Trump Revoked Temporary Protected Status in 2025. Ottumwa, Iowa Is Still Reeling.

Ottumwa, Iowa, a city of approximately 25,000, is “pretty big for a small town,” Paulina Ocegueda tells Sentient. Ocegueda, who was born and raised in Ottumwa, describes her hometown as one with people of hundreds of nationalities, all who moved there to provide for their families. The local JBS plant employs 2,500 people, making it the town’s primary employer. Counting children and parents of employees, the facility is likely one or two connections away from everyone in town. What happens at the JBS plant reaches almost everyone.

Ocegueda describes the facility as an important pillar in the community. “It’s really good for our community to have employers here and to have people to work and provide for their families,” she says. Economic stability, she says, “makes it a lot safer.”

Last July, President Donald Trump changed the terms of Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for Haitian, Cuban, Nicaraguan and Venezuelan nationals, affecting their work authorization. TPS allows immigrants from designated countries facing crises to legally live and work in the United States. Changes to TPS have impacted an estimated 1 million people living across the country. In Ottumwa, the move affected the work authorization of 200 employees at the JBS plant. 

Almost one year later, the community is still feeling the repercussions, says Ocegueda, who is vice president of the Ottumwa chapter of the League of United Latin American Citizens. Also known as LULAC, the organization is the oldest civil rights organization for Hispanic Americans in the United States. While some employees were able to secure a different work visa, many former employees are still without work. Sentient reached out to a number of organizations about the work status of these 200 individuals, but these organizations did not provide specific numbers on how many employees were ultimately reinstated.

“We can see the mental health has definitely gone a little bit down, especially for the kiddos,” Ocegueda says. “There’s this constant fear.”

Sandra Trejo-Wirfs is the president of LULAC’s Ottumwa chapter. When the news broke, her group and a number of others worked together to support affected workers, including a rapid response legal clinic where former employees could consult with immigration attorneys. 

The coalition quickly realized there was another pressing need: getting food on the table. Thanks to donations, LULAC and a number of community members have been distributing food and other necessities since September, including items ranging from rice to diapers. 

The effects of Trump-era immigration policy — which have been defined by increased presence of Immigration and Customs Enforcement and massive deportations — reach far beyond the jobsite. The annual VIVA Ottumwa Latino festival has been canceled this year for the second year in a row, Trejo-Wirfs says. Last year would have marked the 10th year of the festival.

“We have been trying to do as much as we can to keep them safe, to make them feel welcome, to make them feel like human beings. They’re not just a status,” Trejo-Wirfs says. “They’re humans and they’re in our community.”

In a statement to Sentient, Mark Lauritsen, Director of the Food Processing, Packing and Manufacturing Division and International Vice President at United Food and Commercial Workers International, the union that represents the JBS slaughterhouse in town, wrote that a stable workforce is a win-win for consumers and families. “Immigrant workers play an important part in keeping America’s families fed, and work at every point in the food supply chain, from meatpacking plants to food processing facilities to grocery stores. Communities and local economies cannot thrive unless people feel safe.” 

Ocegueda worries what impact events like last summer’s revocation will have on future generations trying to build a life in the state. And in an industry like meatpacking — where foreign-born workers make up anywhere from 30%-50% of all employees — the constant uncertainty could leave a mark on towns where meatpackers are the primary employer.

“If everything feels like it’s falling apart how will that affect our younger generation?” Ocegueda asks. “Where do we see ourselves in 50 years if this continues to happen?”

One year later, Trejo-Wirfs and her fellow volunteers are still working to support their community. Why does she keep doing this work? Because, “today it’s them,” she says. “Tomorrow, it could be us.”