Why Should Delaware Care?
The Trump administration’s immigration crackdown has seen students, veterans, permanent residents and even U.S. citizens detained by federal agents, while driving many immigrants in Delaware underground. A tax preparer is now on the front lines of the enforcement’s aftermath in Maryland and Sussex County — coordinating information to those in need.
The strangers’ messages came quickly. Four separate WhatsApp messages arrived within two minutes, to be exact.
The anonymous inquiries glowed on a computer screen inside an empty office in Princess Anne, Md. — a town that sits about 24 miles south of the Delaware border — as sunlight from the frigid December morning barely slipped through the drawn window blinds.
The sound of The Marvelettes 1961 Motown single “Please Mr. Postman” crept into Paola Subervi’s office from a speaker in the next room as she typed on her strawberry cream keyboard. The certified tax preparer swiveled behind her desk in prominent maroon Doc Martens leather boots as she leisurely drifted between English and Spanish.
The front of her desk displayed a jovial sign reading, “Don’t ask me…I make it up as I go.”
But each stranger in her WhatsApp inbox did, indeed, ask her. And they all needed her help.
Someone looking for childcare because their babysitter got deported? Subervi knows someone. Need your groceries delivered? Subervi can order. Can’t find your relative who was detained by federal agents? Subervi can help.
Subervi has become an expert at navigating the intricacies of the new reality that many immigrants in Maryland and southern Delaware find themselves in — often alone and unsure of what to do in the face of intense federal enforcement. Her renowned wherewithal on these processes — finding people, towing cars, managing WhatsApp groups — has become indispensable to many.
Subervi now finds herself on the front lines of confronting the aftermath of the Trump administration’s immigration agenda, which has ensnared veterans, students and even U.S. citizens. The crackdown has forced people underground, with many immigrants scared to leave their homes as federal enforcement has taken place outside of grocery stores, gas stations and on the side of the road.
Subervi has gained a reputation along the lines of, “If you can’t find someone, call Paola,” according to one Salisbury, Md, resident who asked to remain anonymous out of fear of immigration enforcement.
If she doesn’t know how to help, she will learn.
“You do whatever needs to be done to help,” Subervi said.
‘Please Mr. Postman’
The WhatsApp messages start pinging at 6 a.m. and don’t stop until 11 p.m., if they ever do.
Subervi, originally from Chile, triages information among five different WhatsApp groups that are all focused on sharing information about U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) in the area. Group members send messages constantly about where agents are spotted, what roads are too “hot” to travel and photos of abandoned cars asking if anyone knows the owner.
All told, there are more than 1,700 members of the groups, but that may include overlap of people on multiple chats.
“How are Easton and Cambridge today? I have to pass by those places today in the afternoon,” read one message in a WhatsApp group about ICE in Delaware.
“Good morning from Salisbury to Selbyville clean for now,” read another message sent Tuesday.
Subervi forwards information sent in one group to the others. After an abandoned vehicle is claimed, Subervi privately messages the person and simply asks, “What do you need?”
She has two tow truck companies on speed dial — one in Salisbury and one in Princess Anne — that will tow vehicles to any location, in case they are left behind after an ICE arrest or raid. Sometimes, Subervi will dispatch her son to pick up people’s belongings at ICE’s Salisbury office on behalf of the affected family because many are too afraid to pick them up.
If folks need groceries, Subervi will order online from her desk and have them delivered.
‘Let’s Stay Together’
In Subervi’s office, the Motown classics continue to seep in. Morning has turned to afternoon, and another message has arrived.
This time it’s a voice message from a man in Brazil, sent in Portuguese. Subervi doesn’t know the language. But she knows someone who does.
Next message. A family reached out to Subervi about a relative from Honduras who had an immigration court appointment the next day. They wanted to confirm the information.
Subervi swiftly opens a new tab and searches for the man’s case, easily rattling off his unique 9-digit Alien Registration Number from memory. The registration number, also known as an A-number, is used to track immigrants’ cases within the U.S. Department of Homeland Security.
Next message. Someone sent a photo of an abandoned white work van to the WhatsApp group that Subervi moderates. It was left near a Valero gas station on Route 50, they wrote.
Subervi then forwarded the photo to the other groups, relaying the information. Then, a member of another group messaged saying that federal agents were spotted in Cambridge, Md.
So, Subervi forwards that information, too. She repeats that process more than a dozen times throughout the afternoon.
“I love what I do,” she said. “But it’s stressful.”
At first, Subervi found herself unable to sleep and would often cry as calls and messages came in at all hours of the night.
The remedy? Sleepytime tea and a silenced phone.
‘Ain’t no Mountain High Enough’
Some days, Subervi is texting local immigration lawyers to tell them their clients just got detained by ICE. Other days, she is calling a ream of lawyers in New Mexico to find the lowest quotes for people who were detained in Salisbury and now find themselves in a Southwest U.S. detention center.
Subervi has accounts set up to send funds to people in immigration detention in Louisiana, Texas and New Mexico — all states where Salisbury and Sussex County immigrants are now detained.
As Subervi finishes responding to the messages online, she turns her attention to the physical passport application papers peppering her desk. The application was for a 19-year-old woman and her two younger siblings whose father was detained by ICE the week prior.
The children’s mother was deported to Mexico a month before that, leaving the 19-year-old daughter in charge of her siblings. Subervi was helping the daughter fill out passport applications for the family so they could all return to Mexico alongside their father, who is still in ICE detention.
“Everyone is leaving,” Subervi said. “Her mom left, her dad left, and she’s alone […] how could I charge her?”
With many immigrant families struggling financially, it has become common practice for Subervi to offer her notary and paralegal services at a heavily discounted rate.
“There’s a need, and I’m trying to fill the need,” Subervi said.
Back in Subervi’s office, Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell’s “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” starts playing in the next room. She loves Motown.
Subervi’s phone rings. She picks up. The caller needs her help.
Another message pings her desktop.
Her work is far from finished.
