Standing in front of the iconic Roosevelt Hotel in New York City the other day, I found myself immersed in a world that was both foreign and tragically familiar. As a Venezuelan immigrant, I never expected to come face-to-face with fellow countrymen who had fled our homeland’s desperate situation to seek refuge in the Big Apple, thousands of miles away. One person who caught my attention was Milagros, a 21-year-old mother of two. The name “Milagros” means “miracles” in English, which perfectly suits her incredible story.
Milagros shared with me her heartbreaking life journey and how she and her children managed to make it to the southern border of the United States. At the age of 10, she was left orphaned after her mother’s passing and was taken care of by her grandmother. However, her grandmother also succumbed to the COVID-19 pandemic. With no support system left, Milagros made the difficult decision to leave behind a country devastated by Nicolas Maduro’s socialist regime, the cause of an 80 percent decline in GDP and the largest refugee crisis in the world.
During her journey north, Milagros experienced the harrowing reality that many migrants face. She witnessed a family being kidnapped by a Mexican cartel in Ciudad Juárez, where she spent months while waiting for an opportunity to enter the United States. She also encountered traumatic situations while crossing the treacherous Darién Gap, a roadless jungle between Colombia and Panama that separates the Americas.
But why did Milagros choose to make the dangerous and expensive trip to America instead of seeking refuge in another South American country? Her answer was simple but chilling. According to her, countries like Peru, Ecuador, and Colombia are rampant with gangs that kidnap people. In the United States, she felt there was a system in place to protect her and her children, and she believed that the law here offered more security. On the other hand, she expressed distrust towards the police in those countries, suggesting that they are corrupt and unresponsive.
Many migrants, like Milagros, have sought shelter in New York City because they became aware of the free housing provided to them. The city has reached a $225 million agreement with the Roosevelt Hotel, which has now been transformed into a temporary shelter. The intention behind this initiative was to offer these individuals a steppingstone towards a new life. However, as I discovered through interviews, the reality is far more complex.
Another resident of the hotel-turned-shelter is Winifer, a young mother from Venezuela who arrived in America with her husband and youngest child, leaving two older children with their grandparents back in Venezuela. With tears in her eyes, she shared the challenges of feeding her family in Venezuela and the pain of leaving her older sons behind. In America, her husband was able to find employment, providing them with a glimmer of hope.
I also spoke with Adam, a 24-year-old migrant from Chad, one of the world’s poorest countries. He stood on the sidewalk across from the hotel, alongside other African immigrants. Adam had pursued two years of study in biomedical sciences in Rwanda but had to abandon his degree. Instead, he embarked on a journey to the United States through Turkey and Colombia, with no visa requirement for visitors from Chad. Adam chose America over Europe because he believed it offered a better life and acknowledged the importance placed on humanity by the American government.
Every migrant I spoke to had their reasons for choosing New York City. While there were variations in their responses, a common thread emerged – the availability of free housing. Milagros revealed that when Texas officials offered her a flight out of state, they gave her two choices: Chicago or New York City. However, they strongly recommended coming to New York. Mayolis and Maria, two other Venezuelan women, had friends and family living in shelters here, which influenced their decision as well.
The “right-to-shelter” policy in New York City is already encouraging people to leave their countries, and it may lead to an influx of tens of thousands more migrants, further straining the city’s resources. While this policy is compassionate in intent, it is not sustainable. Currently, around 60,000 migrants reside in city shelters and temporary housing, outnumbering the sheltered New Yorkers. This number will continue to grow as more migrants receive shelter and spread the word to others.
I empathize deeply with the residents of these shelters. They have endured immense suffering, often through no fault of their own. The dire situations they are fleeing are the result of authoritarian regimes and corrupt governments in their home countries. However, in our pursuit of unlimited compassion, we risk sacrificing the very prosperity these migrants hope to achieve. The United States, and specifically New York City, cannot guarantee shelter for all oppressed individuals around the world. It is time for the city to reassess its “right to shelter” policy.
I encourage more New Yorkers to visit places like the Roosevelt Hotel and engage in conversations with these migrants, as there is much to learn from this crisis. By listening to their stories, many Americans might come to appreciate what they have and gain a better understanding of how to preserve it. It is through dialogue and understanding that we can find a balanced approach that supports both those seeking refuge and the well-being of our own communities.
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