In February, I visited Minerva García, an undocumented immigrant originally from Mexico who has quietly lived and worked in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, for almost twenty years. She is the mother of two young children who are US citizens and an older child who is a recipient of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA). In April 2017, García went for her regular check-in with Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), the federal agency charged with enforcing immigration law, as she had been doing for years. Usually it’s been a routine visit, but this time—her first appointment since Donald Trump was elected president—she was told she had thirty days to leave the country and would have to purchase her own bus ticket back to Mexico.

Called “silent raids” by advocates, this useof regularly scheduled immigration check-ins to threaten with detainment and deportation undocumented immigrants who have deep ties to the United States and no criminal records has become a favorite tactic of ICE under the Trump administration. To avoid deportation, García sought sanctuary in a church in Greensboro, where she stayed for ninety-six days. She was there when President Trump rescinded DACA, the federal program that offered some undocumented youth work authorization and protection from deportation. Thankfully, her son Eduardo had renewed his DACA just beforehand. At the time, when asked about the prospect of DACA ending for good, Eduardo said he was “hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst.” (A federal judge recently ruled that DACA must be reinstated, after a ninety-day delay.)

As for García, she