On a cold December morning in the city of Eagan, Minnesota a family went through their usual morning hustle: mom prepared breakfast, dressed the kids and jumped in the shower, while Dad stepped outside to warm up the car.
By the time the mom, Ekaterina, got out of the shower, her world had changed completely: she had a missed call as well as a text message from her husband, Bogdan. It read: "Katyusha, I was just arrested by ICE. They are taking me to detention. I'll call you later, please pick up. I left the car key on the back tire. I love you."
Ekaterina says she ran out into the cold, shocked. This was their worst nightmare come true: their family is among the hundreds of thousands of Russians and Ukrainians who have fled the war and sought refuge in the U.S. Under President Trump's immigration crackdown, hundreds are now being forcibly returned.
Ekaterina and Bogdan requested that NPR withhold their last name because they are Russian citizens who are opposed to the invasion of Ukraine and fear persecution back in Russia. Bogdan fled to avoid the Russian draft. They say they are terrified about what happens if they get deported and sent back to Russia.
"I don't want to die," says Bodgan over the phone, from a federal immigration detention center in Louisiana. He's been there for more than two months. "I'm not crazy to go and die there and to kill my own relatives. My father's from Ukraine. My mother is from Russia. They both are my relatives, both sides. I'm not killing them."
Back when they lived in Russia, Ekaterina worked with children. Bogdan was a language tutor. They say their world began to fall apart in 2022. Their second daughter was born with a congenital condition, spina bifida, and now needs a walker to move around. Shortly after her birth, Russia invaded Ukraine. The war presented a financial burden: their daughter's disability requires time and money for care. The Russian government imposed a strict military draft for men.
The family migrated to the US following asylum protocols: they requested entry to the U.S. through Tijuana, Mexico, which is a legal port of entry. After an hours-long interview by a federal immigration official, they were granted parole - permission to temporarily live and work in the United States. A friend had told them Minnesota was a good place to raise a family, and "the weather feels familiar, like home," says Ekaterina. Both found work at a Minnesota nursing home and formally applied for asylum. That application is still pending.
Four years later, when the Trump administration started its immigration crackdown Bogdan told his wife not to worry. "We're working officially. We're not criminal. So why we need to worry?"
But over the last year the Trump administration has moved to reduce asylum, refugee and humanitarian parole programs. That has left many, including Ekaterina and Bogdan, in limbo. According to the Department Homeland Security in the last two fiscal years, more that 600 Ukrainians and Russians were deported.
"It's very clear that the way in which the U.S. is trying to position itself on humanitarian issues has shifted fairly dramatically," says Susan Fratze with the Migration Policy Institute, a non-partisan think tank that studies international immigration patterns and policies.
She says it's not just a major shift in domestic politics, it's a change in the role the US plays in the world. In the past, Fratze says, the U.S. accrued diplomatic soft power by opening its doors to refugees. "It really helped to shape perceptions of the United States abroad. And the absence of that is something that is really being missed right now."
DHS did not respond to NPR's questions about Bogdan's case. His lawyer says Bogdan has no criminal record, and if he is sent back to Russia he'll likely face jail time, or be sent to a war that's already inflicted well over a million casualties.
NPR was able to speak to Bagdan at the Prairie Pines detention Center in Louisiana. His youngest daughter is 4 years old, and she thinks he is on a long work trip. The eldest, age 8, knows what is happening.
Bogdan will have a hearing in front of an immigration judge in Louisiana on March 21st.
Bagdan told NPR he is surrounded by people who have been living in the U.S. for decades, many of whom have never been in a jail or detention center.
"Many of them, they break mentally pretty fast," he says. The detainees and guards tell them all the people who stay here are going to be deported. Everyone. No exception."
He says he feels he can't afford to break down, or go back to a war that has no clear end in sight.
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