“People are still in shock,” said one local advocate, describing the emotions felt by some immigrants following Trump’s re-election
Randu has lived in Merced for most of his life, and thus doesn’t have many early childhood memories of Mexico, the country of his birth.
He arrived in the Gateway to Yosemite as a 7-year-old when his family seized an opportunity to manage a small restaurant.
Using their travel visas, they crossed the border legally from Ciudad Juarez to El Paso, intending only to stay briefly.
But as the months went by, Randu’s parents made a life-altering decision — they decided to stay.
“It was like we were on vacation,” he said, recalling the memory with a faint smile. “Then, halfway through, my parents said, ‘Hey, we’ve been here for two months. Do you guys just want to call this home now?’”
With that choice, they settled into Merced, starting a new chapter with a mix of hope and uncertainty.
People like Randu, now 24, who have spent most of their lives in the U.S. and consider it home, are now feeling a renewed wave of anxiety as President-elect Donald Trump prepares to take office again.
The Merced FOCUS is identifying Randu only by his first name, due to his status as an undocumented immigrant.
For many undocumented individuals like Randu, the prospect of mass deportations and intensified immigration policies is reigniting fears they hoped had been left in the past.
Their livelihoods and the communities they’ve built now feel uncertain, as they brace for what could be another chapter of heightened scrutiny and challenges.
Those fears became elevated this week, as Trump on Monday said he would declare a national emergency and use the military to put his plan of mass deportations of immigrants into effect.
Economic implications for the Valley
Claudia Gabriela Corchado, executive director of Cultiva Central Valley, emphasized the crucial contributions of undocumented farmworkers to the Valley’s economy, explaining the potential ripple effects if mass deportations were implemented.
“We think about our farmworker community,” she said. “We need workers that do the hardest work there is… growing our healthiest food in the world. What would our economy look like if he, quote, unquote, deported illegal immigrants?”
Corchado highlighted the impact these policies could have on both the local economy and on undocumented workers who, despite their essential contributions, live in constant uncertainty.
“(Mass deportations) are going to hurt our economy first and foremost,” she said. “Our people that come to this country don’t come… by choice. I wouldn’t want to leave the country that I was born in. Violence leads us to other paths.”
Ana Padilla, executive director of the UC Merced Community and Labor Center, said that Merced County has the third-highest rate of non-citizen residents in California, at 16.9%. This figure includes both undocumented individuals and those with legal residency.
“Non-citizen residents doesn’t necessarily mean undocumented people,” Padilla said. “It could mean folks who have green cards. But typically, in counties with high rates of non-citizen residents, there are a lot of undocumented people.”
Padilla further highlighted challenges faced by the region’s immigrant population.
“The naturalization rate among Central Valley immigrants is around 45%, which is the second to last among the state’s 10 regions,” she said. “And undocumented workers currently don’t have the same access to rights that other workers do.”
Padilla also pointed out Merced County’s significant reliance on farm labor, with some regions of the county having among the highest concentrations of agricultural workers in the state.
“In Merced County, 11.4% of workers in the northeast are farmworkers,” Padilla said. “In the west and south, including cities like Los Banos and Livingston, the rate is even higher at 13.4%.”
In certain communities, the percentage of farmworkers is even greater, reflecting the area’s dependence on agricultural labor.
“We know that the majority of farmworkers in California are undocumented,” she said.
While the center has not conducted a specific study on the economic impacts of mass deportations, Padilla said their data allows for some assumptions.
“The largest deportation proposal would have far-reaching implications,” she explained. “It would upend the lives of the majority of agricultural workers in Merced County, sending ripple effects through the local economy and beyond, touching every table in the country.”
Living in constant fear
Corchado, who largely works with farmworker communities, has already seen the impact of Trump’s re-election on the community.
“I think people are still in shock … that he was reelected,” she said. “His immigration policies and those threats of immigration and deportation have people on their toes and have people with high anxiety and fear again.”
For Corchado, the fears aren’t unfounded. During Trump’s previous term, policies and rhetoric targeting undocumented migrants brought immense hardship and anxiety to migrant communities.
She recalls how these years felt like blanket permission for discriminatory behavior.
“What came out of his four years in office was almost permission to be racist, to be sexist, to discriminate, to be just evil,” she said, reflecting on a period that many in her community felt was defined by tension and hostility. “It gave people permission to just hurt people, to hurt others.”
Randu’s story of resilience
For Randu, the U.S. quickly became home after moving here with his family. He finished second grade and began third in Merced, adjusting to a new culture and learning a new language.
Academically, he excelled, particularly in math. “Math was fairly easy when I got here,” he recalled, “but other than that, everything was a bit lost.”
Growing up, Randu and his mother, who also remained undocumented, learned to navigate the complexities and limitations of their status.
His father, a green card holder, drove trucks across the U.S.-Mexico border, but today, it’s Randu who bears the weight of uncertainty for the family.
“You start losing hope little by little,” he said. “I went to school, worked hard, got my degree in criminal justice… only to find out that most places won’t hire you because you’re undocumented.”
Randu graduated from college with a 3.9 grade point average and made the dean’s list, yet doors remained shut to him.
After college, with limited options, Randu took up construction work — a physically demanding job far from his academic aspirations.
“It was a pain to wake up and do construction, knowing I had a bachelor’s degree on my wall,” he admitted. “My parents always thought that once I had a degree, I wouldn’t have to do these hard labor jobs. But there I was, driving to the Bay Area, sometimes even staying in the Sierra mountains for the week to work on cabins.”
The mental toll on the community
As a director of a nonprofit, Corchado feels a sense of urgency to provide emotional and psychological support for the undocumented community, who live daily with the possibility of deportation and family separation.
“We really need to increase our mental health support services to our immigrant community,” she said. “I think living daily under this stress and of the unknown, it takes a toll on your psychology. It takes a toll on your mental health.”
While Randu tries to live as quietly as possible, contributing positively to his community and staying under the radar, his frustrations with the system are palpable.
“It was a disappointment to see people my age vote against policies that would benefit people like me,” he said. “You start to lose hope. I’m just here trying to live a good life, working, paying taxes, not causing any trouble — yet I’m considered a criminal.”
Hopes for the future and calls for protection
Despite the challenges, Randu remains resilient. He sees his path as a process of adapting, taking “whatever door opens,” as he put it, though it’s often a door that leads to lower pay and harder work than he had hoped for.
Looking ahead, he hopes to continue working and providing for his family, even if it means staying in the shadows.
“I wish the best for everyone, undocumented or not,” he said. “I don’t think anyone should be deemed a criminal for just wanting a better life.”
The state’s relative safety net for undocumented immigrants offers some reassurance for Corchado.
“What helps me, as a director of a nonprofit organization, is the fact that we are in California,” she said. “I hope that the state of California just does something completely radical that will continue to protect our immigrant communities.”
As Randu navigates his daily life, hoping to remain under the radar, Corchado, along with other advocates, remain vigilant, prepared to work with local legislators to secure protections for undocumented individuals.
“We will rally all of our promotoras, and we will rally farm workers and do whatever we need to do to make sure that they are protected,” Corchado said. “If we have to go to the Capitol, we will be there to advocate alongside our community.”
