Varvara Babishkevych whisked bowls and laid out fresh dough on a kitchen counter in Elkhorn, preparing a traditional batch of pirozhki filled with minced meat and cabbage.
For the 70-year-old baker and her 72-year-old husband, Oleksandr, these moments of domestic routine offer a fragile sense of normalcy while war grinds on in their native Ukraine. But beneath the warmth of shared meals and English tutoring sessions in suburban Omaha, more than 40 Ukrainian families living in a local apartment complex face mounting legal limbo as federal immigration deadlines come and go.
Roughly one in five tenants at the 216-unit Elk Hills Apartments are Ukrainian. They are among the more than 2,500 Ukrainians who have resettled in Nebraska since Russia’s invasion in February 2022, facing temporary legal statuses, language barriers, and employment hurdles.
Yet as federal policies shift under President Donald Trump’s administration—which has canceled Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for 13 countries affecting roughly 1 million people—the future for these Nebraskans remains intensely uncertain.
The core anxiety for Elk Hills residents centers on TPS, a federal designation that protects eligible foreign nationals from deportation and grants them work authorization. The federal deadline to extend TPS for Ukrainians arrived on October 19, leaving families anxiously watching international news reports.
Instead of issuing a definitive long-term policy, the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services posted a brief 31-word alert stating that an announcement would be made at an appropriate time, and that existing TPS holders retain their protections and work authorization until then.
That administrative pause leaves residents unable to plan for basic milestones, according to local advocates. “We see these residents who want to work, who want to pay taxes, who want to contribute to our economy, have this taken away from them,” a woman said.
Kathy McCormack, a former Russian language teacher, visits the Elk Hills clubhouse twice a week to teach English to tenants like Karolina Ohnivchuk and the Babishkevych family.
The stakes extend far beyond paperwork. Without permanent legal residency or green cards, major life decisions freeze. Don Bacon addressed these challenges during an October 9 conference in Omaha, noting that temporary extensions fall short of what families need. “Do I buy a car? Do I buy a house?
Do I put a down payment on a house? Do I have another child? All these questions are hard if you don’t have certainty, and I would sure like to create that certainty,” Bacon said. He advocated for a direct pathway to green cards.
Nebraska state officials and lawmakers have attempted to smooth the transition where local jurisdiction allows. In 2023, the Nebraska Legislature passed a measure allowing Ukrainian newcomers to obtain driver’s licenses, easing daily mobility challenges. Governor Jim Pillen has publicly described Ukraine as the frontline of freedom, while Tom Brewer has traveled to the war-torn country nine times since the conflict began.
Still, federal immigration jurisdiction remains out of state reach. The two primary legal pathways that brought Ukrainians to the United States offer no direct route to citizenship and remain vulnerable to presidential cancellation at short notice. If those protections are revoked, residents face the prospect of deportation back to an active war zone.
Inside Elk Hills, residents build community despite the administrative shadow. Neighbors coordinate via WhatsApp to share clothing and supplies for an incoming baby expected in December. Varvara shares her baked goods—pirozhki and cabbage-stuffed golubtsi—with neighbors and tutors, while younger adults like 31-year-old Karolina Ohnivchuk balance caring for three children and a husband with multiple sclerosis while attending English classes.
“They’re Nebraskans who were born in a different country,” McCormack said. “You’re not better people than they are. You’re just more fortunate.”
