Most days, Maria has felt grateful at getting to do what she loves: be in the classroom.
Her students at the Northwest Side elementary school where she’s been a classroom assistant have special needs. Many speak Spanish. She says they’ve improved academically since she started working with them last fall.
But, having come from Venezuela, she, like others from the South American nation, no longer is authorized to work in the United States.
Maria — who spoke on the condition that her full name and her school’s name not be published because she fears retaliation — saw her legal status change in May. That’s when the Supreme Court allowed President Donald Trump’s administration to end “Temporary Protected Status” for more than 350,000 Venezuelans.
TPS has allowed eligible noncitizens to work legally in the United States, shielding them from deportation. It originally was set to expire in April for some Venezuelans, challenged in court but allowed last month by the Supreme Court to go forward.
“When I woke up and heard the news, I felt like crying, and I kept asking myself, ‘What am I going to do?’ ” Maria says, speaking in Spanish. “I am afraid because, at any time, human resources can call me to let me know that I don’t have a job anymore.”
TPS for Haitians and several other groups also is expected to be ended later this year.
Terminating that protection is among steps President Donald Trump’s administration has taken to reverse former President Joe Biden’s immigration policies. It also has moved to end birthright citizenship, stepped up deportations, issued travel bans and ended another humanitarian program that allowed hundreds of thousands of people from Nicaragua, Cuba, Haiti and Venezuela to temporarily live and work in the United Stats legally.
Trump’s policies have prompted protests in recent days in Chicago and other cities, including Los Angeles, where 4,000 National Guard troops and 700 Marines were sent in over the objections of California Gov. Gavin Newsom.
TPS and humanitarian parole programs were designed to protect people who came from countries facing violence and danger.
“It’s like a lose-lose situation no matter how you look at it because I go back home to potential famine and insecurity as far as danger and violence; I stay here, and I don’t know what my next move will be,” says Daniel Jean Jr., president of the Haitian American Professional Network of Chicago.
Jean says Haitians with TPS or humanitarian parole are worried, “thinking about their kids.”
Many immigrants who arrived under these programs are in limbo, weighing their options and trying to figure out what to do.
“Some people I know, they’re talking about quitting their jobs ahead of time and just trying to lay low and figure some things out,” Jean says.
He and other advocates for immigrants say they fear that eliminating these programs will increase the number of unauthorized immigrants trying to make a living in the underground economy. According to Migration Policy Institute estimates, 13.7 million immigrants without legal status were in the United States in 2023.
When your legal status disappears
Maria arrived in the United States legally under humanitarian parole, which requires a background check and a sponsor. Then, she applied for TPS.
“I have never intended to be here illegally,” she says. “It has always been my goal to follow the rules.”
In Venezuela, she says, she was a victim of crime and violence, having refused to teach the government-mandated socialist curriculum.
She didn’t apply for asylum in the United States, which usually allows people to work legally while their case proceeds in court. She says going back to Venezuela would be dangerous for her.
“I am avoiding the malls and grocery stores because I fear getting deported,” she says.
Since Trump took office again, federal agents have been ramping up arrests of immigrants outside schools, on the streets and in immigration court, with daily arrest quotas.
Aside from anxiety over the possibility she’ll be arrested and deported, Maria is sad about losing her job as a classroom assistant.
“I go beyond being an assistant,” she says. “My essence and my profession is to be a teacher.”
Teachers at her school don’t want to see her leave. The dual-language school where she works has a large number of Spanish-speaking students.
“It is definitely devastating to see people like Maria experiencing this type of situation,” says Marisela, a fifth- and sixth-grade literacy teacher who asked that her full name not be used to prevent Maria and their school from being identified. “Her knowledge, her dedication, her professionalism is so valuable for our students.”
Maria is getting legal advice on other visa options, which typically are difficult to navigate. It’s either that or a potentially dangerous and uncertain future in Venezuela.
“I am a professional,” Maria says. “I want to contribute. Having to be treated like a criminal is not fair.”
