Winter approaches and limits on migrant shelter stays are expiring. Most asylum seekers in New York have yet to receive the work permits that would allow them to provide for their families.
By Sonya Ribner
For the security of interviewees, last names have been omitted. All interviews were conducted in Spanish and translated for an English audience.
Mario, 37, stands on the sidewalk ledge in front of the Row NYC hotel to avoid the crush hustling toward Times Square. The hotel is one of around 140 that New York City has converted to accommodate the 146,000 asylum seekers who have arrived since spring of 2022. When Mario fled Ecuador’s oppressive government, he thought the hard work would be the journey through the Darién Gap and across borders. He discovered quickly that obtaining a work permit presented a new set of challenges.
With the onset of winter, many migrants face being literally left out in the cold with no safe recourse for a job. According to federal law, asylum seekers must wait at least 150 days after submitting an initial application to apply for a work permit. The U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) may take anywhere from 30 days to many months to process work permits due to a growing backlog of applications. The Adams administration’s recent limiting of shelter stays for migrant families with children to 60 days presents a Catch-22: the city grants a shelter stay that is a third of the federal government’s processing time for the work permits asylum seekers require to be self-sufficient in New York City.
Mario has worked on several construction projects so that he may earn money to move out of a migrant shelter and pay for his own housing. However, without a work permit, he is vulnerable to contractors who exploit his undocumented status and refuse to pay Mario for his work.
“You file a [work permit] application and wait at least six, eight months,” Mario says. “I have looked for work on my own and found nothing.”
A wintry twilight falls over the Row as parents escorting children back from school pass through its revolving door. Missionaries stationed outside the hotel offer residents pamphlets, and children play tag between the legs of women chatting near the building’s front entrance. Though the city assigned Mario to housing in the Bronx, he takes the subway here nearly every day after work to meet his sister’s family.
As a single adult asylum seeker, Mario faces a 30-day limit on shelter before he must reapply for housing. For the past two weeks, asylum seekers subject to the first 30-day expiry date of November 26 have been battling freezing temperatures as they line up outside a reticketing site in the East Village to file new requests for shelter. City council representatives and teacher union members, among other groups, raised concerns this week about how families facing the first 60-day expiry limit just after the New Year will survive the city’s brutal cold and find safe living situations.
While Mario has yet to receive a notice that he must vacate his room in the Bronx, his sister’s family at the Row recently learned they will have to reapply for new shelter in January. Her husband is their sole provider and contends with the same challenges Mario faces when it comes to compensation for work.
“I am grateful the city has given me a place to live,” Mario says, “but it’s the way we go about work that is the problem.”
Given that Mario and his family are from Ecuador, they filed asylum applications which USCIS grants on a case-by-case basis, as opposed to Temporary Protected Status (TPS) designated for all nationals of a country deemed unsafe. Nevertheless, TPS can take anywhere from three to nine months to process. While theoretically TPS recipients have legal work status, the federal government does not always issue TPS in conjunction with employment authorization.
Allen, 39, a father of three and resident of the Row, fled Venezuela’s dangerous political system with his family ten months ago. As he waits on the federal government to approve his TPS application, he takes on jobs where employers don’t ask questions about work permits.
“I’ll work four days of the week,” Allen says. “If I get paid for one, I’m lucky.”
When unscrupulous employers refuse to pay, asylum seekers like Allen without a work permit have little recourse. He confronts the uncertainty of whether he will be compensated for his time and work so that he may earn enough to manage the city’s high cost of living. His family recently received notice they must vacate the hotel by January 11.
Senate Bill S7657 would allow New York to issue emergency expedited temporary work permits so that migrants can gain swift access to safe employment and transition out of city shelter. The proposal sits in the Rules Committee and has yet to reach the Senate floor. Asylum seekers confront the cognitive dissonance between the fast pace of the city that never sleeps and a federal and local government paralyzed by bureaucracy.
Carlos, 44, left Venezuela with his children and wife over a year ago. They navigated the journey through the Darién Gap, into Panama, then Costa Rica, where they confronted social discrimination. Though Costa Rica maintains an official policy of being receptive to asylum seekers, the country is experiencing an uptick in prejudice against migrants. When Carlos and his family reached the United States border, they applied for the Private Sponsorship Parole program and successfully crossed the border in Texas. Despite their family living three months crowded into a single room in the twenty-eight-floor Paul Hotel on W. 29th Street, Carlos maintains he likes New York.
“It’s big enough.” He jokes with an easy smile.
Valencia, the industrial city from which Carlos is from, is actually far larger than Manhattan. It used to be home to the factories of major automotive companies including Ford and General Motors. The companies closed up shop in the country five years ago due to the instability of the Maduro government.
“In Venezuela, there is no food on the shelves. No work. We had no ability to go on strike to throw out the government. I went to one protest and my family was threatened,” Carlos explains. “There is no way. It’s a dictatorship.”
Due to holdups with his paperwork, Carlos missed the submission period during the first round that the USCIS processed TPS applications for Venezuelan migrants. He is preparing to submit his candidacy in the current registration period.
“I’m waiting for the day that I can apply for a work permit. As far as I’m concerned, all that [New York is] missing is work permits that will allow us to contribute to society. That’s all most immigrants want. To work, pay taxes, and provide for our families.”
Carlos is here to sacar adelante, to provide. He repeats the phrase often.
“There are as many people from Venezuela [here] as there are from other countries like Ecuador, Colombia, Africa, or Haiti,” he says. Carlos whips his hands through the air to imitate the back-and-forth debates circulated on broadcast news and social media. “They say Venezuelans shouldn’t come to New York, but [they’re talking about] immigrants in general.”
Mayor Adams’s administration offers asylum seekers initial housing but falls short of making New York a home. Since arriving in the city, Mario, Allen, and Carlos have adapted to its tempo to support themselves and their families. Now, they wait for the city to respond.
“Like everything, good people come, and bad people come,” Carlos says. “But the majority come with good intentions and good hearts to provide for their family. We want to find a job that will help us support this city which has held out its hand and opened its doors to us.”