Uncertainty about her place in America has followed Jenni Hernandez since before she could remember.

Her mother says Hernandez’s first steps as a baby were crossing the border when the family left their home in Hidalgo, Mexico. When she was as young as 6, her father began warning her about the persistent threat of deportation.

Her anxiety grew throughout her teens. Hernandez cried in her high school history class while watching Donald Trump’s 2017 inauguration. She later learned her status limited her access to financial aid for college.

Now, with Trump poised to begin his second term, Hernandez’s fear has reached an all-time high. Since the election, she has visited her family in Napa more often and is drafting a “worst-case scenario” note with instructions for her friends and family, including contact numbers in case she is detained.

Hernandez is among the estimated 1.8 million undocumented Californians who have spent months bracing for what Trump has promised will be the largest deportation campaign in American history. Immigration raids will likely start Tuesday in Chicago, according to multiple news outlets.

“I can’t help but feel like I have to be prepared in the instance that something does happen to me,” said Hernandez, a 23-year-old Sacramento State student.

Last week’s U.S. Border Patrol operation in Kern County offered a preview of what could come. The enforcement activity, which immigration advocates said was the largest in the Central Valley in years, sent panic across California.

The arrests signaled that not even California and its progressive policies would be safe from Trump’s vow of mass deportations. These fears have already led to some farmworkers not showing up to work. Others, including decadeslong residents and students, must now come to grips with Monday’s inauguration and what it means for their future and families.

“In all my years, I haven’t seen this level of fear and terror,” said Luis Magaña, a longtime farmworker advocate in the San Joaquin Valley. “From whatever way you analyze it, this is more serious than eight years ago.”

‘They’re treating us like criminals’

Magaña received multiple phone calls last week from farmworkers who reported sightings of federal enforcement agents or to say they’ve been detained. He said the three-day operation, which led to 78 arrests, had an immediate chilling effect on California’s agricultural industry.

Farmworkers chose not to work in the days that followed and false reports of further immigration enforcement spread across the state. Security cars and local law enforcement were mistaken for U.S. Immigration Customs and Enforcement officials.

“We don’t know how real the threats are,” Magaña, 69, said.

He estimates that about one-third of farmworkers in the San Joaquin Valley remain too afraid to return to work.

“It’s a reaction of frustration, fear and not knowing what to do,” Magaña said.

Among those farmworkers is the particularly frustrated Xochilt Nuñez. A single mother of three who has worked 16 years in the fields, she arrived in the country in 1999 and has spent years advocating for immigration reform.

The federal government has failed to pass meaningful reform since 1986, leading to millions of undocumented residents in limbo. Many of these immigrants have lived in the country for decades and contributed billions of dollars in taxes.

“They’re treating us like criminals just because we don’t have a document,” said Nuñez, who lives in a small rural town 45 miles from Fresno.

Nuñez recently secured a work permit through a U visa. Such visas are granted to undocumented immigrants who report serious crimes and cooperate with law enforcement. They open eligibility for public benefits and can eventually lead to permanent lawful status in the U.S.

Nuñez worries what could happen to such protections under Trump’s new administration. While the incoming president could not stop U visas, he could try to tighten the requirements. Congress caps the number of available U visas to roughly 10,000 annually.

There are also concerns by immigration rights advocates that he will repeal similar temporary programs that protect witnesses in workplace investigations.

“Honestly, what can we expect from a delinquent?” Nuñez asked rhetorically referring to Trump.

She doesn’t expect much, instead banking on her community and California leaders to fight back. In the last week, she has attended three protests in response to the arrests in Kern County. She plans to travel to Los Angeles on Monday for a gathering of immigrant rights groups and supporters. Her goal is ensure that her fellow undocumented residents understand that they must come together and not feel discouraged by any one president.

”I understand it’s a time of fear, but it’s also a time to mobilize,” she said.

‘It’s more serious this time’

Back in Sacramento, some people’s fear of deportation correlates with the effect on their families.

Take Jesus Prieto, who has lived in the capital region for more than two decades. During that time, he worked as an automotive technician, married his wife, bought a house and raised three children.

Prieto remains without citizenship, meaning deportation could tear him away from the life he’s built in Sacramento. While Prieto wonders who would continue to support his children, he thinks of the thousands of other families like his.

“It’s sad to think about deporting a father or mother who has three or four children in their homes,” Prieto, 50, said. “How are those children going to eat?”

Prieto also takes issue with the rhetoric President-elect Trump and his allies have employed in recent years, particularly the frequent association of undocumented immigrants with “criminals” and “delinquents.” He now struggles to watch appearances of Trump on the news or social media.

“We don’t deserve to be treated with the words he uses,” Prieto said.

While Trump has signaled his administration will first seek those with a criminal history and are in this country unlawfully, the logistics of the proposed massive operations remains uncertain. It is unclear whether all the individuals arrested in Kern County had a criminal history beyond unlawful entry.

Like Prieto, dozens of undocumented immigrants have shared their frustration and confusion on how they continue to be perceived in the months following the election.

“Why do all these people hate me when they don’t know me?” Hernandez recalled asking her boyfriend on a recent afternoon.

Hernandez, a first-year graduate student, still doesn’t have a solid answer. But, for now, her focus is ensuring she is supporting her fellow undocumented students and family members. She’s given her parents red cards that detail constitutional rights in case they encounter federal immigration agents and co-facilitates weekly gatherings at Sacramento State’s Dreamer Resource Center.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen in the future,” Hernandez said. “I’m just gonna keep working at what I’m doing now, and we’ll deal with whatever happens when it happen.”

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