Under Obama, he speculated, many Democrats were reluctant to oppose any of the president’s policies. Under Trump, they saw political advantage in talking about deportations, sanctuary cities and immigrant rights — especially now that the undocumented had found new allies. When Garcia helped assemble the coalition United Against Hate after Trump’s victory in November, 56 groups signed up. That same month, Paul Penzone defeated Joe Arpaio at the polls. For Garcia, who began his activism under President George W. Bush, one great lesson of the past eight years is that Democrats are unreliable allies, willing to place other policy goals, like the Affordable Care Act, above the needs of the undocumented. “Neither party is our friend,” he said. But the two-party system, he knew, could be played to Puente’s advantage as it pushed for Phoenix to do more cite-and-release actions instead of arrests and as it argued for school boards to reduce the number of police officers in schools.

None of these policy advances could save someone already facing deportation. That May Day, García Aguilar’s family joined hundreds of protesters for Puente’s march from Arizona’s Capitol to the Fourth Avenue Jail. García Aguilar’s daughter, Jacqueline, and Arreola spoke at the final rally. “With ICE there’s now no right or wrong,” García Aguilar’s husband told me, as the crowd marched around the jail three times, losing more people with each turn. His wife had decided not to hide from ICE, he said, because living on the lam “no es vida.” But as time goes by, he finds her absence more and more difficult. “Now,” he said, “maybe it’s better not to show up.”

I heard anecdotal accounts that more people were, in fact, choosing the option that his wife had declined. Some were moving to new addresses. Others were looking for sanctuary in churches or simply shutting themselves up in their homes, essentially becoming fugitives when their check-ins passed. The full extent of these changes won’t be clear until this summer, said Petra Falcon, the executive director of Promise Arizona (PAZ). During past crises in Arizona, she said, undocumented parents had often waited for classes to end before moving with their children. But a recent report from the Arizona Health Care Cost Containment System showed that the percentage of Hispanics participating in Arizona’s state health care system had fallen by more than half between October 2016 and April 2017. Some Hispanics, it appeared, might be trying to retreat into the shadows again.

Trump’s Jan. 25 orders have made the concept of a single national strategy to stop deportations irrelevant. Under Obama, ICE’s prosecutorial priorities were consistent from state to state because they were clearly defined by the Department of Homeland Security and ICE in Washington. Trump’s orders, however, expanded prosecutorial priorities so broadly that, as a practical matter, there no longer exist any priorities at all. Steve Legomsky, the former chief counsel of United States Citizenship and Immigration Services (U.S.C.I.S.), told me that, effectively, “the decision of what to prioritize is now left in the hands of each individual ICE agent and each individual C.B.P. border-patrol officer.” Much has been made of the fact that Trump has essentially ceded America’s military strategy to its generals. His handling of ICE, whose field directors now set the agency’s direction, appears similar.

Legomsky said that the sweep of Trump’s priorities has also given ICE cover for the use of targeted deportations against activists. The agency doesn’t need to explain why the deportation of a DACA activist or an undocumented organizer is consistent with their announced priorities, he said, “if the announced priorities cover almost everybody.” In February, the Department of Homeland Security seemed to give its blessing for such retaliations when it issued a memo that gave ICE officers the authority to prioritize the deportation of anyone they believed posed “a risk to public safety.” Andiola, who is now the political director of Our Revolution, the 501(c)(4) that sprang from Bernie Sanders’s presidential bid, didn’t know if her mother had been targeted or if the letter ordering her to report for removal was simply a consequence of Trump’s redefined priorities.

After Arreola received the letter, Andiola worked her extensive professional network, calling organizers, lawyers and activists to gather opinions about what she should do. “It’s great that there are so many perspectives,” she said, “but it’s difficult to sort through all the differing kinds of advice.” Eventually, she realized there was no single solution. With a diversity of tactics in her pocket, she would deploy one after another in hopes of reaching success. What she needed first, she decided, was a legal strategy.

Even though Arreola fled to the United States to escape domestic abuse, it never occurred to either woman that Arreola might be eligible for asylum. In Andiola’s mind, asylum seekers came from Central America or the Middle East, places with extreme political turmoil. After García Aguilar’s deportation, though, Andiola began to take the option seriously. She knew it was a long shot: It has never been easy for Mexicans to gain asylum in the United States. And though several lawyers told me that asylum applications are now rising, the process is likely to become even more difficult soon. The Jan. 25 order on border security includes an entire section declaring Trump’s intention “to end the abuse of parole and asylum provisions.” “It’s the same political agenda that is behind banning Muslims and refugees from coming to the U.S.,” says Marielena Hincapié, the executive director of the National Immigration Law Center.