More than four months after the official drawdown of Operation Metro Surge, a high-profile federal immigration crackdown launched by the Trump administration in Minneapolis and surrounding areas of Minnesota, the scars of the intensive enforcement action remain deeply etched into the state’s immigrant and refugee communities.
The operation, launched last December, was framed by the White House as a targeted effort to remove undocumented immigrants with criminal convictions, tied to a sprawling federal fraud probe into Minnesota’s childcare sector that the administration claimed disproportionately involved members of the state’s large Somali community. But what was billed as a targeted law enforcement action quickly spiraled into widespread public backlash after federal agents shot and killed two U.S. citizens, Renee Good and Alex Pretti, both 37, during separate anti-operation protests in January. By the end of February, facing growing cross-party condemnation, the administration pulled hundreds of deployed agents out of the region.
For many asylum seekers and green card holders who built new lives in Minnesota after fleeing conflict and persecution, the sudden surge of masked Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and Customs and Border Protection (CBP) agents upended every part of daily life. Aliah, a 20-year-old Afghan asylum recipient and college student who requested partial anonymity over safety fears, thought her 2021 resettlement would bring stability focused on education and work. Instead, she and her family now live in constant fear the large-scale raids will resume.
“We don’t have anywhere to go if we go back to my country,” Aliah told reporters. “We’re still a little scared. Months after the operation ended, its effects still haven’t gone away.”
That persistent anxiety is echoed across communities. Fatima, a 19-year-old Somali refugee who only returned to in-person high school classes in April after months of virtual learning out of fear of raids on campus, says the uncertainty never fades. “I ask myself every day… if they come back, what are you going to do? I’m scared still if they come back,” she said.
Michelle Eberhard, director of refugee services at the International Institute of Minnesota, explained that the collective trauma of the large-scale enforcement action has had long-lasting psychological impacts. “When you have an invasion like this, people continue to experience the ramifications of that for a long time,” she said. “People are still living through that trauma. Even as the situation has shifted out of open chaos, we’re now in a very big period of ongoing uncertainty.”
That uncertainty extends beyond the threat of sudden raids. In January, U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services announced it would re-vet 5,600 Minnesota refugees who had not yet secured green cards, deeming the prior administration’s vetting process “wholly inadequate” and planning to expand the program nationally. Eberhard says some refugees have already been transferred to out-of-state ICE detention for re-interviews without access to legal counsel, while others have received formal notices that the government intends to revoke their refugee status, and many more have heard nothing at all, left in limbo.
Local educators also report lasting damage to student populations. Katie, a Minneapolis public school teacher who organized community aid for impacted students during the height of the operation, says many families kept children home from school for months to avoid potential encounters with ICE. While the school wrapped up its formal aid program in April, it continues to distribute remaining emergency funds, and some students have dropped out entirely after family members lost their jobs during the crackdown.
Even for U.S. citizens like Katie, the impact remains inescapable. “The city is just this minefield of ghosts,” she said. “Even when you forget about it, it just pops up again when you pass the memorials for Pretti and Good. What these children have witnessed will affect our city for generations – it’ll shape what they vote for, what they believe in, what they think of our government.”
While official data confirms the bulk of deployed agents have left, the enforcement apparatus has not been fully withdrawn. Court filings from the ACLU of Minnesota show that as of March, 482 federal agents remained in the state, compared to just 190 assigned to ICE’s St. Paul office before the operation launched. Border Czar Tom Homan has confirmed that ICE will continue conducting targeted enforcement actions across the state, a practice the agency has maintained for decades.
Morgan Budiandri, of the Minnesota Immigrant Rights Action Committee (MIRAC), says the operation has just shifted its approach, becoming less visible in urban centers with heavy public scrutiny but continuing unabated in suburban and rural areas. “The deportation machine has kind of turned more surgical, so to speak. There’s less activity in the cities where there’s a lot more prying eyes,” Budiandri explained. “But out in the suburbs, we still have reports of officers coming to businesses demanding to see rosters of all employees.”
Data from Human Rights First, an international human rights nonprofit, also shows ICE deportation flights out of Minneapolis continue, with roughly 100 flights recorded so far this year, most heading to processing centers in El Paso, Texas.
Analysis of government data obtained by the Deportation Data Project undermines the administration’s framing of the operation as a crackdown on criminal undocumented immigrants: more than 60% of those arrested during the surge had no prior criminal convictions or pending criminal charges. The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) has defended the operation, releasing a list of 23 arrested immigrants facing charges or convictions for serious offenses including murder, rape, domestic violence, and theft, and calling the operation a necessary success to remove “vicious criminals, including murderers, rapists, gang members, and terrorists” from the country.
While some Minnesota Republicans supported the crackdown, even state Representative Joe McDonald, a backer of the policy, acknowledged earlier this year that “mistakes were made. We’re not perfect.” The backlash over the deaths of Good and Pretti ultimately led the Trump administration to remove Greg Bovino, the official leading the operation in Minneapolis, in January.
Beyond the psychological and personal harm, the operation has inflicted severe lasting damage to Minnesota’s local economy. The Lake Street corridor in south Minneapolis’ predominantly Hispanic Phillips neighborhood, home to hundreds of immigrant-owned small businesses, was hit particularly hard: during the height of the surge, at least half of all corridor businesses closed, according to the Lake Street Council, leading to an estimated $30 million in monthly lost revenue.
“The economic devastation to Lake Street businesses because of Operation Metro Surge was immediate and severe,” said Theresa Swaney, the council’s director of operations. “The terror inflicted on this community was significant, and its effects on Minneapolis and Lake Street in particular will be long-lasting.”
Widespread fear of detention kept thousands of workers home from their jobs, leading to massive wage losses across the Twin Cities. The U.S. Immigration Policy Center estimated in March that Minneapolis and St. Paul workers lost roughly $240 million in total wages during and after the surge, while local businesses lost a combined $610 million in total revenue. Statewide, eviction filings in 2026 are already up 8% compared to 2025, according to data from Princeton University’s Eviction Lab.
When asked to comment on the economic harm, DHS responded that “The cost of American lives saved is incalculable,” pointing to the arrests of convicted criminal immigrants. But immigration advocates say the long-term social and economic costs of the surge will shape Minnesota for years to come, as immigrant communities continue to grapple with fear, uncertainty, and the lingering fallout of the largest immigration crackdown in recent state history.