monterrosa for NBC NewsFour years ago, the girl’s eighth-grade graduation was canceled due to the Covid pandemic. Now her parents will have to settle for a live-streamed high school diploma, because both don’t have U.S. citizenship and are too afraid to leave home.
The couple, who asked NBC News not to use their names, are among thousands of Minnesota residents who 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 was escalating in Minneapolis and worried that her pending work permit, which she submitted in 2024, would make her a target.
The husband, 58, began staying inside after the shooting death of Renée Good by federal agents, which coincided with the deportations of several people. friends and relatives, he said. Once Alex Pretti was killed, he began to wonder who would be next.
Daily tasks, like taking out the trash, became stressful for the family.Christian Monterrosa for NBC News“At this point, anything can happen,” he said.
Their anxiety meant that even everyday tasks, like taking out the trash, became a struggle. Just entering their own yard could attract immigration officials, the wife said. One of their two daughters, who still lives at home, took responsibility for the waste.
A small hamster running inside a clear plastic ball that rolled across the living room carpet. A brown labradoodle wearing a diaper watched from beneath the dining room table. The dog was wearing a diaper because she rarely goes outside for walks because the family fears drawing attention to her.
Like the couple, these furry companions are cooped up in this one-story house.
Outside the house, two medium-sized boxes sat untouched near the front door. The father inspected one and left the other untouched before quickly going back inside, locking the door and securing a deadbolt.
Due to the parents’ confinement, the family dog also only goes out to a limited extent.Christian Monterrosa for NBC NewsOne of the boxes had been at his home for several days and the other was new, he said. He refused to bring them, he explained, because he feared that accepting unknown packages might reveal to Immigration and Customs Enforcement who lived there.
Inside, cases of bottled water were stacked neatly near the kitchen. The family relied on food and water delivery from a local pastor. A friend for around twenty years, Pastor Sergio Amezcua, of the Dios Habla Hoy church, has organized an ambitious mutual aid network made up of some 5,000 volunteers who help feed nearly 28,000 people fearing arrest or deportation if they go in public.
Interest in the operation of his church skyrocketed after Pretti’s death, Amezcua said. He said he was shocked when this family called to say they were out of food and were afraid to go 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 crackdown has upended everything the family had planned for this year. The idea was for the husband to move closer to work and for his wife to sell her colorful desserts and Mexican dishes through a small catering business.
She hasn’t sold anything since moving, she said.
The mother made tamales and champurrado, a hot chocolate drink, on a freezing winter morning.Christian Monterrosa for NBC News“There is no one to buy my food,” she said. “If things return to normal, I would like to cook again and cook for people. »
Yet on a cold morning, she made chicken tamales and champurrado, a hot chocolate drink, while her daughter dressed for graduation.
The family’s two oldest children arrived here as young children with their parents and received protection from deportation under the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, program designed by President Barack Obama, the couple said.
But parents failed where their children succeeded in becoming citizens. The wife said she has not received a response from the federal government regarding her work permit.
She carries the carefully folded application in her wallet along with Mexican pesos. The small leather wallet stays with her at all times, she said, even inside her house, in case immigration agents arrive to arrest her.
“If they are willing to kill white American citizens, what will they do to me? she asked, referring to Pretti and Good.
The mother hoped to sell colorful desserts and Mexican dishes through a small catering business. Christian Monterrosa for NBC NewsHer husband, who came to the United States from Mexico in 1996, said he never applied for citizenship, thinking it was out of reach. He’s heard stories from friends and relatives who paid their lawyers thousands of dollars and still waited several years to receive a green card or work permit, he said.
The couple, who grew up in the same Mexican village, did not marry until 2023. They shared the same vision for their families. They wanted their children to get a good education so that they would never have to struggle for work and money like their parents did.
Husband started in Los Angeles and found the smog and traffic overwhelming. He heard by word of mouth that Minnesota had the kind of access to nature he was accustomed to and the sparse population he preferred.
Sitting at their dining room table on a frigid January afternoon, he joked that he had once wanted his ashes to be spread on one of Minnesota’s many lakes when he died. But now that he and his wife are in hiding, he said returning to Mexico might be safer.
“We still love this country,” he said of the United States. “But with everything going on, I’m determined to leave.”
Husband and wife watched from their phones and televisions as immigration agents flooded their snowy town, arresting people believed to be there illegally as well as protesters who oppose President Donald Trump’s immigration policies.
After Pretti and Good died, the couple contacted family in Mexico and the United States to begin planning their move. They said they felt comforted by the support of the demonstratorsbut remain terrified of being torn from their home without the chance to pack their bags or ensure that their two youngest daughters, aged 18 and 19 respectively, have a place to live without them.
Parents said they appreciated the solidarity shown by protesters in Minneapolis.Christian Monterrosa for NBC News”I’ve been here 30 years. How many presidents has that been?” said the father.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he added, referring to immigration controls.
Each day blends into the next, the mother said. Eat, watch TV, sleep and repeat. Except the couple can’t sleep more than a few hours at a time, they said. Both are nervous, expecting ICE to appear at any moment and tear their lives apart. The wife said she suffered frequent headaches, which she attributed to the lack of fresh air. The husband, who suffers from diabetes, receives his insulin prescription directly from his doctor, who he says understands their plight.
Ideally, the couple would have two or three more years to save more before returning to Mexico, where the wife still owns a small house, they said. The husband is confident he can open a business like the one he has here and bristles at the thought of leaving behind his expensive equipment, some of which costs 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 is fading every year, and his older sister has stopped using it altogether, their father said. The two oldest children support the repression of immigration led by Trump and now have a strained relationship with their parents, the couple said.
The couple say the constant anxiety and weeks spent indoors have taken a toll, affecting their sleep and health.Christian Monterrosa for NBC NewsTheir younger daughters, on the other hand, prefer to speak Spanish even with their friends.
“They look Mexican and sound Mexican,” the mother said. “I fear they will be picked up by ICE.”
Standing in the living room touching up her makeup, the high school graduate looked like any other girl her age getting ready for the big day. Her mother brushed back a stray hair and straightened the small chain with a crucifix around the girl’s neck.
When asked if she had any plans after graduation, the girl paused. She said she was considering joining the National Guard. Parents of military personnel can potentially obtain citizenship or legal status through programs offering temporary deportation relief or expedited naturalization options.
Whatever she chooses for her future, her father says one thing is certain.
“I came here to give them a different life,” he said. “Now they have it.”
Alicia Victoria Lozano is a California-based reporter for NBC News who focuses on climate change, wildfires and the changing politics of drug laws.
