USA: Catalina, 23 years old, self-assuredly goes to her job as a child caregiver, receiving a reasonable wage for work she loves. On the other hand, her mother, a settler from Peru with no proper papers, has the same job and works the same hours, yet has spent the last three decades lurking in the shadows, receiving a lower salary and taking on more risks. “I’ve done very well because I was born here,” Catalina was quoted as saying in a recent CNN report. “The pay is very good when you speak Spanish, but my mom doesn’t get the same.”
Catalina’s name was changed to protect her family, especially her mother, who had considered returning to Peru when Obama was still president. Heartened by the decrease in interior extraditions and comforted by her community, she remained in the U.S. Nonetheless, the Trump era ushered in a different kind of distress—one that remains. Catalina now has legal papers that name her as custodian of her younger siblings should her mother be imprisoned. “It’s awful to think about, but she feels prepared,” Catalina says.
An essential workforce in crisis
Childcare in the U.S. is at a snapping point—and refugees, like Catalina’s mom, are indispensable to keep it going. “Immigrant workers are critical to keeping that system running,” says Wendy Cervantes, director of Immigration and Immigrant Families at the Center for Law and Social Policy (CLASP).
According to data from the National Women’s Law Center, 20% of early childhood instructors are migrants. Many are women working without incentives or bonuses, with no job security, and often without basic labour protections. Catalina’s mother is among the many who are in this situation. “She gets paid in cash or by check, but no benefits. Nothing,” Catalina said. Until now, she continues to work, making both ends meet for her family and paying her duties despite having no proper access to the structure she helps thrive.
Fear on the school run
For Catalina’s mother, even picking up the children she looks after can be frightening. Since the Trump government revoked protections that once nominated schools and other sites as “sensitive locations” off-limits to immigration prosecution, the dread of being arrested keeps nagging at her. “She hides in the car when she sees police officers,” Catalina said. “Sometimes I meet her there so she feels safer.”
The absence or lack of policies that once provided slight protection now leaves caregivers without legal status, extremely vulnerable. “There’s no prioritization anymore,” says Cervantes. “Everyone without status is a target.” Without regulations and monitoring, even long-time residents who contribute to the community can be taken by enforcers.
The silent cost of deportation
Catalina dreams of building a home for her mother in Peru, a place of refuge, should the need ever arise. “Here, my mom has no one,” she says. “But she says, ‘My daughter will be left alone,’ and that frightens her too.” The emotional and logistical burden of parting from each other weighs heavily on families like theirs.
In the meantime, the political push for extended extradition controls could undermine the nation’s delicate childcare system. “If we lose immigrant workers, especially those who care for our children, we will all suffer,” Cervantes warns. The unseen toil of non-status caregivers sustains not just individual families but also props up the larger economy. Without them, working parents across the country would struggle to keep going.
Catalina’s mother is more than just a babysitter; she’s a huge chunk of an imperceptible system that keeps America running. Her story serves as a poignant reminder of how vital yet vulnerable this labor force truly is.