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Marie simply did not want to tell them. Her plan was straightforward: if something happened and she could not come in, she would say so that day — but not before. Among Haitian employees at the nursing home, this silence was not unusual. A staff member named Nancy confirmed that Haitian workers generally give each other privacy on immigration status, avoiding direct questions because no one knows who holds TPS and who does not. Across hundreds of thousands of workplaces, people on TPS were quietly carrying the knowledge that their status could end at any moment — alone, and without telling anyone.
Marie had worked at her Boston nursing home for 12 years — far beyond the average two-year tenure for a certified nursing assistant in the United States. She had built trust, grown her salary, and become a known and relied-upon presence. Yet even within that long-established workplace relationship, she chose not to disclose that her legal right to work in the country was about to disappear.
This was not evasion — it was a deliberate boundary. As reported in This American Life, Marie's reasoning was simple and unambiguous: she would handle it when it happened, not before. That posture reflects something much larger than one individual's preference for privacy.
Nancy, a staff member at the same nursing home, put words to what Marie was living. Haitian employees, she explained, generally do not ask each other about immigration status. The reason is equally simple: you do not know who has TPS and who does not. Asking directly would force someone to answer a question that could carry real consequences.
This collective discretion is not incidental — it is a form of mutual protection. When you don't know who among your colleagues is undocumented, on TPS, or on another status entirely, silence becomes a shared act of care. The episode, available in full on This American Life, describes this silence as pervasive: hundreds of thousands of people quietly aware their status could end, in workplaces where the question was simply never asked.
"When I started here in 2014, my salary was $10,000. My salary was very low. Every year, they saw the way I'm working and the work I've done. And every year they gave me more."
A worker at the Boston nursing home, speaking about her 12 years at the facility — her salary had doubled by the time she was taken off the schedule due to TPS termination. Her trajectory illustrates how deeply embedded these workers were in their institutions, even as their immigration status remained invisible to those around them. Heard in the episode "Label Maker!" on This American Life.
The contrast embedded in that quote is stark. Twelve years of visible, recognized work — and a legal status that no one around her knew about. The two realities coexisted without ever meeting. That is precisely the world this episode of This American Life brings into focus.
Marie, a certified nursing assistant who had worked at a nursing home in Boston for 12 years, was taken off the schedule by her boss Colin after a court ruling allowed the Trump administration's termination of TPS to take effect. Her departure ended one of the longest tenures on staff.
The Trump administration's termination of TPS for Haitians affected more than 300,000 people. Many of those individuals had been living and working in the US for years — some for well over a decade — with no other legal pathway available to them.
TPS is a status given to a country all at once, allowing eligible people from that country to live and legally work in the US if their home country has experienced conditions that make safe return impossible. In some cases, it has been extended for more than 25 years.
The full story of Marie, Nancy, and the silence around TPS in American workplaces is told in episode "Label Maker!" — available now on Listenly.
Listen to the episode on Listenly