MARSHALL, Mo. — As Salvadorans TPS expiration looms this Wednesday, Alma Sandoval slipped away from the roaring production lines at a Cargill meat plant and quietly boxed up the keepsakes on her supervisor’s desk. She took down photos of her late mother, unplugged a Star Wars phone charger, and packed a penholder etched in Spanish, “Orgullosamente Salvadoreño.”
For Sandoval, 30, whose mother fled El Salvador with her when she was a toddler, the uncertainty is sharper this time. The federal Temporary Protected Status program that has allowed many Salvadorans to live and work legally in the United States for decades is set to end, with no fresh extension announced.
An estimated 170,000 Salvadorans could lose work authorization, and about 150,000 of their U.S. citizen children would be left in limbo as parents face possible deportation.
“Even though it’s not the walk of shame, that’s kind of what it feels like,” Sandoval said. “I am not getting fired. I am not quitting. Life is changing, and it’s out of my control and my job’s control.”
What the Salvadorans TPS expiration could mean
Salvadorans are the third-largest group with TPS, behind Venezuelans and Haitians. Federal officials have moved in recent months to wind down protections across several nationalities.
In July, the Department of Homeland Security ended TPS for roughly 300,000 Haitians, a step permitted by a U.S. Supreme Court decision. Since then, many Haitians have been laid off and deportations have increased, even as their country remains on the State Department’s do not travel list.
The administration argues TPS recipients should return to their home countries. Immigrant advocates warn that removing long-settled families will fracture communities, squeeze businesses already struggling to hire, and push up consumer prices.
Over 25 years, Salvadoran TPS holders have helped anchor communities in California, Texas, New York, Maryland and Virginia, filling vital roles in construction, landscaping, transportation, food service and manufacturing.
Smaller towns like Marshall and surrounding Saline County may feel the loss most. Immigrants there power the local agribusiness economy at plants run by Cargill, Conagra and Tyson, and work as seasonal farm laborers, custodians and even bank tellers.
Local officials and residents say immigrants take on tough jobs, pay taxes and revitalize neighborhoods. As the deadline approaches, worry is spreading through this college town of about 14,000.
“Everybody is worried,” said Ana Deisi Garcia, who co-owns La Paz, a Salvadoran and Mexican restaurant and market near downtown grain bins. “They don’t have a job after that. Where are they going to get money? Where are they going to work?”
Roots, routines and a life built in the Midwest
Sandoval’s mother, Alma Quinteros, a former prison guard active in local politics in El Salvador, fled to the U.S. with her in 1998 after threats to her safety. They first settled in Los Angeles, then moved to Marshall following a shooting near Sandoval’s elementary school.
Marshall felt safe and open, Sandoval said, with rodeos, the state fair in Sedalia, and Friday nights on the high school marching band drumline. As the years passed, more Salvadoran families arrived, opening eateries and markets.
TPS for Salvadorans expanded after deadly earthquakes in 2001 devastated El Salvador, and the country’s eligibility traces back to a 1990 designation following a 12-year civil war. Over time, policies governing programs like TPS have intersected with broader shifts in U.S. immigration enforcement, including the period described in How 9/11 immigration enforcement reshaped U.S. policy.
Sandoval graduated, stayed in Marshall and, at 19, bought a house. Her mother, who died in 2022, became a trusted guide for other immigrants, helping them navigate English paperwork to keep TPS current.
Homeland Security Secretary Markwayne Mullin, who attended what is now Missouri Valley University in the 1990s, spoke at the school’s commencement in May, urging students to push past limitations.
Sandoval listened online and later drafted a three-page letter telling him that some barriers, like a legal category assigned in childhood, cannot be overcome through hard work alone. She never sent it, but said she believes calling the status temporary no longer reflects reality for people who have spent decades living within the law.
Economic stakes as the Salvadorans TPS expiration arrives
Although the State Department lists El Salvador as safe for travel, Sandoval’s friends and neighbors argue that forcing out settled workers is misguided and could damage local economies built on their labor. “It’s a terrible injustice for the folks who have been here as long as Alma has,” said her realtor, Ruth Cott.
“She should have been a citizen a long time ago. She hasn’t gotten into trouble. She’s purchased a house. She pays her taxes. And she’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
After gathering her things at Cargill, Sandoval took personal days, with her supervisors’ support. She estimates about 20 Salvadoran TPS holders at the plant could lose their jobs, many of them senior meat cutters and frontline workers with years of loyalty.
Cargill, the nation’s largest private company by revenue, did not respond to questions about potential impacts at its plants or options for affected workers. Information about the broader TPS program and designations is available from the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services.
If she must leave, Sandoval says she will sell her house, find care for her dogs Sophie and Theo, and pack her car with documents, her mother’s ashes and four cats, Pantera, Enano, Mino and Maleficent. Rather than return to a country where she has few ties, she is eyeing a move north, possibly to Canada if Cargill can place her at a plant there.
She hopes to set up a new supervisor’s desk, hang her mother’s photos and plug in the familiar Star Wars charger. She is proud of her Salvadoran heritage, but she says her dreams often unfold in English.
For current country conditions, the latest U.S. State Department travel advisories offer guidance that shapes many of these policy decisions.
