MINNEAPOLIS — Three months ago, masked ICE agents in unmarked vehicles descended on the Twin Cities as part of Operation Metro Surge, the Trump administration’s largest and most aggressive crackdown yet on immigrants. Agents arrested thousands of undocumented people in what the Border Patrol commander then in charge, Gregory Bovino, called a “turn and burn” strategy. During the operation agents threatened journalists and activists documenting arrests and shot and killed two U.S. citizens — Renee Good and Alex Pretti.
At the time, community members took to street corners with whistles to alert neighbors to federal immigration agents. Volunteers formed networks to drive migrants to work and appointments and to deliver food to people too afraid to leave their homes.
Today Minneapolis looks different. The surge has receded, arrests of immigrants have dropped about 12%, and Commander Bovino was forced to retire. Neighborhood watches that tracked ICE SUVs are no longer as active. But enforcement statistics don’t capture the deeper damage the crackdown left behind: a hollowed-out local economy, mounting debts, mental-health struggles and hard choices about whether to stay in the U.S.
NPR spoke with nine immigrants about how Operation Metro Surge upended their lives and how they’re adapting. Their stories trace the operation’s economic and psychological toll.
The seamstress
On the evening of Jan. 13, Y, a seamstress who asked to be identified by her middle initial because she fears speaking out could affect her immigration case, was driving home from one of two jobs when unmarked vehicles surrounded her. This was at the operation’s height, when masked agents in unmarked cars made random stops. Y says she was arrested despite showing a work permit and documentation that she had applied for a U visa for crime victims.
She spent a month shuffled among detention centers and was released with an ankle monitor while her case continues. Without weekly pay and after mounting legal and travel costs, her debt soared. Her 18-year-old daughter borrowed $7,500 to post bond and friends and family pooled money; Y now owes more than $13,000. She lost one of her two jobs during detention and is searching for additional work. Before detention she planned to send her daughter to college; now the family is counting on scholarships.
The day laborers
Common gathering spots for day laborers — outside a Home Depot lot, an empty Lake Street lot — emptied during the surge. Months after the operation ended, migrant workers have slowly returned. But work is slower and wages have fallen.
V, an Ecuadorian day laborer who requested only an initial, said he’s behind on rent and that everything changed. R, a 49-year-old Ecuadorian woman who cleans homes and waits for hiring at Home Depot, said she used to get $20–$25 an hour; after returning to work she is now offered $15–$17. “It’s like starting again from zero,” she said. “ICE destroyed our lives psychologically and physically.”
Restaurant owners on the brink
The Hernandez family has run El Tejaban, a Mexican restaurant in Richfield, Minn., for nearly two decades. During the surge employees stopped coming and customers stopped eating in; the family says sales dropped about 60%. Owners Miguel Hernandez Sr. and Rosa Zambrano say they’ve crunched the numbers and decided to close when their lease ends in two years. Both are 60 and had hoped to save for retirement; now they say they’re just trying to pay rent.
Their daughter Dianna, who works at the restaurant and is a U.S. citizen, had to lock the doors during the surge because ICE agents were in the parking lot. She doesn’t want to see the restaurant close but acknowledges the operation changed their lives.
The family who lost it all
Not all households have the savings or social networks to absorb the shock. Pablo Alcaraz and María Peñalosa, who have lived in the U.S. more than 20 years and hold work permits and a U visa, closed their restaurant, Garibaldi Mexican Restaurant in West St. Paul, after revenues evaporated. Before the surge they averaged about $15,000 a month in profit; during the operation they had many days with almost no income. Now their restaurant’s commercial space sits empty, and the couple is living off frozen food and dwindling resources.
Alcaraz described depression and despair; Peñalosa fears for her husband’s mental health. The couple worries they lack the credit and capital to reopen or start another business. “It’s so unfair that in a few months the government has ended the work of 20 years,” Peñalosa said. “They ended our dreams.”
A broader impact
Advocates say the economic, emotional and traumatic impact will be felt for years. Myrka Zambrano of the Minnesota Immigrant Rights Action Committee noted widespread needs: food security, housing, legal help. A bill moving through the Minnesota Legislature would create a $100 million relief program for small businesses affected by the crackdown, but advocates say that won’t be enough to address the many families and households struggling.
Many immigrants who were detained or went into hiding have resumed some activities, but community organizers and volunteers say the fear lingers. Neighborhood watches are less active than during the surge’s peak, and while arrests have decreased, the consequences persist in debts, shuttered businesses and eroded trust.
“We were left traumatized,” Y said. For families trying to rebuild, the damage is as much psychological as economic — a loss of security, of steady work, and, for some, of the businesses they spent years building.
This story was supported by the Economic Hardship Reporting Project.