When the nurse told Yasmelin Velazquez she was going to be hospitalized for a couple of days, Velazquez’s anxiety spiked.
“I can’t stay!” she exclaimed. “I have immigration court tomorrow!”
The hospitalization comes at a bad time. Missing her first court hearing the next day would almost guarantee a deportation order for the 36-year-old Venezuelan immigrant and her two young sons.
She’s especially on edge since receiving an email from the U.S. Department of Homeland Security two days earlier notifying her that her temporary status in the country was terminated.
“It is time for you to leave the United States,” the email read. “Do not attempt to remain in the United States — the federal government will find you.”
Velazquez is among the growing number of migrants who received the DHS email. All of them came to the U.S. through legal pathways now terminated by President Trump, or were given temporary protection from deportation after surrendering to immigration authorities at the U.S.-Mexico border.
They are now left in limbo: Should they stay and continue the legal process? Could they be detained or deported while waiting for their day in court?
NPR has followed Velazquez’s immigration journey from Ciudad Juárez, México, where she waited 8 months to enter the U.S. via the CBP One app, a Biden-era legal pathway for asylum seekers. She became one of 900,000 people who used the app, which was the only way to schedule an immigration hearing in the U.S. at the time.
But as her court date approached, Velazquez told NPR she was getting nervous. Migrants have been picked up by immigration authorities at court lately, and that could happen to her, too.
Then, her doctor called during Velazquez’s shift at Walmart. The doctor explained that she had some bad test results and might need to stay in the emergency room for a couple of days.
After pushing back, Velazquez was cleared to leave the hospital. She will make it to court the next day – but the doctor warns her condition could worsen.
The sun had not risen when Velazquez, her partner, and her two little boys, 2-year-old Jeremías and 4-year-old Jordan, left their home in Indio, California, the next day.
“Father God, be our lawyer, be our judge,” they prayed. “Touch the heart of Judge Simmons.”
They are anxious — so they sing while they drive their used black SUV down the highway.
After more than two hours on the road, the family pulls up at the immigration court in an industrial park in a Southern California suburb.
A dozen or so other families make their way into the courtroom.
First hearings like this one are usually low-stakes. A judge validates the migrants’ identities, and they decide whether to file for a form of relief, such as asylum. Then a second hearing is scheduled.
But under Trump, anything can happen.
Inside the courtroom, Velazquez and the kids sit in the first row of wooden benches. They wait an hour for their turn– long enough that the two-year-old pees his pants.
Finally, the judge asks Velazquez whether she understands the reason she’s in court: that the government believes she doesn’t have a legal right to be in the U.S.
“Yes,” she replies quietly, adding that she’s planning to claim asylum later this summer.
The judge tells her to come back in August, this time with an attorney.
The whole interaction only took a few minutes.
Velazquez is free to go.
“I feel victorious,” she tells NPR after the hearing, her relieved laughter ringing over the parking lot while her kids snack on juice and arepas.
But their day isn’t over yet.
Next is another hour-long drive to Velazquez’s regular in-person check-in with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, which she has to do every few months in addition to weekly calls and texts with the agent in charge of her parole.
This week, the check-in seems scarier. There have been reports of migrants being picked up by agents as they go into the ICE office. And now, there’s that email from DHS to worry about.
Velazquez enters the office and meets with the agent assigned to her case.
Eight minutes later, she comes out again, beaming a huge smile.
“Today, my future looks marvelous,” she says.
She was not detained today, but her optimism might be premature.
She has a long way to go in her quest for legal status, and the Trump administration is unpredictable and willing to push legal limits to fulfill its goal of deporting millions of people.
But Velazquez knows that when you are living day-to-day in the U.S., you take a win when you can.
“I feel like I’ll be able to obtain permanent residency, and who knows, maybe citizenship, too!” she says, laughing and smiling.
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