PIERRE (AP) On a face-numbingly frigid afternoon last week, Gov. Kristi Noem used a farewell address to South Dakotans to warn of an invasion far away from the states windswept prairies and freedom-loving farmers.
The illegal aliens and got-aways crossing the southern border, the governor said, pose an existential threat to the U.S. economy and national security, spreading cartel violence and deadly drugs.
We see the consequences of Washingtons inaction here, said Noem, President Donald Trumps pick to lead the Department of Homeland Security, a job that would put her at the forefront of the administrations promised immigration crackdown.
Even known terrorists have crossed the border amongst the illegals and they could be anywhere.
But Noems heated rhetoric belies a stark reality: With unemployment at 1.9% the lowest in the country her state faces an acute labor shortage and has grown increasingly dependent on the same migrants she may be tasked with deporting.
Its those migrants, many in the U.S. illegally, who provide the low-paid labor powering the booming slaughterhouses, dairy farms and construction sites in South Dakota. And any immigration actions spearheaded by Noem, who is expected to be confirmed by the Senate in coming days, could have crippling consequences for businesses in her own backyard.
That disconnect reflects a broader clash with fellow Republicans here who say shes put her own ambition for higher office ahead of local needs.
The tension is most apparent in her embrace of Trumps hardline stance on immigration. Whether its expressing support for a Muslim ban during Trumps first administration, or dispatching South Dakotas national guard to the southern border war zone more than 1,000 miles away, Noem has left little doubt she will follow Trumps orders.
And that is what is terrifying migrants, business owners and advocates alike.
If strict enforcement comes into play, were going to drown in our own red meat, said Ray Epp, a hog farmer and former Yankton County commissioner, who noted the unparalleled work ethic and growing presence of migrant laborers in the states pork industry. Thered be a crash.
Nitza Rubenstein, a community activist who works closely with migrants, was even more blunt: Whos going to milk the cows? If the Latinos dont, nobody will.
Noem, 53, didnt respond to repeated interview requests but has left little doubt on how she will run DHS.
We will ensure that our borders are secure, she told the committee, and were addressing all threats that may come in from any direction.
Migrants, business owners are anxious about crackdown
Among those bracing for the crackdown is a young Guatemalan couple living without legal status in a prairie hamlet about an hour from Noems homestead.
Yoni and Petrona fell in love in South Dakota after each handed over their lifes savings to human smugglers, known as coyotes, to guide them across the U.S. border during the pandemic.
Like many migrants interviewed by the AP, the two lack health insurance, a drivers license and cant open a bank account. But that hasnt stopped them from finding work.
Within two weeks of arriving, Yoni, just 15 at the time, landed a job at the local egg farm for $12 an hour with a fake green card he bought for $150. He now earns double that in construction and says hes able to wire more remittances to family in Guatemala than friends who settled in California because rent in his state is cheap.
The couples dream is to gain legal status or save enough to return home and provide their 18-month-old daughter, who was born in the U.S., a better upbringing than the one they had. The Associated Press agreed not to disclose the couples last names because they are afraid of being arrested and deported.
Things are a little bit better here, Yoni said in Spanish on a rare day off because his employer suspended work due to the extreme cold. At least I know that if I work hard here Ill get paid.
The couple, who spoke to the AP days before Trump was sworn in, live in fear that Noem will follow through on the threats and one day separate them from their daughter.
Ive heard that theyre only going to deport the mothers and the kids will stay here, said Petrona. Imagine that.
But those fears, stoked by Trump and Noem, dont match the warm welcome migrants described in nearby Huron, where on a recent evening a red wolf moon flooded the desolate plains surrounding the towns turkey plant.
A co-op of ethnic German Hutterite farmers, who arrived in the 19th century, own the Dakota Provisions plant. But migrants from Venezuela, Thailand and other countries, earning around $14 per hour, perform the dangerous, back-breaking work.
Huron, population 14,000, flourished with the arrival of the railroad in the 1880s, attracting migrants from all over Europe. But when the rail depot fell into disuse in the 1960s, the city began a long decline: a college closed, businesses shuttered and families uprooted.
Migrants are now fueling something of a rural renaissance.
The first contingent arrived some 20 years ago from Mexico and Central America. The latest are refugees fleeing ethnic violence in Myanmar. At the Beadle County courthouse, translation services are now offered in seven languages: Arabic, French, Karen, Nepali, Russian, Spanish and Swahili. A beef processing plant that is about to break ground is expected to attract even more foreign workers.
All the while, the towns high school soccer team has become competitive. A half-dozen Latin bodegas sell exotic foods. And once-abandoned parks are brimming with families.
Its not an invasion its an invitation, said Todd Manolis, owner of Manolis Grocery on Main Street. There were lots of growing pains at first. But without a doubt they saved us.
On a recent afternoon, as Manolis waited on customers who chewed the fat and bought goods on store credit, the owner pointed to the stores license hanging from a wall. It showed the business had been started a century ago by Manolis grandfather, shortly after his arrival as an immigrant from Greece.
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