As her 4-year-old son licks a lime green popsicle at the kitchen table, Maria quietly defends her family.
“We’re not bad people,” she says. “We just want a better future for our children.”
Like many immigrant families in Texas’s Rio Grande Valley, Maria and her neighbors are living in fear. With federal agents expanding immigration enforcement under the Trump administration, longtime residents—many with deep roots in their communities—are now too scared to leave their homes, even for critical medical care.
Medical Risks Collide with Deportation Fears
Juanita, a 41-year-old mother and legal U.S. resident for over two decades, skipped a recent pharmacy visit after her husband warned that immigration officers were spotted in the parking lot. She’s prediabetic and has a 17-year-old daughter with Down syndrome.
“If I get caught, who’s going to help my daughter?” she asked, speaking in Spanish through an interpreter.
Many immigrants across the Valley—especially those in the colonias, low-income neighborhoods often lacking running water or electricity—are skipping doctor visits, ignoring prescriptions, and avoiding hospitals out of fear that they’ll be detained.
“These were already hard-hit communities. Now they’re disappearing from the health system,” said Sandra de la Cruz-Yarrison, director of Holy Family Services, a clinic in Weslaco.
Health Crisis Worsens in a Medically Vulnerable Region
The Rio Grande Valley is one of the nation’s poorest regions, plagued by high rates of obesity, diabetes, dementia, and aggressive cancers. Nearly a third of residents are uninsured, and poverty is double the national average.
Dr. Stanley Fisch, who helped open Driscoll Children’s Hospital nearby, warns the situation is turning dangerous. “We’re seeing people go longer without care—this will lead to more complications and more suffering.”
Visits to mobile clinics that once brought care directly to colonia residents have stopped. Even permanent residents are now reluctant to access Medicaid or health services, fearing the government will use personal data to track and deport family members. That fear is not unfounded: a recent AP investigation revealed that Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) has access to data from Medicaid and the Children’s Health Insurance Program, including names and addresses.
Communities Frozen in Fear
People across the Valley say they didn’t expect mass raids to target their own neighborhoods, even after backing Trump in the 2024 election. But recent weeks have seen workers escorted from restaurants mid-shift, children separated from parents, and dozens arrested at local flea markets.
Maria, who volunteers at a food bank but no longer sells clothing at the market, says her 16-year-old daughter has missed her mental health checkups out of fear.
“She says she’s OK,” Maria says, “but she doesn’t want to go outside anymore.”
Even legal residents like Maria Isabel de Perez are affected. Her adult son delayed going to the hospital despite severe stomach pain. Only after his appendix burst did he seek treatment—too late to avoid emergency surgery.
A Future in Limbo
Many here are torn between medical need and the risk of being discovered. Elvia, a legal resident who learned she was prediabetic during a routine finger prick at a clinic, refused to share her address or sign up for Medicaid. Some in her household lack legal status.
“Even families I know who used to get Medicaid for their U.S.-born children have stopped,” said Elizabeth Reta, a billing coordinator at the clinic.
And yet, residents try to maintain hope. Juanita, the mother afraid to fill her prescriptions, holds tight to her faith.
With a cross around her neck, she says she prays before leaving the house.
Her teenage son, Jose, puts it simply: “We always pray before we leave.”
