Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents detain a man after conducting a raid at the Cedar Run apartment complex, in Denver, Colo., on Feb. 5.Kevin Mohatt/Reuters
The small patches of ground where migrants have gathered on the edges of Home Depot stores in the greater Denver area have always been difficult places to find work. Men come here seeking odd jobs from customers passing by – painting, moving furniture, shovelling snow – in hopes of earning enough to feed themselves and perhaps send money to family still in distant countries.
They wait on these slivers of unoccupied space, wedges of grass or landscape stone that mark the only places they can stand between local roads and the privately held store parking lots where they are not welcome.
Standing there means growing comfortable with being exposed, especially to the elements, with little shelter against the winter winds.
But Donald Trump’s return to the White House has brought a perilous new form of exposure: At any moment, agents from Immigration and Customs Enforcement could swoop in.
Thousands of migrants have been arrested across the United States in the weeks since Mr. Trump’s inauguration. Many more have gone into hiding, leaving church pews empty, workplaces vacant and grocery stores with fewer customers. In Denver, public schools reported a significant decrease in attendance last week after a high-profile migrant raid.
Yet every day, people from Venezuela, Mexico and Nicaragua continue to make their way to Denver’s Home Depots, where places that have offered opportunity now stand as emblems of determination – and vulnerability.
“There are many people just like me who live day to day,” says Junior, a Venezuelan man who is out nearly every day. “If we lock ourselves inside, we do not eat.”
More than 40,000 migrants have come to Denver since 2022. Authorities, like any city resident, know some gather at the Home Depots.
They could “arrive at the most unexpected moment,” says Junior, who does not possess immigration papers. The Globe and Mail is not publishing his full name, or those of other migrants interviewed for this story, because they fear deportation.
The Denver area has been one of Mr. Trump’s most pressing aims in his bid to deport migrants.
In an October campaign stop, he warned Coloradans about what he called “an army of illegal alien gang members and migrant criminals from the dungeons of the third world,” who had been “resettled beautifully into your community to prey upon innocent American citizens.”
The White House has made clear it will treat anyone who crossed the border illegally as a criminal. In neighbourhoods across the country, federal agents are raiding homes, churches and businesses. They have warned they are prepared to seize migrants from hospitals, schools and even school buses.
The aim is to “get as many criminals as possible,” Tom Homan, Mr. Trump’s border czar, told NBC News.
For migrants, authorities are not the only worry. They also fear the forces unleashed by Mr. Trump, who won re-election in part by placing blame on migrants for a raft of U.S. social and economic problems.
”I sometimes think he is crazy, because he is creating hatred amongst us,” says Kendry, a 37-year-old from Caracas who arrived a year ago.
“The fear is that a xenophobe will come, a person who doesn’t like that we are here,” he says.
Kendry once hoped that his wife and children could join him. Now, his ambition is merely to remain in the U.S. himself. He has already sent home US$4,000, and comes to Home Depot with a small satchel slung across his shoulder. Inside, he keeps documentation proving he has applied for asylum.
“I’m not illegal,” he says, “because I have immigration papers.”
But Mr. Trump has moved quickly to pare back promised protections. His administration halted a humanitarian parole program for people from Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua and Venezuela, creating legal limbo for hundreds of thousands already in the U.S.
ICE to use U.S. military base in Colorado to detain migrants
Allowing Venezuelans to remain is “contrary to the national interest,” the Department of Homeland Security ruled earlier this month, citing the presence of Venezuelan gang members on U.S. soil. Last week, authorities conducted a raid in the Denver area against what they said were more than 100 members of the Tren de Aragua gang; they confirmed one gang-related arrest.
Mr. Trump has blamed the policies of Joe Biden, who was president when millions entered the U.S. without authorization. Many believed they could find a way to stay. Mr. Trump is upending those hopes, partnering with local law enforcement to assist in rounding up people for deportation and empowering federal agents to assist in immigration enforcement.
Among those who have arrived from Venezuela is Jesus, 26. He came to Colorado in 2023, propelled by sorrow and ambition after his wife died of cancer. The family did not have enough money to pay for treatment. The U.S. offered the possibility of a more prosperous future.
He now spends many of his days at a local Home Depot, jogging to any open car window in hopes someone needs help with painting or a construction project.
Jesus stands out because he has learned enough English to hold a fluent conversation.
It has, of late, been little help. Before Mr. Trump’s inauguration, he might have secured a day or two of employment each week. But since Jan. 20, “there is no more work.” A few weeks ago, a stranger yelled at him to go back to his country, calling him “Black stupid trash.”
The threat of deportation has grown real. A friend was arrested in California while waiting at a gas station to be picked up for work, he said.
Still, Jesus keeps coming to Home Depot. As he waits, he contemplates what to do if authorities come for him, too.
“The only thing we can do is run away while we can and hide. All in order to stay here in the United States of America,” he says. “We can’t do anything else.“