Hundreds of miles from the Atlantic coast and any international airport, a sleepy town in the hills of Brazil reigns as the South America nation’s main exporter of people.
The streets of Governador Valadares are lined with travel agencies advertising immigration services. Signs for shops and language schools are emblazoned with the Stars and Stripes. Gangs of coyotes who help smuggle migrants operate out of the shadows, capitalizing on dreams of reaching U.S. soil.
For decades, this city of 257,000 has been the epicenter of Brazilian migration, dispatching tens of thousands of people stateside — legally or not. The town built a whole industry around transporting people north as outflows took off during the economic crisis of the 1980s. Now, its wealth and residents are at risk thanks to President Donald Trump’s deportations and changing U.S. attitudes toward migration.
So far, the city has tried to greet those ejected by Trump with an upbeat message. “Your return is the start of a new story,” read billboards placed along placid parks and busy streets. Welcoming as that sounds, Valadarenses, as locals call themselves, know better.
“We feel a certain obligation to act, knowing that the majority of Brazilians there are from Valadares,” Mayor Sandro Fonseca said in an interview, pointing to estimates of as many as 60,000 of his townsfolk in the U.S.
A half dozen deportation flights have come to Brazil since Trump returned to office. In addition to rolling out the welcome mat, city hall is offering prodigal residents reintegration services and deportee helplines.
The deep-rooted desire of its residents to make it to the U.S. earned Governador Valadares the nickname “Valadolares,” in reference to the greenbacks that flow back home from abroad. And while it’s too soon to gauge the full effect Trump’s crackdown will have on the city, the most immediate impact appears to be that far fewer people are chasing that dream.
“Everything is stopped; no one wants to try,” said Gilmar Mesquita, 43, a resident who was deported to Brazil in February. “Even the coyotes are on the run.”
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They’re likely taking note of the experience of would-be emigres like Mesquita, the owner of two clothing shops who headed north last year planning to do a stint working construction to grow his business. He traveled to Santo Domingo, in the Dominican Republic, and attempted to reach U.S. soil by sea. But the journey was cut short when a boat motor broke, leaving him stranded in the Caribbean to be picked up by authorities.
“Of nine siblings, I’m the only one who didn’t make it,” he said.
Since the 1960s, emigres from Governador Valadares and surrounding communities in the mineral-rich state of Minas Gerais have sought new beginnings stateside. Valadarenses laid roots and helped form Brazilian enclaves in Massachusetts and Florida. The stream became a flood when Latin America’s largest economy was beset by a series of crises in what’s known as Brazil’s lost decade.
Through it all, Valadarenses sent money to Brazil or eventually returned home brimming with dollars. The flows, which continue to this day, help turn the city’s $1.3 billion economy. “We owe a big thanks to those pioneers who started this,” said Fonseca, a former military man who goes by Colonel Sandro.
How much money is coming into the city is unclear. The mayor cites estimates of around $2 million a day flowing from the U.S., which he says juices key sectors like housing and construction and keeps the economy humming overall. Researchers, however, say the figure is likely much less.
What is certain is that the city’s links to the U.S. have left a mark on local commerce: In addition to plentiful red, white and blue flags, a shopping mall is adorned with a bust of the Statue of Liberty. And many here make their livelihoods from simply helping others leave the country.
Demand to emigrate far exceeds the lawful options, making human smuggling a big business. Authorities say illegal passage to the U.S. costs $20,000 on average per person. The city faces regular raids to root out traffickers. In February, federal police arrested 14 people and froze bank accounts holding as much as $7.5 million they say pertained to a gang accused of illegally sending 669 people to the U.S. via Mexico.
It’s difficult to calculate just how many Valadarenses are living outside Brazil. According to the 2010 census, the last available official data, some 7,600 people from the city were residing abroad. But that figure likely far undershoots the reality, given that many undocumented migrants lie low.
As of 2022, some 230,000 Brazilians were living in the U.S. without authorization, according to the Pew Research center. And Trump’s attempts to close off borders and suss out people without papers has Brazil — for the past two centuries more of a migrant destination than source — contemplating what to do with deportees for the first time.
“This (type of) immigrant doesn’t want to be seen because deportation is a form of failure,” said Sueli Siqueira, a sociologist at University Vale do Doce in Governador Valadares. “And the state never worried about them.”
Spurred by a disastrous return flight to Brazil, President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva’s government installed an outpost at the Minas Gerais international airport — the main destination for deportees — offering Wi-Fi and basic federal services to returnees.
In Governador Valadares, city hall is trying to offer more specialized help to reintegrate residents. That includes psychological assistance, help with documentation, getting social services and use of the local job bank. The mayor’s office declined to give details on how many people have used the services.
Fonseca has no harsh words for Trump, whom he congratulated on social media after his reelection victory. “How does one criticize a president who was elected legitimately and is continuing a policy?”
The mayor has point. Former President Joe Biden deported thousands of Brazilians while in office. But that’s of little comfort to Sandra Souza, who was uprooted without warning four years into her new life in South Florida.
The 36-year-old teacher and her family were told they were being deported in January while attending what they thought was a routine meeting with Immigration Customs and Enforcement to submit medical documents to support their visa application. After their asylum requests were denied, Souza’s lawyers were making the case for them to stay due to the needs of their son, who is autistic.
“I felt tricked,” she said through tears.
Now back in Itambacuri, a tiny city a two-hour drive from Governador Valadares, the family of four is living on the proceeds from working construction in the U.S. as they renovate their home and re-adapt. “We returned relatively OK, but there are many who are destroyed,” Souza said.
Across the region, governments are racing to attend to those being booted from the U.S. Mexico, for example, is building reception centers along its northern border, while Guatemala is trying to reintegrate returning migrants by matching them with jobs.
The irony is not lost on Governador Valadares, whose voters obsess over American politics as much as their own. Just a few months ago, some of the most prominent billboard space in the town blared approval for both Kamala Harris and then-candidate Trump. The town is still split over the president’s policies despite his openly anti-migrant stance, with some openly voicing their support.
“You have to go the right way, otherwise it’s considered an invasion,” said street vendor Fabio Henrique de Sousa Silva, 68. And now thanks to Trump, the path back to Governador Valadares is getting busier.
Joao Victor Batista Alves, 26, a Valadares native, left Rio de Janeiro to join his family in Florida last year, first to El Salvador and then making his way to Mexico. The journey ended at the U.S. border. His asylum request was denied, and after a month in a crowded detention center, he was sent back to Brazil.
His family took note. After five years in the U.S., his stepfather returned to Governador Valadares out of fear of suffering a similar fate. His mother will soon follow now that Alves can’t join her. “If she was discouraged before, she’s became even more discouraged now,” he said.
She’s not alone. Ryan Alves, 19, a gas station attendant, said he often considered emigrating like many of his classmates had done already. “I always wanted an iPhone and how can I get one here? But even if I had the money to travel, there the new politics are too scary. Imagine paying a coyote all that money only to be sent back again.”
Bloomberg’s Beatriz Amat and Meg Lopes contributed.