Maynebel Quevedo doesn’t want to be stereotyped as a lawbreaker just because he’s Venezuelan.
And he’s adamant that he shouldn’t be lumped in with migrants “that did bad” — a worry that reflects the impact of the rhetoric used by President-elect Donald Trump, who often focuses on the crimes committed by a small minority of the people who have crossed the American border. Quevedo, a 28-year-old who lives in Denver, applied for asylum after arriving in the U.S. in August 2023.
He doesn’t have a criminal record, but he’s worried about Trump’s threats of mass deportations once he returns to the White House.
“Some of us are here to do good,” he said in Spanish in a recent interview, “and I would like to have an opportunity.”
He is among immigrants who are weighing their options as they wait for the enactment of the new administration’s policies after Trump takes office for a second time on Jan. 20. They’re considering how those changes might affect their lives and their ability to remain in the United States.
Denver-area immigration advocacy groups and attorneys say they have heard from distressed migrants — predominantly recent arrivals — who are considering turning themselves in to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, voluntarily leaving the country or even taking their chances by seeking asylum in Canada.
“To know that people are wanting to self-deport or looking for a way to go back, that speaks to the urgency of how much their needs are not met,” said Andrea Loya, the executive director of Aurora’s Casa De Paz, which visits immigrants at the city’s ICE detention center and provides assistance upon their release.
For now, immigrants who lack legal status in the Denver area are rushing to apply for asylum, work permits, family petitions or citizenship in the hopes of protecting themselves from any initial deportation orders.
“Now, there’s this belief that, if you get something filed before Jan. 21, you might be OK,” said Ashley Cuber, an attorney and the founder of El Refugio Immigration Law in Aurora.
It’s unclear if that’s the case. Depending on the legal route, circumstances for immigrants differ. A noncitizen can receive an employment authorization document that lets them work for a certain amount of time. An asylum-seeker may be able to stay in the U.S. and receive permission to work while their case is pending, which requires them to show up for interviews. But a person who lacks any legal status might have entered the U.S. without inspection or overstayed their visa, so they officially cannot be employed.
However, some resettled Venezuelans expressed positive views about the incoming president — painting him as the opposite of their country’s socialist leader, Nicolás Maduro — in spite of Trump’s proposed mass deportations of immigrants without legal status.
Congress, now with Republican majorities in both chambers, is taking steps to tighten the U.S. immigration system, with the House of Representatives passing a measure last week that would target more immigrants lacking legal status for detainment if they are arrested for nonviolent crimes like burglary and shoplifting.
“We will put these vicious and bloodthirsty criminals in jail or kick them out of our country,” Trump said at his October rally in Aurora, where he seized on reports of Venezuelan gang activity there and declared he’d launch “Operation Aurora.” “And we will be very, very effective in doing it. It’s going to happen very, very fast.”
But in Denver, a city with policies that protect immigrants, leaders have indicated that they’re largely opposed to Trump’s plans. Mayor Mike Johnston asserted in November that he would push back against Trump’s deportation orders — a controversial declaration that made national headlines after he told local news outlet Denverite that a “Tiananmen Square moment” could take place if residents joined together to defy the federal government.
The city hosted more than 40,000 migrants who traveled from the southern U.S. border to Colorado at some point over the last two years, but new arrivals have slowed so much that the city closed its last migrant shelter in December.
“It is vitally important that all Denverites — whether they recently arrived or otherwise — know that our values have not changed, and that we remain committed to supporting our residents,” city spokesperson Jon Ewing wrote in a statement to The Denver Post.
In his recent State of the State address, Gov. Jared Polis backed Trump’s plans to “secure the border, stop human trafficking, and stop the flow of guns and drugs,” but he opposed any attempts to deport Americans, separate families or target people on “pending legal status” who aren’t criminals.
Councilwoman Jamie Torres represents immigrant and refugee communities in neighborhoods including Sun Valley and Westwood. She highlighted examples from 2017 that show the city “has the right legislation in place”: Executive Order 142, which established pro-immigrant stances in the city’s policies, and the Public Safety Enforcement Priorities Act — an ordinance that bars the use of city funds and resources to help enforce federal immigration laws, in most cases. The state places other limits on local cooperation.
To Torres, the absence of immigrants would be acutely felt in Denver.
“These residents are teachers, small business owners, students, parents, and they are part of every labor sector,” she wrote in an email. “If we lose immigrants, we cannot survive economically.”
Migrants, immigrants assess options
But some immigrants are consulting a local organization to figure out how to leave.
Last month, Casa De Paz received a call from a Venezuelan man in Denver requesting a plane ticket to Colombia, the nearest country to his motherland with a direct U.S. flight. That’s a switch-up from the norm for Loya, who works with migrants who have made long journeys to seek asylum at the U.S. border in hopes of making it their permanent home.
But recently, Loya said, “we’ve seen … an increase in calls from people wanting to leave the country.”
Often, the callers — largely undocumented immigrants from South America who entered the U.S. within the last two years — are unemployed and lack adequate resources like shelter and money, she said.
Some are looking for direction on how to turn themselves in to ICE and get deported or are seeking help to return to their home countries. Still others want to cement their status by becoming Americans.
Alberto Bejarano, 48, is eager to earn his U.S. citizenship. Originally from Maracaibo, Venezuela, he’s resided in Denver since March 2018.
“This is my home,” he said.
In Venezuela, his father, a retired doctor, was murdered in 2007. Ten years later, Bejarano protested the government, then flew to the U.S. to escape political persecution as an outspoken opponent of the Maduro regime.
Although Bejarano applied for asylum seven years ago, his case is still pending — a lag he attributes to a systemic bottleneck caused by applicants filing what he perceives as false claims.
“I’m an immigrant, but I did it the right way,” he said. Most of his family also left Venezuela for the U.S., Canada and Spain.
“People are abusing the system” by applying under illegitimate circumstances, he suggested. “That affects people that are actually being persecuted and need that protection because, now, it takes forever.”
Bejarano worked as an apartment service manager for four years before his work permit expired. He reapplied but has waited five months for the renewal, losing his job as a result. He is making money as a handyman in the meantime.
He supports Trump, including his proposed mass deportations. For him, the idea that some Venezuelans want to self-deport set off alarm bells.
“If you’re escaping your country because you believe you’re in danger, why now (do) you want to return?” Bejarano said. “Asylum is for people who (are) being personally persecuted by their government over political, sexual, racial issues — not because your country is in bad shape or you have a bad economical situation.”
Returning “could mean death for some of these people”
At El Refugio Immigration Law, Cuber has received more inquiries since the Nov. 5 election, particularly from people who have resided in the U.S. long term but still don’t have permanent legal status.
Many of her clients are Venezuelans who entered the U.S. within the last year, and the majority have applied for asylum. Her South American clients want to avoid being deported to Venezuela or Colombia.
“That could mean death for some of these people,” Cuber said.
She said that though there’s often an economic element tied to most migration from Latin America, it usually occurs in conjunction with oppression by gangs, cartels or the government, adding: “There are still atrocities happening in Venezuela.”
Migrants in the Denver area are approaching her to figure out pathways to citizenship, though the price tag and language gaps can be prohibitive. An immigration lawyer costs between $1,000 and $5,000, or even more, to help file citizenship paperwork, and the general filing fee for the naturalization application is over $700, Cuber said.
Citizenship can be earned after living in the U.S. for three to five years under permanent legal status, but applicants do not need to have received asylum.
Other clients are asking her if they should try their luck farther north.
“That’s something I’ve been hearing a lot of, actually — the questions of, ‘Should I just try to go to Canada?’ ” Cuber said. “I have to explain that Canadian immigration policies can be even harsher to asylum seekers than U.S. ones.”
She points to Trump’s recent public support of the H-1B visa program as a sign that his immigration policies are in flux. The program allows American employers in industries like engineering and technology to hire qualified workers from other countries.
“As I’ve been telling my clients, we don’t quite know what it’s going to look like,” Cuber said. “We’re going to wait and see what happens.”
She estimates that immigrants with criminal histories or active deportation orders, along with those on probation or already in detention, “are gonna be the easiest targets.”
Quevedo wants to be among the migrants allowed to stay. A native of Caracas, Venezuela, he’s marched against its government and opposed its ideologies — so “I would have a lot of fear going back to my country,” he said through a translator. Quevedo also has concerns about how he would protect his family.
“Simply thinking or talking contrary to your government,” he said, “they will mess with your life and your family.”
He considers Trump a leader who emphasizes economic growth, along with law and order. But Quevedo understands that the incoming president influences who could be deported.
Quevedo hopes that he, his wife and their child can remain in the U.S. to access its quality education and rights. “The most important part of this country: the human rights,” he said.
Preparing for the future
Local organizations, including the Colorado Immigrant Rights Coalition and Refugees + Immigrants United, are urging immigrants to plan ahead.
CIRC is the state’s largest immigrant rights advocacy group. Co-executive director Gladis Ibarra is fielding more requests for “Know Your Rights”-style training sessions from community members, employers, healthcare facilities and schools.
“Everyone is interested in how they can either provide support for the families that they serve or also adjust their policies to ensure that, within their space, there are protections,” Ibarra said.
Her group hosts monthly workshops, predominantly catering to immigrants who are eligible to become citizens. During Trump’s first term, there was a spike in participation.
“We did see an increase of people that were eager to apply for their citizenship,” Ibarra said, “because he had threatened to revoke green cards or lawful permanent residency for a lot of people.”
She said that, compared to Trump’s first term, “this time around, he has more power and less room for accountability,” with a Republican-controlled Congress and a conservative-leaning U.S. Supreme Court.
She also worries about the potential for ICE officers who carry out Trump’s policies to engage in racial profiling. CIRC has already seen a rise in hate calls and hate mail sent to its office, she said.
With Trump’s plans still unclear, Mayra Regalado, who is from Calabozo, Venezuela, is trying to prepare for the future. She’s lived in north Denver with her son and her partner since December 2023.
Regalado, 32, was feeling “nervous, a little bit nervous — anxious to see how to take action,” she said in Spanish in an interview.
As of Jan. 3, Regalado had filed her asylum claim and was waiting for her work authorization. Instead of picking up work as a house cleaner, she wants to start her own business.
But Trump’s campaign promises loom. On one hand, Regalado is hopeful that his administration will boost the economy and job market. On the other, she’s worried about his plans for immigrants like her.
“They say that they’re going to do mass deportations. Well, (immigrants) have fear,” she said.
Nga Vương-Sandoval, the executive director and founder of Colorado nonprofit Refugees + Immigrants United, emphasized in an interview that seeking asylum is a legal right.
“You cannot do it in your home country,” she said. “You have to actually physically be in the country that you’re requesting asylum from.”
Vương-Sandoval has experience with the system’s intricacies: She’s a refugee from Vietnam.
For now, people are continuing to arrive in the U.S. from Somalia, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Myanmar and Ukraine, Vương-Sandoval said. She identified the immediate needs among the wider immigrant community as legal resources, English classes and education around navigating the U.S. government.
To Colorado’s immigrants, in the new year, she advises them to be forward-thinking — “to not wait to see what happens,” Vương-Sandoval said.
But “to be honest, everyone already has been preparing for some time now,” she said. “It would be naive not to prepare for such an outcome that would impact so many lives.”