Treacherous jungles, bribes: What asylum seekers endured before arriving at New York hotels
NEWBURGH, New York - Jorge didn't want to leave Venezuela or his family, but forced himself when he feared he might be killed at his job at a petroleum plant.
He spent months making his way to the U.S., passing corpses in a notorious jungle stretch and stopping in towns to earn money to continue his journey.
Today, he's safe in New York with the trauma of his trip behind him. But he's stuck in limbo as authorities decide his fate.
Danger and desperation have turned to doldrums at the unlikely place he wound up: The Crossroads Hotel, next to Interstate 84 in Orange County, New York.
The 43-year-old Jorge (who, like other asylum seekers interviewed at The Crossroads, declined to give a last name for fear of retaliation against his family) is one of 110 men seeking asylum in the U.S. that New York City bused to the Newburgh hotel a few weeks ago.
It's one of a handful of hotels in the Hudson Valley and Albany, New York, area that so far have taken in migrants from the city − a relocation effort that has met resistance and spawned a slew of court cases. Even upstate counties like Oneida and Monroe issued emergency orders in recent weeks to regulate whether asylum seekers can go to area hotels, or whether those hotels have adequate housing and service plans in place.
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Jorge, speaking in Spanish through a translator in front of the hotel one evening last week, talked about yearning for work - any work - and his frustration at barriers he and the other men face. And he gave a glimpse of his harrowing journey, including the three-day ordeal for Venezuelan refugees crossing the Darien Gap, the mountainous forest path taking them north from Colombia to Panama. He passed a lot of dead bodies there.
“A lot of the women would be raped," Jorge said. "It’s very, very hard, very traumatizing.”
Jorge and other migrants at The Crossroads and another hotel in the town of Newburgh are now entangled in bureaucracy and the court system. They are awaiting decisions on whether the U.S. will grant them asylum. They are waiting for work papers. And whether they remain at their hotels hinges on court rulings.
Nine lawsuits in all are being waged against or in support of the city's efforts to place asylum seekers in upstate hotels to manage the steady influx. In the meantime, several hundred migrants relocated by New York City are staying at six or more hotels - two in Newburgh, one in the town of Poughkeepsie, one in Yonkers, two in the Albany area - as the city continues its quest for more.
The city is paying for the migrants' lodging, food, medical needs and other services, including workers to look after them. It originally said they would stay up to four months, but has given no long-term plan for where they would go after that - one bone of contention for the counties and towns that are fighting the plans.
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The two Newburgh hotels offer a snapshot of the multi-national tide streaming to the U.S.
Some of the men are from South American countries: Venezuela, Chile, Peru, Colombia, Brazil. Some are from African nations, including Mauritania, Senegal and Chad. Still others are from Russia and the former Soviet republic of Georgia.
What they share is they all fled hardship and danger, made grueling trips to the U.S.-Mexico border, applied for asylum and were bused to New York City, putting them in the city's care. Then they volunteered for the city's new relocation program and became hotel guests in Newburgh.
Mustafa, 31, left Mauritania, a desert nation of 4 million in western African with an oppressive regime and no running water or electricity in many places. He flew to Turkey, Spain and then Colombia before starting the same northward journey as others through Central America and Mexico.
A similar route was taken by Ibrahim, 27, another refugee from Mauritania. He and Mustafa described a stifling life back home where police shake down citizens and people are arrested if they criticize the government.
"If you say anything, if you write on Facebook post, you will get to the prison,” Ibrahim said in halting English.
Volunteers provide groceries, bikes ... even a guitar
Both Mauritanians spoke primarily in French - a vestige of their country's colonial past - and were translated by Kevindaryan Lujan, one of about a dozen volunteers who have been helping asylum seekers at the two Newburgh hotels.
Lujan, a 36-year-old Newburgh native and Orange County legislator, has studied abroad and is fluent in both Spanish and French, a rare asset at a hotel that now resembles a United Nations gathering. He said he swings by The Crossroads or Ramada by Wyndham about every other day, chit-chatting with the men and seeing what he can do to help. He had found them donated bikes, and a donated guitar for one to entertain the others.
"Sometimes I go there just for morale, because I'm someone they can talk to," he said.
Help has come from a number of directions. Someone donated soccer nets and balls. Someone else gave the men classes on starting their own businesses. As many as 15 more bikes were expected over the weekend. And there is a steady stream of volunteers like Newburgh resident Vanessa Tirado, who was there on Wednesday night to drop off groceries she bought at Target with donated gift cards.
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Lujan is eager to do more, to get the men English classes and connect them with employers in dire need of help.
"We can help them integrate as quickly as possible, because the truth is, we need workers," he said.
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The men at The Crossroads recounted the constant tribulations of their travels to the U.S. The deadly Darien Gap. Demands for bribes at every border, trapping in Guatemala any migrants who couldn't pay. Predatory Mexican gangs that rob migrants, smash their phones and set their camps ablaze, regardless of whether people are sleeping in them.
Renny, a 22-year-old from Venezuela, voiced his gratitude to the U.S. government for where he and the others are now: safe, with a roof over their heads and an opportunity for a better life. What they want now above all is to start working and become self-sufficient, he said.
He's one of 186 men who were bused to the two Newburgh hotels, a total that was frozen by a court order that allowed the city to send no others until the next ruling. They're paired up in rooms, eating meals there or in a dining room. According to Lujan, a handful have returned to the city after deciding it was more hospitable.
A dozen or so lingered outside The Crossroads when a reporter and photographer visited last week, lounging at a picnic table and talking over the steady thrum of traffic from the interstate. A security guard stood vigil at the hotel entrance to question and shoo away unwanted visitors.
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Jorge, speaking in Spanish with Lujan translating, said people who are hostile to their being at the hotel don't seem to understand they are following a legal process: they have applied for asylum, and are awaiting the outcome. He was frustrated he had only found work one of the 17 days he had been there, and felt as though doors were being closed to him and the others.
But he also shared some positives: the welcoming volunteers who drop off food, clothing and toiletries. The warm and helpful hotel staff. He said they had made him and the other men feel less alone.
Chris McKenna covers government and politics for The Journal News and Paste BN Network. Reach him at cmckenna@gannett.com.