HOPKINS, Minn. — Every Sunday, Johann Teran attends a Lutheran church service in suburban Minneapolis, seeking solace and hope that the future he envisioned is not completely falling apart.
Like many Venezuelans suffering from political and economic turmoil, Teran and his wife, along with her mother, sought various humanitarian protections in the United States. However, those protections have been restricted or are on the verge of being eliminated, particularly under policies set during the Trump administration.
“I feel like they are saying, ‘Go back; we don’t want you here,’ even when I was initially given a chance to stay,” Teran expressed. “We feel hopeless, just trying to find some optimism, and that’s why I’m attending church more often — to search for that hope I need.”
The 27-year-old lawyer came to Minnesota eight months ago through a humanitarian parole initiative established by the Biden administration in 2022. This program offered two-year visas to 500,000 individuals from countries such as Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua, and Venezuela — nations identified by the U.S. as having unstable or oppressive regimes, provided they had sponsors and cleared background checks.
His wife, Karelia, 29, was still awaiting her approval when the new administration terminated the program, leaving her stranded in Venezuela without a legal avenue to America. Meanwhile, her mother, Marlenia Padron, was granted temporary protected status (TPS) in 2023, but that protection is set to end for countless Venezuelans, including her, by early April. Consequently, hundreds of thousands more Venezuelans and Haitians will also lose TPS later in the year. Lawsuits aimed at reversing these decisions for Venezuelans were filed earlier this week.
As Padron prepared dinner in their modest apartment, adorned with photographs of distant family members and Virgin Mary figurines, she reflected on President Trump’s frustration with Venezuelans who reportedly committed crimes in the U.S. and the tight policies that followed. “But now with TPS gone, we are all affected,” Padron explained in Spanish. “I fear for the future of many peaceful people here. I’m earning a living, paying my taxes, and hoping to buy a house, but those dreams now seem impossible.”
The 53-year-old Padron’s troubles began amid the intense economic decline in Venezuela. While working as an attorney at a local government office in Puerto La Cruz, she faced kidnapping for ransom, false political charges, and invasive surveillance, all while witnessing her income erode due to hyperinflation, with basic necessities like water, electricity, and medicine becoming scarce.
“The kidnapping was the turning point for me,” she detailed, recalling how she was seized from a shopping mall and held for three days amid physical abuse and accusations of disloyalty for challenging corruption.
“Nobody can argue that Venezuela provides stability and respects human rights. Hence, the exodus will continue,” asserted Karen Musalo, a lawyer and professor who directs the Center for Gender & Refugee Studies at the University of California College of Law, San Francisco. She noted that under the Biden administration, the U.S. was responsive to the fleeing individuals through humanitarian measures.
Musalo pointed out that a significant number of the approximately 8 million Venezuelans who fled in recent years migrated to other Latin American countries, contributing to a broader regional crisis.
Padron initially went to Colombia, crossing through a river frequented by armed gangs. Concerned about safety, she continued her journey to Mexico, crossed into the U.S., and requested asylum — a lengthy and complex process.
Once the special TPS initiative initiated, she applied, obtained a work permit, and secured employment at a printing firm, finally feeling some safety in Minnesota, free from constant threats and scarcity.
“I return home to prepare meals for the next day and can eat out whenever I wish. My quality of life has significantly improved; I’m not waiting in line for gas all day,” she said, describing her new lifestyle. Upon her arrival during the fall of 2021, she was astounded by the bare trees, and though adapting to the harsh winters has been challenging, she finds tranquility in the snow.
“Sometimes when it snows a lot, I leave my shoes outside, and when I check to see if they are gone, there they are! Back in Venezuela, I’d never get away with that; my shoes would be stolen,” Padron chuckled.
Currently, her daughter cannot join the family, and Padron grapples with uncertainty regarding her own fate. Even her father in Venezuela pressures her with inquiries about deportation. However, she firmly believes she cannot return due to imminent danger to her life.
As a devout Catholic, she dreams that if she remains in the U.S., she will secure a larger home with an altar for the two statuettes—one honoring the Virgin Del Valle from her hometown and the other representing La Virgen de la Caridad, cherished by Cubans.
In the meantime, she has started attending Tapestry Church, a Lutheran congregation where lifelong members and Latin American newcomers worship in both Spanish and English. In 2023, the church sought sponsorships for 38 Venezuelans in need of humanitarian parole, but those applications were never processed. Despite widespread anxiety, the church continues to support its members.
“We strongly believe that we’re more resilient together,” said Rev. Melissa Melnick Gonzalez, pastor at Tapestry. Teran, who now works as a paralegal, has been volunteering with church members to assist others with their immigration paperwork.
“Everyone is anxious and hesitant to step outside. The Venezuelan community is largely confined to their homes; we feel like we’re all viewed as criminals,” he said. He hopes to acquire a work visa that would keep him from returning to Venezuela, which would also enable his wife, who is an orthodontist, to escape a nation where even young professionals like them struggle to survive and face violent repression against dissenters.
With a background in democratic studies from law school, Teran aims to practice law in the U.S., where he sees “no impunity.” “But unfortunately, the hope of that dream feels increasingly elusive due to the changes initiated by Trump,” he lamented.
On a recent evening, while Padron prepared arepas, Teran video-called his wife and reached out to the screen as she revealed their two sleeping Schnauzers, Hoddy and Honey. He had initially thought Karelia’s humanitarian parole would be approved quickly and even moved into a pet-friendly apartment; now everything feels uncertain.
“I don’t see a viable future for us right now; there’s nothing I can do to bring her here,” Teran shared, expressing his frustration. “I don’t comprehend why I was allowed entry legally and now feel treated as if I am here unlawfully.”
