‘We Voted for Trump to Fix the Border. Now We’re Milking Cows Alone at 4 A.M.’ – Vermont Farmers Face Harsh Reality as ICE Raids Hit Home

When Donald Trump supporters in rural Vermont cast their ballots, many say they never imagined immigration crackdowns would come to their farms. But in recent weeks, a wave of federal enforcement has rattled the backbone of Vermont’s dairy industry — and sparked an unexpected movement of solidarity, advocacy, and reflection.

At the heart of this shift is Dustin Machia, a fifth-generation dairy farmer from Sheldon. Like many in the region, Machia voted for Trump, drawn by promises of border control and national security. “We didn’t want drugs or gangbangers,” he said. But what he didn’t expect was losing some of his most dedicated employees to immigration arrests.

“It’s scaring the farming community,” Machia admitted. “We didn’t think they’d come for the people who help us milk cows.”

His unease follows a series of recent detentions. On April 21, Border Patrol officers apprehended eight Mexican workers at Pleasant Valley Farms, the state’s largest dairy operation. A few weeks earlier, another worker was arrested while delivering groceries to the farm.

The arrests — though described by federal agents as a response to a citizen tip rather than a targeted raid — have nevertheless shaken Vermont’s agricultural community. State leaders and farm advocates now warn of a crisis, not just of labor, but of conscience.

Vermont Secretary of Agriculture Anson Tebbetts noted that while immigrants make up a small portion of the state’s population, they are essential to its $3.6 billion dairy sector, which produces 63 percent of New England’s milk. “These workers are vital,” Tebbetts said. “Without them, the cows don’t get milked.”

Indeed, with the number of dairy farms in Vermont halved since 2013, but the cow population remaining stable, operations have scaled up — and leaned heavily on migrant labor. According to the University of Vermont, 94% of dairy farms that hire outside help rely on migrants, mostly undocumented workers from Mexico.

Despite political rhetoric, the reality on the ground is clear: the dairy industry depends on these laborers — many of whom work 12-hour days starting at 4 a.m., like “Chepe,” an undocumented worker and father of three who has become an advocate with Migrant Justice.

“I used to feel safer here,” said Chepe, who hasn’t seen his children in eight years. “But since Trump came back, it feels like we’re going back to the dark ages.”

Still, amid fear, a remarkable show of unity is growing. Chepe now helps lead protests and organizes for better protections, while Vermont’s farming families — many of them Trump voters — are voicing concern not just for their livelihoods, but for the wellbeing of the workers they’ve come to rely on.

Legal advocates, like Brett Stokes of the Vermont Law and Graduate School, are stepping in to defend the detained workers, who were quickly funneled through deportation proceedings. “They pay taxes. They do essential work. They’re part of our communities,” Stokes said.

The growing awareness has also reignited calls for immigration reform, especially the lack of a visa program for year-round dairy work. Unlike Vermont’s apple or berry farms, which can hire seasonal workers legally, dairy farms have no such option.

“Replacing your whole crew every few months isn’t realistic,” said Machia. “It takes time to train people, and locals just don’t want to do this work anymore.”

Even though Machia says he would still vote for Trump, the recent crackdown has prompted a deeper reckoning within his community — and perhaps, unexpectedly, a new sense of appreciation for those they once took for granted.

In a state where farms rely on undocumented hands, Vermont is waking up to an inescapable truth: immigrant labor isn’t just a political talking point — it’s the force that keeps the barns running and the milk flowing. And now, with fear in the air, farmers and migrant workers alike are standing up — together.