immigrants

MIDVALE, Utah — Snow-covered mountains ringing a valley of wide, free-flowing roads remind Venezuelan transplants that the growing suburbs south of Salt Lake City offer what Miami can’t.

One million Venezuelans were released into the United States after crossing the Mexican border during a record immigration surge, and many shunned Miami and other longtime immigrant footholds for smaller places with less established communities — a pattern found in an exclusive Associated Press analysis of federal data from fall 2018 to summer 2025.

These cities and towns promised better jobs, cheaper homes, less traffic and higher quality of life, outweighing Florida’s allure of tropical weather and ease of getting by on Spanish alone.

Enrique Vera, 32, crossed the border in Yuma, Arizona, in 2021 and went to Miami to settle with his mother, who’d been there six years. But he found Florida untenable, he told AP — “the work, the conditions, the low pay.”

After less than two weeks there, Vera and his mother accepted a cousin’s invitation to Utah. In the southern suburbs, with massive new housing tracts and pristine shopping centers, Vera found factory work but soon quit to turn a hobby baking for co-workers into his own business. Today he employs 15 people — many, like him, asylum seekers — at a warehouse and two bakeries.

Utah — known as a relatively immigrant-friendly state despite deep Republican roots and support for President Donald Trump — became a top destination for Venezuelans crossing the border, along with parts of the Chicago, Denver, Atlanta, Dallas and Houston metro areas, AP’s data show. Venezuelans also went to smaller cities including Madison, Wisconsin; Albuquerque, New Mexico; and Savannah, Georgia.

It’s a pattern playing out across the U.S.: Some Cubans eschewed Florida and went to Louisville, Kentucky, and Odessa, Texas; Colombians chose the Boston and Denver areas; and Paterson, New Jersey, was the top pick among Peruvians.

These communities have both benefited from the influx of people and struggled to integrate their new arrivals.

Venezuelans stand out for their sheer numbers. About 8 million people, or one-fourth of the country’s population, have fled since 2014, many to the United States. About 30,000 of the 1 million released into the U.S. in AP’s data said they were going directly to Utah.

For Venezuelans in Utah, Trump’s deportation drive has instilled widespread fear

Despite the growing population here, there are few Venezuelan flags, bumper stickers or displays of patriotism on the bustling commercial strips of Midvale, an older suburb of about 40,000 people at the interchange of two highways. Signs are generally in English. The Venezuelan population has mixed in with the largely white population as new houses, malls, office parks and warehouses have gobbled up barren hillsides to meet demand for cheaper land.

President Donald Trump’s immigration crackdown instilled fear and made Venezuelans less visible since 2023, when arrivals peaked in Utah and in the United States as a whole. Everyone here seems to know someone who returned to Venezuela voluntarily because they feared being detained and deported or because they lost their work authorization.

In May 2025, Alberto Salcedo opened the parking lot of his Centro de Apoyo Familiar Church to Venezuelan food trucks. The asylum-seeking evangelical pastor dreamed of creating a vibrant gathering spot for Venezuelan immigrants. Nearly 20 vendors and 5,000 visitors came each week, he said, with trucks serving empanadas, arepas, even burgers and sushi. But that dropped down to maybe five vendors and a few hundred people. The fear of deportation is real, he said.

Restaurant owner Fidel Arrieta said it’s affected his business, too. He opened Arempa’s, his first restaurant in downtown Salt Lake City in 2019, drawing non-Latino customers and Venezuelan immigrants alike. Arempa’s — where the walls are filled with photos of Venezuelan waterfalls, an image of Mona Lisa eating an arepa and Miss Venezuela portraits — grew to five restaurants. But three closed in the last year as business slowed.

Arrieta’s wife — co-owner Sandy Arrieta — wanted to stay open. But he believes nothing will turn around while Trump’s in office.

“Until the government changes, the problems will not end,” said Fidel, 65, who immigrated in 1994.

For proof of the growing Venezuelan population, look no further than Utah’s churches

In 2001, Gregorio Rausseo immigrated to Utah, knowing no one. Fast-forward more than two decades, to 2023: Rausseo had just started as pastor at Saint Therese of the Child Jesus Church and was ready for the annual celebration of the patron saint of Zulia, an oil-rich Venezuelan state that includes Maracaibo, the country’s second-largest city. He was shocked to see more than 1,000 parishioners snake into the lobby and parking lot.

“I asked the deacon, ‘All of them are Venezuelan?’ He said … ‘They are all Maracuchos,’” a term for someone from Maracaibo.

Today, Rausseo estimates about 40% of his church’s more than 700 families are Venezuelan immigrants.

Carlos Trujillo, a 42-year-old lawyer who handles immigration cases, puts Venezuelan immigrants in three categories: those who came for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; those who came to join family or friends; and those who came knowing no one. He has repeatedly heard variations of, “This is a place where I can bring my family and have a start.”

Trujillo — who immigrated in 2001, as an 18-year-old whose parents decided he would do better living with family closer to the Mormon church headquarters — said his firm has about 1,700 immigration cases, with staff fielding calls in a large room resembling a call center.

Many of the Venezuelans here came after COVID hit, flying to the Mexican border before January 2022, when Mexico tightened travel restrictions for Venezuelans. That prompted hundreds of thousands to walk through the Darien Gap, a jungle in Panama and Colombia, on a grueling journey through at least eight countries.

Ashly Estupinan, 18, walked the jungle with her grandmother. In Mexico, they used the appointment app CBP One to enter the U.S. in San Diego. Trump ended CBP One on his first day in office, two years after his predecessor, Joe Biden, started it and let more than 900,000 people come legally with two-year permits.

Estupinan, who graduated high school this spring, and her grandmother chose Utah because her uncle was there. “It’s very tranquil, very pretty, the people are very friendly,” she said.

Word of mouth and family advice brought many to Utah

Juan Gonzalez, 41, a cook at Arempa’s, walked the jungle for four days with his brother — passing corpses, he said — before eventually crossing the U.S. border in Texas. He went to Utah on the advice of a distant cousin.

“He had gone to other states, and Utah struck him as the best one,” Gonzalez said, noting he’s drawn to the state’s “strong economy.”

Many Venezuelan immigrants here work in food service — at restaurants or selling meals from their homes. Some proudly noted that a local Walmart now stocks special flour for arepas.

Others cycle through low-wage jobs: construction, nail salons, warehouse and factory work.

Gonzalo Rodriguez, 39, worked as a laborer, carpenter and office manager before rising to general manager of Fillerup Employment Services, a construction company. He said it had about 25 Venezuelans in its workforce of about 300 when he arrived in 2020. By 2022, that grew to 165.

At one point, Rodriguez said, Venezuelans camped in tents on the sidewalk at the company’s office park in suburban Sandy, waiting for work and accepting food while migrant shelters were full.

Julio Gonzalez, 33, climbed company ranks from laborer to human resources manager after crossing the border in 2021 with his wife and son, then 9, in Del Rio, Texas. A friend in Utah told him it was a good place to live. Many here agree, saying they’ve felt no pervasive racism in Utah.

It was a welcome change for Gonzalez, who said he lived in Panama for six years under anti-Venezuelan xenophobia that prompted his move to the United States.

Hector Escalona, 42, also started in construction at Fillerup, then opened a barber shop in 2022. He now has 27 barber chairs at three shops, and many employees are Venezuelan. He said he’s expanding his business even with uncertainty about his asylum case.

Others have had less financial success.

Adaya Amaya, 47, ran a catering business from her home and now operates a food truck but barely gets by. She crossed the border in 2021 with her daughter, now 9, and father, now 74. They relied at times on a food bank. She knows other Venezuelans who’ve slept in their cars.

Her father gave up his asylum claim in June to return to Maracaibo because he didn’t want to burden her.

Some wonder: Is goodwill toward immigrants cooling in Utah?

In the 2024 election, Trump — and his immigration enforcement campaign messages — won Utah by 22 points. The same year, Carlos Moreno, who won asylum after fleeing Venezuela in 2009, was elected to the Salt Lake County Council.

The state’s immigrant-friendly reputation is tied to the Utah Compact, a 2010 document signed by hundreds of local governments, businesses and civic leaders that endorses “common-sense immigration reforms that will strengthen our economy, as well as attract talent and business to our state.”

But Trujillo, the immigration attorney, said goodwill cooled during the Biden-era immigration surge and some elected leaders who were allies became more guarded in public comments.

Gov. Spencer Cox called the Venezuelan Tren de Aragua gang “a growing threat in Utah” in 2024, but few major crimes in the state have been linked to the group.

Venezuelan immigrants repeatedly told AP that a small minority of their own are their worst enemies — not just those who commit crimes but those who drink in public, play loud music and repair cars in the street. They say that while some of that behavior may be accepted in Venezuela, they must adopt local norms.

“It makes me angry,” said Joiren Rangel, who arrived in 2018 and worked at an Amazon warehouse before opening two Venezuelan restaurants, one of which closed last year. “We saw that we were in a different country and had to abide by the rules. In Venezuela, I would drive with my daughter seated on my lap. I would never do that here.”

Many here are still waiting on their asylum cases

Some asylum seekers were told to wait 10 years for an initial appointment in 2023, but the government has moved aggressively to winnow the backlog. Still, about 500,000 Venezuelans have pending cases in immigration court, more than any other nationality.

Loreana Pachano, who spent much of her childhood in Miami, has been waiting 10 years for an asylum interview. She was increasingly impatient but now wonders whether she might do better if her case remains open until after Trump leaves office.

She and her husband settled in Florida but tired of long commutes and anti-Venezuelan sentiment. They moved to Utah after a friend told her that construction wages were significantly higher. “If we had to start from scratch, how about we start from scratch somewhere else?” she remembers thinking.

Now a real estate agent, she sells houses to asylum seekers who crossed the border and has seen the impact of Trump’s policies — for example, a bank closing on a house that a Venezuelan client gave up because she lost work authorization when Trump ended Temporary Protected Status for more than 600,000 Venezuelans.

“It feels like we’re building on quicksand. We’re trying to build a future here for ourselves, for our kids,” said Pachano, who flips homes and owns trucking and construction businesses with her husband while raising their 3- and 7-year-old daughters.

“Are we going to be here by the time we reach retirement age? We don’t know. You don’t know when the rug is going to be pulled right under your feet.”

Spagat writes for the Associated Press. AP reporter Aaron Kessler contributed to this report.

The Trump administration is proposing a dramatic overhaul of the once-a-decade U.S. Census head count that could leave out millions of immigrants based on status and key racial and ethnic data, jeopardizing the allocation of resources and the country’s voting map.

The potential changes, announced Wednesday, would exclude undocumented immigrants, asylum seekers and anyone without permanent status. Certain demographic questions from the traditional questionnaire would also be eliminated.

It echoes Trump’s previous idea to add a citizenship question to the 2030 census.

The U.S. Census Bureau, in a post on the Federal Register website, argued “illegal aliens (among others) should not be included in the apportionment count, as they are not true inhabitants, members of the body politic, or persons with a ‘usual residence’ in the United States due to their lack of a sufficient tie and allegiance to the United States.”

The census also “should be colorblind and should not be distorted in any way by questions about immaterial personal characteristics, such as race,” the agency said. It also is considering nixing questions related to people who identify as part of the LGBTQ+ community.

These changes would harm the quality of the data, said Beth Jarosz, a data researcher and vice president of the Association of Public Data Users. She called the proposals “unprecedented.”

“Not counting all of the people who reside here is actually where the real threat is,” Jarosz said. “If you think about all of the ways that census data are used.”

Census figures are traditionally used for an “apportionment count” to determine how many seats each state will have in the U.S. House of Representatives. That count also determines the number of votes in the Electoral College.

“You can imagine if we have undercounts or if we have people counted in the wrong place,” Jarosz said. “Then their political power or their political representation gets diluted.”

Immigrants of every status have historically been counted

Historically, the decennial census has not sought to conduct a full count of people by citizenship status, she added. It may come up in the Census’ periodic American Community Survey.

Getting an accurate count of immigrants of various statuses is useful when assigning resources for public health emergencies or natural or human-made disasters.

“If you don’t have a count of everyone who’s there, you’re not going to have the resources you need,” Jarosz said. “And that puts everybody at risk.”

Why race and ethnicity census data matters

Race-related questions have been on the once-a-decade census since 1790. Starting in 2000, the U.S. census began allowing people to identify by more than one race. A 2015 Pew Research Center study found that multiracial people in the U.S. were growing at a rate three times faster than the general population. By 2020, 33.8 million people in the U.S. identified as being more than one race, according to the census.

Race and ethnicity data is essential for researchers who gauge discrimination, crime rates and wealth gaps in communities of color.

Manjusha Kulkarni is co-founder of Stop AAPI Hate and executive director of AAPI Equity Alliance, two advocacy groups that rely on census counts of Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders. The proposed changes would have tremendous impact on the populations they serve, she said.

“It also seeks to exclude important demographic data from millions that enables lawmakers, health care providers, public safety officials and community advocates — really anyone who cares about the health, safety and well-being of all Americans — from having the necessary data to keep us safe and healthy,” Kulkarni said via text message.

Dropping race and ethnicity data as well as some immigrants sends a message that these communities don’t matter, she added.

Collecting data for the 2030 Census with all these missing elements would be detrimental, Jarosz said.

“These changes are like trying to land an airplane when you are in thick fog and someone has thrown paint across the front window and your instruments are also not working,” she said.

Tang writes for the Associated Press.

The Trump administration is proposing a dramatic overhaul of the once-a-decade US Census head count that could leave out millions of immigrants based on status and key racial and ethnic data, jeopardizing the allocation of resources and the country’s voting map.

The potential changes, announced Wednesday, would exclude undocumented immigrants, asylum seekers and anyone without permanent status. Certain demographic questions from the traditional questionnaire would also be eliminated.

It echoes Trump’s previous idea to add a citizenship question to the 2030 census.

The US Census Bureau, in a post on the Federal Register website, argued “illegal aliens (among others) should not be included in the apportionment count, as they are not true inhabitants, members of the body politic, or persons with a ‘usual residence’ in the United States due to their lack of a sufficient tie and allegiance to the United States.”

The census also “should be colorblind and should not be distorted in any way by questions about immaterial personal characteristics, such as race,” the agency said. It also is considering nixing questions related to people who identify as part of the LGBTQ+ community.

These changes would harm the quality of the data, said Beth Jarosz, a data researcher and vice president of the Association of Public Data Users. She called the proposals “unprecedented.”

“Not counting all of the people who reside here is actually where the real threat is,” Jarosz said. “If you think about all of the ways that census data are used.”

Census figures are traditionally used for an “apportionment count” to determine how many seats each state will have in the US House of Representatives. That count also determines the number of votes in the Electoral College.

“You can imagine if we have undercounts or if we have people counted in the wrong place,” Jarosz said. “Then their political power or their political representation gets diluted.”

Immigrants of every status have historically been counted

Historically, the decennial census has not sought to conduct a full count of people by citizenship status, she added. It may come up in the Census’ periodic American Community Survey.

Getting an accurate count of immigrants of various statuses is useful when assigning resources for public health emergencies or natural or man-made disasters.

“If you don’t have a count of everyone who’s there, you’re not going to have the resources you need,” Jarosz said. “And that puts everybody at risk.”

Why race and ethnicity census data matters

Race-related questions have been on the once-a-decade census since 1790. Starting in 2000, the US census began allowing people to identify by more than one race. A 2015 Pew Research Center study found that multiracial people in the US were growing at a rate three times faster than the general population. By 2020, 33.8 million people in the US identified as being more than one race, according to the census.

Race and ethnicity data is essential for researchers who gauge discrimination, crime rates and wealth gaps in communities of color.

Collecting data for the 2030 Census with all these missing elements would be detrimental, Jarosz said.

“These changes are like trying to land an airplane when you are in thick fog and someone has thrown paint across the front window and your instruments are also not working,” she said.

Thousands of Salvadoran immigrants nationwide faced uncertainty after the federal government failed to decide by a Wednesday deadline whether to extend or terminate their longtime temporary protections against deportation.

Those protections, known as Temporary Protected Status or TPS, allow immigrants to obtain work permits and by Thursday some Salvadorans had already been fired from their jobs. Others who had been let go were reinstated after the Trump administration clarified that an announcement on TPS for Salvadorans would come “at the appropriate time” and that they would retain work authorization in the meantime.

Employers also expressed uncertainty about whether the statement was enough to legally keep Salvadoran employees on their payroll. Those who lost their jobs worked across the U.S. in construction, at hotels and as janitors.

Some took the announcement that work authorizations remained in place — made late Wednesday by U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services — as a cause for hope, while others saw it as prolonged mental torture. There are 170,000 Salvadoran TPS holders, including 36,000 living in California.

Asked for further guidance on Thursday, Homeland Security sent a link to the USCIS website.

Advocates with the National TPS Alliance distributed a letter including the administration’s announcement for TPS holders to share with their employers and stating that “any decision to terminate could not take effect for a minimum of 60 days.” The letter seemed to help, as advocates reported that some fired employees had been able to return to work.

Not everyone was reinstated. Jose Ramirez reported to his construction job in Santa Monica for the last time on Wednesday.

The 63-year-old had been legally working in the U.S. since 2001, when TPS was first extended to Salvadoran immigrants.

Jose Ramirez, a TPS holder from El Salvador, speaks during a news conference in Los Angeles on Thursday.

(Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)

He had been in the country for six years before that, and constantly struggled to find stable work. The work permit was a lifeline. He’d dedicated the last 25 years to construction, during which he fathered three daughters and set roots in Compton.

Still, his boss said Ramirez could no longer present for work Thursday.

“I’ve worked on buildings that reach the skies of Los Angeles,” Ramirez said. “I’ve contributed economically and lent my labor to this great country.”

Ramirez’s boss said his job would be available to him, but he’d need to show proof of an active work permit. A notice or a letter is not enough, Ramirez said.

The USCIS announcement was “a ray of hope that they will give us an extension,” Ramirez said. “But, it’s just not certain. Anything can happen. We’re just praying to God that the government will make it official.”

Signs at a news conference to provide an update on the status of TPS designation for Salvadoran immigrants.

(Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)

Ending TPS would be a shock to El Salvador’s economy, where remittances from Salvadorans in the U.S. make up nearly a quarter of the nation’s GDP — nearly $10 billion last year. In 2019, President Nayib Bukele, an ally of President Trump, publicly called on the U.S. to extend TPS for Salvadoran immigrants.

More recently, Bukele has embraced Trump’s deportation agenda, including by accepting controversial deals to house foreign detainees in the country’s mega-prison. The number of people deported to El Salvador nearly doubled in the first three months of 2026.

The decision by the Department of Homeland Security to extend or terminate TPS typically has been made at least 60 days before the designation was set to expire. DHS can extend the program for a six, 12 or 18-month period or decide to cancel the designation.

But the Trump administration has delayed announcements, including some made days after the designation expired. A Supreme Court ruling in June determined that the Homeland Security secretary has final authority over the program and cut down the ability for advocates to sue.

Lauren Truslow, CEO of 3D Enviro, a Virginia company that does identification and abatement of hazardous materials, said the lack of a decision on TPS has been stressful and costly. Three of her 30 employees are TPS holders from El Salvador. Another, who is married to a Salvadoran TPS holder, told her his family plans to leave the country if the program is canceled.

3D Enviro is a federal contractor, and Truslow said that her employees’ driver’s licenses and federal badges expired on Wednesday.

“How do they continue to work for me?” she said. “No one seems to know the answer to that. They can’t get into federal facilities without valid ID. Them showing a memo from USCIS is not going to cut it.”

During a news conference organized on Thursday by the Central American Resource Center of Los Angeles, other immigrant rights groups and local elected officials, speakers urged TPS holders to form a plan for their families and schedule a legal consultation with a trusted lawyer. They also called on the administration to issue a decision on TPS for El Salvador and a pathway to permanent legal status.

“Salvadoran families deserve clear, timely and trustworthy information from the government,” said Martha Arévalo, CARECEN’s executive director. “As we gather this morning, we don’t have an extension for TPS. … What we have is another waiting game and a renewed limbo for families.”

“We are going to fight this,” vowed Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass.

In a statement, Sen. Alex Padilla (D-Calif.) called the USCIS announcement “clear as mud.”

“Once again, the Trump Administration is punishing immigrants who have followed the rules with chaos, uncertainty, and cruelty,” he wrote.

Also in attendance at the news conference was Carmen Sanchez, 49, who works the night janitorial shift cleaning offices in Los Angeles. She said many of her co-workers who were also protected under TPS were told not to return to work after Wednesday.

Sanchez planned to report to work Thursday evening, but was sure she’d suffer the same fate. She said she has three adult children in El Salvador and is helping two of them pay for college.

“If we lose our work permit, we lose our job. We lose our stability. We lose everything,” Sanchez said. “We’re being kept on this thread of extensions, and we don’t know when that thread is going to break.”