New England Public Radio

From War-Torn Syria To Snowy Prep School, Syrian Refugees Seek Education In Vermont

NEW ENGLAND NEWS COLLABORATIVE

Many small towns in New England are eager to welcome refugees from the war in Syria, but that doesn’t seem likely under President Donald Trump’s shifting immigration policy.

St. Johnsbury Academy in Vermont has found a way around that — they’re offering scholarships to refugees already living in the U.S.

Outside a U.S. immigration office, tucked in a strip mall in East Hartford, the Alsalloumi family — mom, dad, their two daughters, and eldest son, Ayman — waited. They traveled more than an hour from their home in West Haven, hoping to get fingerprinted for their green card applications. They need green cards to start their pathway to citizenship.

“We had an appointment yesterday but it canceled before, because of the snow,” Ayman said. “But we just came to try.”

https://www.facebook.com/WNPRNews/videos/1263382900376948/

The Alsalloumis started this process last fall, but Ayman said he doesn’t know long it will take them to get a green card.

So the family headed home to West Haven to wait.

Cozied next to his sisters on a leather couch in their family room, Ayman, 16, said they waited almost two years for approval to come to the U.S.

“We did about 10 interviews, or more than 10,” Ayman said. “A lot of questions. About from when we’re born until now.”

The Alsalloumis come from Homs, Syria — a city torn apart by civil war. They left to visit an aunt in Jordan four years ago — and never returned. Then the family moved to Connecticut a year and a half ago. Ayman’s mother, Rawan, said she and her husband want to stay here for the children.

“They came here just for us, for our future, to complete our study, to complete our education,” Ayman said while translating for his mother.

Now, Rawan takes English classes and looks after her youngest daughter, Jenna, who’s in third grade. Mazen, the father, works at a New Haven pizza shop and dreams of opening a Syrian restaurant.

It’s not Homs, but it’s not unusual to see Muslim people in West Haven. It’s a diverse urban area. But the two oldest kids don’t go to school here. Ayman and Ghena study four hours away, at St. Johnsbury Academy in Vermont. It’s an international school in a mostly white, blue collar town set in the Green Mountains.

When I visited Ayman and Ghena in St. Johnsbury, they started the day at chapel on campus with announcements from the headmaster.

Aymen stood with his classmates for the Pledge of allegiance in his shirt and tie — part of the dress code. Out of 1,000 students, the Alsalloumis are the only ones who speak Arabic.

Robyn Greenstone, who teachers their ESL class, said that’s good for them because they get immersed in the English language.

“It’s a real pleasure to get to know Ayman and Ghena and to watch their development,” said Greenstone. “I feel honored to be part of their new life here.”

Greenstone said learning English has boosted the students’ confidence in class, and helped them make new friends.

Ayman, Ghena, and their classmate Michelle Leblanc showed me around campus. Ayman told Michelle how he joined the basketball and soccer teams. Ghena doesn’t like sports as much, but she might try skiing for the first time. They had a school ski trip to the mountains scheduled for the next day.

Instead of joining the ski team, Ghena said she would rather join clubs like fashion design. She’s St. Johnbury’s first student to wear a hijab, the religious head scarf. Michelle said she likes how Ghena coordinates her hijab perfectly with her outfits.

After class, Ghena showed me her home on campus.

She lives in a house with other international students from Ukraine and China. She pointed to a chalkboard hung up in her kitchen, where the girls doodled a message in Arabic.

“This means welcome,” Ghena said.

Ayman lives right across the street in a house for boys. The siblings go home to pray at sunset, then they eat dinner in the cafeteria. They sometimes miss their family — and their mom’s cooking — back home in Connecticut. On tough days, Ghena may talk to a school counselor.

Tom Lovett, the headmaster, said Ghena told him a little bit about what it’s like living in Vermont after fleeing Syria.

“Ghena said that this is the first time they felt safe in a long time,” Lovett said.

Lovett said St. Johnsbury is doing all it can to make Syrian students feel welcome in the remote town. He asked Aymen and Ghena what more the school can do.

“Of course they’re so gracious they said ‘oh nothing, nothing. We love it,’” Lovett said. “But then, when pressed, it was to have more students from their culture and who spoke their language. So that’s our goal, two more next year, two more the year after, until we have eight.”

Lovett said the school is ready to sponsor more Syrian refugees. But if Trump continues strict immigration policies, prospective students would already have to be settled in the United States.

In the meantime, the Alsalloumis prepare for college. Ghena wants to become a doctor and Ayman wants to become an architect. He said his family wants to stay for the long term, no matter the political climate.

“I don’t have to care about Donald Trump, I have to care about the people who I’m living with, like the people here at school. If they love us, if they want us,” Ayman said.

The Alsalloumis said they want a peaceful life in New England, where they can build a future.

This report is part of a series called “Facing Change.” The series comes from the New England News Collaborative, eight public media companies coming together to tell the story of a changing region, with support from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.

Portland’s First Muslim City Councilor Works To Get Out The Vote

NEW ENGLAND NEWS COLLABORATIVE

Muslim immigrants have become an increasingly large part of the fabric of New England in recent years.

They don’t hold very much political power in the region yet, but one Muslim immigrant from Maine is steadily working his way into the power structure in a very practical way — by getting out the vote.

Inside a cavernous glass and steel chamber that overlooks Portland’s busy waterfront, dozens of immigrants are about to become citizens at a ceremony.

Roughly 3.5 percent of Maine’s population is foreign born, and in the last decade or so, the state has seen a significant influx of refugees from conflict zones like Iraq and Somalia. They’ve concentrated in the state’s biggest cities, with Portland the biggest.

Most immigrants who want to be naturalized have to wait five years to become eligible. But as one speaker at the ceremony notes, these new Americans are not mere citizens, they are now potential voters.

“Please do register. That is one of the responsibilities that is required of everyone that is a citizen of this country,” says Pious Ali, an immigrant from Ghana, slightly overstating the responsibility to vote.

Ali earned his U.S. citizenship almost a decade ago, but his emphasis on the importance of voting is easy to understand. On the same day Donald Trump was elected president, Ali was elected to Portland’s City Council, continuing the political rise of the one of the first African-born Muslims to hold public office in Maine.

And he won more votes than any other candidate for city council in at least 20 years. That’s a testament to pretty broad support, but Ali says he counted on newly energized immigrant voters to back his candidacy.

He says all his voters, immigrants or not, want him to be a voice for new Mainers.

“I have a very complex identity. I am a black man in today’s America. I am an immigrant and I also happen to be a Muslim. So with all this complex identity that I have I can relate and I can speak with many different constituents. They will also feel comfortable reaching out to me instead of maybe other councilors,” Ali says.

“He’s really been a vital cog in the wheel, if you will, over the last 10 years of trying to make sure that the community needs are being heard, and I think he just became a really trusted leader for a lot of people, and honestly worked his ass off,” says Ethan Strimling, Portland’s mayor and a political ally of Ali’s since Ali made a successful run for the city school board four years ago.

Strimling now convenes a monthly meeting with Muslim leaders, and he has pushed to establish a city office to help new Mainers and other underserved residents find work. He says the city’s immigrant communities are starting to show some real political muscle.

“As more and more of this generation has become citizens and become more active in our schools, you’ve really started to see it,” he says. “I think anybody who is in politics in the city of Portland is going to come up very short if they are not connected to the immigrant community and they aren’t listening to the immigrant community in terms of what their expectations are.”

Expectations such as jobs, better school services and inclusion. Ali wants all of those, but he is starting with smaller bites at the apple and focusing on constituent service. And he’s wary of bold moves: he says, for instance, that the time is not ripe for a proposal by Strimling to allow legal immigrants to vote before they are naturalized.

First, Ali says, it’s impractical. The necessary permission from state government is unlikely, at least not now. Maine Gov. Paul LePage, it’s worth noting, is famous for resisting liberal immigrant policies.

Second, Ali says, recent immigrants from unstable countries need time to settle and learn before jumping into a pretty poisonous political environment in the U.S.

“Politics is already toxic as it is right now. So to bring in people who do not have a vast understanding of this, would be a disservice to that community. So, totally great idea, but there’s a lot of work to be done,” he says.

National data show that recently naturalized citizens tend to vote at lower rates than those who’ve been here for decades, or are U.S.-born. At the recent waterfront naturalization ceremony, there was an appreciable line at a table the League of Women Voters set up to help fresh-minted citizens register.

Luc-Armand Ningumirize says he arrived here from Burundi five years ago, and he looks to Ali to carry the immigrant banner into city politics.

“When I was congratulating him I was saying now we are seeing your steps. So just know there are some other people behind you who are doing the same steps as he did. So it’s a great victory not only for him but also for the immigrant communities around Portland,” he says.

Ningumirize had another message for Ali: the councilor could count on his vote in the next election.

This report is part of a series called “Facing Change.” It comes from the New England News Collaborative, eight public media companies coming together to tell the story of a changing region, with support from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.

‘This Is The Time That We Cannot Shy Away’: Muslim-Americans Seek To Engage Politically

NEW ENGLAND NEWS COLLABORATIVE

With her 3-month-old baby on her lap and her 2-year-old son strumming a guitar in the background, Nichole Mossalam ticks through her hypothetical platform as a candidate for Malden School Committee.

Sitting around a cluttered table in the shared office space of a Cambridge-based nonprofit, Mossalam learns the ins and outs of running for public office.

The nonprofit, Jetpac, trains potential candidates regardless of party affiliation, with a goal of increasing civic engagement within Muslim communities.

Mossalam is 34, lives in Malden, and is a director at her local mosque. She’s been working with the political training group for over a month and admits she’s got a way to go before she launches her run in June.

“Oh, there’s so much to learn,” she says with wide eyes and a grin. “But it’s definitely exciting. The Islamic community is excited because if elected, I would be the first Muslim elected in the city of Malden, and they really want to see that for the community. Some of the parent groups that I’m involved in, they want a voice on the school committee as well.”

Part of Jetpac’s mission is to help potential Muslim candidates identify opportunities for civic engagement and then to empower them.

Another candidate-in-training is 41-year-old Sarah Khatib of Walpole, who says the current political climate is somewhat of a motivator.

“You know we are a target of a lot of unfortunate rhetoric and even physical assaults,” Khatib says, “and I think, yeah, it can be a catalyst, you know.”

With a master’s degree in structural engineering, Khatib has her sights set on the Walpole Planning Board. But why is this mother of four and political newbie gearing up for a campaign now? Well, she says it’s time for Muslim community members to engage.

“As the community sees more and more people who are able [to] step up and try to run, then it will give them confidence,” she says. “Jetpac, it’s just a wonderful resource so that, like, somebody [like] myself who maybe has that inclination to run, this gives you the extra boost that you need to see it through.”

Muslims Have Been On The ‘Defensive’

Providing this “extra boost” to people thinking about a bid for office is part of what Jetpac’s cofounder and Cambridge City Councilor Nadeem Mazen had in mind.

“In my opinion, organizing in the community is the best way to get started thinking about running for office,” Mazen says, “and running for office is one of the best ways to impact the local or state level community on issues of great, important value to our everyday lives.”

As Massachusetts’ first Muslim city councilor, Mazen wants to encourage other American Muslims to enter politics.

But putting your name on a ballot means opening your life up to the public, and that’s a tall task for anyone.

For Muslims, Mazen says, it’s just not something that communities have been focused on in the past.

“Muslims to a great extent have been on the defensive for the last couple of decades,” he says. “When you are spending so much of your life on the defensive, it makes it difficult to do the work that is community-oriented.”

In New England, there are only a handful of Muslim elected officials. But Mazen sees plenty of potential. Jetpac had only three Massachusetts participants earlier this month. After the launch, more than 100 people nationwide responded.

Mazen says political organizing in communities has the potential to translate into voters at the polls but, he adds, tipping political scales is not the sole motivation.

“Let’s go beyond that, to the fact that it’s incumbent upon Muslims to achieve justice in the community, to protect people’s housing, to visit the sick,” Mazen says. “It’s incumbent upon Muslims to be part of that discussion. All of that comes out of community solidarity, community organizing.”

‘This Is The Time That We Cannot Shy Away’

Deeqo Jibril has been living a page out of the community organizer playbook for decades now.

“I am [an] activist, a lot of politicians come to me to mobilize this community,” Jibril says. “And this year I said, well, the community wants to see somebody that look[s] like us.”

Jibril is Somali and came to the U.S. as a refugee when she was 12 years old. She and her family have called Roxbury home ever since, and soon she hopes to represent the district as the first Muslim elected to the Boston City Council.

“We are underrepresented,” she says, “and I encourage always to civically get engaged [in] the community, and now I encourage them more to get engaged, because this is the time that we cannot shy away.”

Jibril is running for the seat currently held by Tito Jackson, who earlier this year began a campaign for mayor. When asked about her chances of winning, she pauses and says: “I don’t know, we’ll see. It’s uphill battle, but, um, regardless [of] what happens, this campaign will inspire others to get more engaged.”

Even if it that engagement happens one candidate at a time.

This report is part of a series called “Facing Change.” The series comes from the New England News Collaborative, eight public media companies coming together to tell the story of a changing region, with support from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.

Facing Change: Despite Federal Guidelines, Indiscriminate Immigration Arrests Still Occur In Vermont

NEW ENGLAND NEWS COLLABORATIVE

In 2014, the Obama administration issued a federal memo aiming to put an end to random deportations of people living illegally in the U.S. who aren’t criminals. But a closer look finds that there are still cases where immigration authorities are ignoring these policies, including in Vermont.

Before we take a look at some arrests of dairy workers here in Vermont, a bit of background on how and why federal policy changed.

Two years ago, the Obama administration ended a widely unpopular program called “Secure Communities.”

The program resulted in the indiscriminate deportation of people in the U.S. illegally who were contributing, taxpaying members of their community but had had a minor run-in with the law — something as simple as running a stop sign.

Nationally, the program created such rampant distrust of police among community members that many mayors and a few governors announced they would not cooperate with the mandatory federal requirements.

So in 2014, the Department of Homeland Security replaced the program with guidelines to prioritize for deportation people who are “threats to national security and public safety.”

“ICE had strict guidelines, you’re only supposed to be going after criminals,” says Enrique Mesa, an immigration attorney based in Manchester, New Hampshire, referring to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

And the other part of the problem, Mesa says, is that in many cases local law enforcement is alerting immigration authorities whenever they encounter someone they suspect is here illegally.

“Here in Vermont, that I have seen, is that if you are picked up for driving without license or DUI, the prosecutors or the police will notify ICE,” says Mesa.

A DUI is a deportable offense — but it’s considered a second-level priority, which falls below a slew of high priority crimes including terrorist acts, espionage and aggravated felonies.

“Unfortunately … I’ve been seeing in my neck of the woods, in New Hampshire, that even for simple driving without license, ICE is just picking people up and just detaining them, left and right,” says Mesa.

For example, take the story of Victor Diaz, a dairy worker in central Vermont (who, to be clear, is not Mesa’s client).

Diaz, 25, has worked on an Addison County dairy farm for nearly three years. He is one of seven workers from Mexico or Guatemala who keep the 950-cow farm running 24-hours a day.

Victor Diaz was picked up by immigration officials after he pled “no contest” to a DUI, which is a second-priority deportation offense. He’s also an activist leader with Migrant Justice. After his arrest there was an outpouring of support from the community saying he is a valued friend and neighbor. (Kathleen Masterston for VPR / NENC)

On a recent blustery afternoon, he takes me up into the employee living quarters — we talk in a sparse kitchen just upstairs from the milking parlor. The stairwell is filled with the acrid smell of manure combined with the sweet warm scent of fresh milk.

Victor explains that he works the 12-hour night shift:

“I come in to work at 7:30 p.m. and leave at around 1:30 a.m.; and I come back in at 3:30 a.m. until around 10 a.m.,” he says. “In the middle of the night I have about two hours to eat something, sleep for an hour and then go back to work.”

Last year, Victor was pulled over by police and charged with driving under the influence. At the time, he had a driver’s privilege card, a legal document that both Vermont and Connecticut offer to people that requires proof of residency, but not proof of citizenship.

Diaz pled “no contest” in court, and paid a $400 fine.

He wouldn’t say publicly whether he understood that his plea could make him a priority for deportation.

Yet five months later, in April 2016, Diaz was in Stowe with friends at Mexican cultural event when he was approached by two agents wearing civilian clothing.

“They asked me if I was José. My name is José Victor, and I’m used to people calling me Victor so it seemed strange they would call me José,” he says.

“And I said, ‘Yes, I am.’ [They then said,] ‘Well, we are ICE agents, we are here to arrest you.’ And then he said to give him my hands and he handcuffed me and took me to his car.”

It’s unclear exactly how ICE learned about the DUI. Representatives from ICE declined to comment for this story.

But there are two likely ways ICE could have tracked Diaz down.

First, when someone is booked by local or state police, his or her fingerprints are submitted to a database run by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and immigration authorities have access to that info. This practice began under the Secure Communities program and is continuing under the new federal guidelines, or Priority Enforcement Program.

Second, it is possible that local law enforcement or prosecutors alerted ICE that they pulled over someone who might be in the country illegally.

That opens the door to racial profiling, says James Duff Lyall, the executive director of the American Civil Liberties Union of Vermont.

“Vermont has policy on the books that limits, explicitly limits, local law enforcement from participating in immigration enforcement,” Lyall says. “And yet we are seeing examples of local law enforcement inserting themselves into immigration enforcement, in disregard of Vermont state law, and also raising serious constitutional and civil rights concerns.”

Vermont has laws specifically limiting local law enforcement from acting as immigration enforcement, including the fair and impartial policing policy.

Not only are police not supposed to be playing the role of immigration officials, but Lyall says there are also concerns that immigration officials are not always adhering to the new federal guidelines.

Miguel Alcudia, a dairy worker in central Vermont, was arrested by immigration officials despite having no criminal background, which means he isn’t a deportation priority under federal guidelines. (Ryan Caron King for NENC)

In fact, in New England, anywhere from one-third to one-half of people for whom ICE issues detainers — that’s a request to local police to hold that person — have no criminal record and have not been arrested before.

Miguel Alcudia is one example. He works on the same Vermont dairy farm as Diaz, and he was picked up by ICE earlier this year on the grounds that he’s living in the country on an expired visa.

“It was a Thursday and I was on my way to the bank to cash my check, but I was detained before I got there. ICE arrested me,” says Alcudia.

“But I don’t know why, because I’m not a priority to be deported,” Alcudia adds. “I’m not a criminal. I came to this country just to work.”

(Sara Plourde for NHPR / NENC)

Alcudia says when he asked the immigration officials why they picked him up, “they admitted that someone had called them about me. The ICE officer who detained me said he had gotten a call from someone who told them about me.”

Both Alcudia and Diaz are also activists with Migrant Justice, a Vermont group that advocates for farm worker rights. Both were released on bail after multiple letters of support from the community, and from Sen. Bernie Sanders.

The two are awaiting their deportation hearing in front of a judge in the coming months.

Dairy workers and farm owners alike says it’s incredibly challenging to find American workers who will work long hours for little pay. That’s part of the reason many larger farms rely on foreign nationals for labor. (Ryan Caron King for NENC)

In other cases, local police are stepping outside their authority. Take the case of Lorenzo Alcudia; he’s Miguel’s cousin, and also a Mexican national who was working on a Vermont dairy farm.

He was a passenger in a car where the white driver was pulled over for speeding in Grand Isle County. After deciding to not give the driver a ticket, the deputy sheriff detained the car for an hour while he called border patrol.

This detention occurred despite the deputy sheriff finding no sufficient evidence of criminal activity, according to a report by the Vermont Human Right’s Commission. The report concluded Alcudia was detained because of the color of his skin and his limited English.

Border patrol confirmed that Alcudia does not have a criminal record, but came and picked him up anyway for residing in the country illegally.

Alcudia’s lawyer, Robert Appel, says the federal courts are quite clear this kind of roadside detention without any reasonable suspicion of criminal activity is illegal.

“Detaining an operator and a passenger and the vehicle is all seizure under the Fourth Amendment. And therefore in my view, the extended detention was unconstitutional as well as racially discriminatory,” Appel said this summer after the ruling came down.

The Grand Isle County Sheriff Department paid nearly $30,000 to settle the discrimination instance, but that doesn’t change things for Alcudia.

He is still awaiting deportation proceedings.

Like Victor Diaz and Miguel Alcudia, his fate rests on the immigration judge’s discretion — and the judge’s interpretation of the ever-changing immigration policies.

This report is part four of a four-part series called “Facing Change.” Check out the earlier stories:

PART 1: Business Leaders Say Immigration Can Stem New England’s Workforce Shortage

PART 2: As New England Ages, Immigrants Make Up A Growing Share Of Health Workers

PART 3: A New England Community Prepares For The Arrival Of Refugees

The series comes from the New England News Collaborative, eight public media companies coming together to tell the story of a changing region, with support from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.

Facing Change: A New England Community Prepares For The Arrival Of Refugees

NEW ENGLAND NEWS COLLABORATIVE

Next month, a mix of Syrian and Iraqi refugees will begin arriving in Rutland, Vermont. They’ll be the first of 100 that will be resettled there over the next year. Though there’s been loud opposition to the plan in the aging, blue-collar city of 16,000, proponents remain optimistic — and many have been volunteering long hours to ensure the plan succeeds.

For example, on a recent Thursday night, Rutland’s Unitarian Universalist church was filled with the sound of Arabic.

It’s not a language you hear much in Rutland. There are few Muslims in the city, no Middle Eastern restaurants and no mosques tucked between the many churches.

Morgan Denehy grew up near Rutland, studied Arabic in college and spent time living in Egypt and Morocco.

He was living in New York City when he heard about the Rutland refugee resettlement plan and says it gave him a good reason to move back home.

Morgan Denehy stands at the front of Rutland’s Unitarian Universalist church. He studied Arabic in college and has been leading free classes for members of the Rutland community since early November. (Ryan Caron King for NENC)

“I was really blown away by the amount of interest that people had for wanting to help,” says Denehy. “And I just sort of felt that I had to do my part.”

He said it has always been his experience, learning Arabic or any language, “that [when] you address someone in their own language it’s really powerful.”

Since early November, between 15 and 30 people have been attending his free, weekly Arabic classes. Some come every week while others pop in and out. The atmosphere is relaxed and fun, and there’s plenty of laughter mixed in with pronunciation tips.

Two Arabic language professors from Middlebury College, Usama Soltan and Samuel Liebhaber, have been driving down each Thursday to help, often with students from the college in tow.

Middlebury College associate professor Usama Soltan leads a group in Arabic lessons at Rutland’s Unitarian Universalist church. (Ryan Caron King for NENC)

“People want to bridge that gap, and even if it’s just to say ‘hello,’ ‘I’m sorry,’ ‘welcome,’ ‘my name is … ,’ they want to be able to say that and extend themselves,” says Marsha Cassel.

Cassel is a long-time French teacher in Rutland and is thrilled to see so many people are trying to learn Arabic, something she believes will also teach empathy.

“I think it’s good for us to understand, to just wrestle with this language, which is so different — because they [the refugees] are wrestling with English, which is so different.”

But when you consider cities across New England, you might be wondering, if Rutland is so small, and there’s so little Middle Eastern culture there, why bring Syrian and Iraqi refugees there to begin with?

Compared to Vermont’s largest city, Burlington, where resettlement has been going on for decades, housing costs in Rutland are low and local employers say they have jobs to fill.

And many, including Rutland Mayor Christopher Louras, believe refugees will give the city a much-needed boost.

“My response to people who say Rutland’s not ready for this type of thing is, ‘Then when?’” says Louras. “And how has this been working out for us? Not too well. Our population is continuing to decline and we need an infusion of new blood and new culture.”

Barbara Richter agrees.

She unlocks a storage room in a local church. It’s filled with items donated for the refugees. There are floor-to-ceiling shelves with linens and others with stacks of cookware.

“So here you see all of the sauce pans. And over here, we have full sets of dishes. Some of them are still in boxes,” she says, smiling.

Barbara Richter, a member of the volunteer group Rutland Welcomes, in a storage room filled with items donated for the soon-to-be-arriving refugees. (Nina Keck for VPR)

Richter is part of Rutland Welcomes, a volunteer group that formed last spring just after the refugee resettlement plan was announced.

Richter says they have a warehouse full of donated furniture and a small army of volunteers ready to tutor, mentor, clean and prepare apartments and provide transportation.

“With one phone call, I could mobilize a network of people to come in here and take what they need to set up a home,” Richter says.

Across town, Emily Gleason, an assistant professor at nearby Castleton University, greets 20 teachers and school counselors.

Gleason has a Ph.D. in literacy and specializes in multi-cultural studies. When she heard about Rutland’s resettlement plans, she designed a semester-long course to help educators better understand the refugee crisis and the needs of refugee children.

“We try to think about the cultural barriers they might face walking into a small rural school in New England and how we can be as inclusive and welcoming as possible,” says Gleason.

Castleton University assistant professor Emily Gleason designed a semester-long course to help educators better understand the refugee crisis and the needs of refugee children. (Ryan Caron King for NENC)

Unlike many New England cities, Rutland doesn’t have a refugee community already in place, so creating one has stirred up a lot of uncertainty and fear. Some hope a Trump Administration will slow down or even stop resettlement.

Gleason says because of Rutland’s small size, the divide in the community feels bigger.

“This is such a small local stage that it’s all playing out with people very closely,” she explains. “I moved here from Oakland, California, and you can be on one side of an issue and never see the people in the opposition. Here, it’s not like that.”

Jackie Gauthier agrees.

Sitting in Gleason’s class, she shared with the others about how that’s played out for her at work. She’s a paraeducator in Rutland and says even among her coworkers, refugee resettlement has become difficult to talk about.

“I had one person the other day say, ‘I don’t know why I feel this way, because my family were immigrants, but I’m just not comfortable with them coming to our community.’ So she was struggling with her own feelings and she didn’t really understand why she felt that way,” says Gauthier.

At a local lunch spot, Rutland resident Matt Howland says he continues to have big concerns about how the city will absorb so many newcomers and remains unconvinced that Rutland is the best place for them to come.

While Howland applauds the efforts of local volunteers, he worries too much of the resettlement effort depends on them.

“Five years from now, what resources does the city have in place to pick up [the slack] if a group like Rutland Welcomes no longer has the means to help support this program going forward?” he asked.

A refugee welcome group sign in a Rutland storefront. Rutland Welcomes was formed last spring just after the resettlement plan was announced. (Ryan Caron King for NENC)

Roman Smiechowski isn’t worried. While not a refugee, he immigrated to Rutland from Poland 24 years ago, learned the language and sent a daughter to law school.

“I look in mirror every day,” he says. “I came here and I made it — why can’t they?”

Smiechowski teaches drivers education and is developing a course to help refugees learn to drive.

He says right now everything is unknown — even the refugees’ arrival date — so volunteers are all waiting for those first families to arrive.

Once the refugees actually begin living in the community, Smiechowski hopes people in Rutland will see them for what they are, “other families,” he says, “just trying to make it.”

This report is part four of a four-part series called “Facing Change.” Check out the earlier stories:

PART 1: Business Leaders Say Immigration Can Stem New England’s Workforce Shortage

PART 2: As New England Ages, Immigrants Make Up A Growing Share Of Health Workers

PART 3: A New England Community Prepares For The Arrival Of Refugees

The series comes from the New England News Collaborative, eight public media companies coming together to tell the story of a changing region, with support from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.

Facing Change: As New England Ages, Immigrants Make Up A Growing Share Of Health Workers

NEW ENGLAND NEWS COLLABORATIVE

New England is an old region, and not just by historical standards.

The population here is aging faster than almost any other place in the country. Fewer people are having children, and many of the states struggle to keep younger generations living and working here.

And as New England’s baby boomers grow older, and live longer, the need for health care workers also grows.

‘The Bedrock of the Health Care Industry’

Standing at the front of a classroom, an instructor writes basic medical definitions on a whiteboard. Nine students from all over the world scribble down notes and shout out answers in unison.

Thirty-year-old Ayehu Lakew sits next to classmates from Nepal, the Dominican Republic and Jamaica. They’re all here for a class called “Working with Frail Elders” at Boston-based Jewish Vocational Services. It’s a nonprofit job-training program focused on specific industries like food service and health care, both sectors facing labor shortages.

With a bright smile spreading across her face, Lakew says, in imperfect English, that after about two months, the course is going well.

“Oh, it’s good, I like it,” she says. “You know, I don’t have experience before, but I want to be, like, nursing in the future. This is good start for me. Before I got my baby I used to work in the parking place.”

Lakew was a fashion model in Ethiopia before she arrived in Boston four years ago on a diversity visa. Her baby son was born here and she’s hopeful that with this training, she won’t need to return to her job as a parking attendant. She laughs and suggests that we check back with her in five years to gauge her progress.

Ayehu Lakew studies the whiteboard at a JVS class. She's 30, from Ethiopia, and has been living in the U.S. for four years. (Robin Lubbock for WBUR)
Ayehu Lakew studies the whiteboard at a JVS class. She’s 30, from Ethiopia, and has been living in the U.S. for four years. (Robin Lubbock for WBUR)

“You can see me, like, after five years, registered nursing,” she says. “I’m going to be, like, full time nursing. This is good start to have, good bridge for register nursing.”

Jerry Rubin, the president and CEO of Jewish Vocational Services, says students make their way to JVS through different channels.

“Some of our students are coming to us because they’re recent arrivals in the country, they may have actually been refugees who’ve been resettled here, and they’re coming to us through a refugee resettlement agency,” he says.

Established in 1938 to train recently arrived Jewish immigrants fleeing Europe, Rubin says classrooms are now full of Central Americans, Africans and Europeans, all of whom have legal status in the U.S.

These students, Rubin says, are the changing face of health care workers.

“If you go into any segment of the health care industry, whether it’s the acute care hospitals, community health centers, long-term care organizations,” Rubin explains, “you’re going to find a significant portion of the workforce are made up of immigrants. In fact, it’s really the bedrock of the health care industry.”

A Demographic Storm, Shielded By Immigrants

nenchealthworkersgraph-sara-plourde-for-nenc-nhpr

As of 2014, more than a quarter of the home health care workers in Massachusetts were foreign-born, according to census data compiled by the Paraprofessional Healthcare Institute. Forty-one percent of the nursing assistants in the state’s assisted living facilities were also born outside of the U.S. And these numbers likely miss immigrants who work part-time or who may be here illegally and working under the radar.

Reliance on immigrant labor for health care is only expected to increase, especially in New England, where there’s a demographic storm brewing.

The region is home to some of the oldest, whitest states in the country, and its six states have the six lowest birth rates.

When you take these factors into account, says Kenneth Johnson, senior demographer and professor of sociology at the University of New Hampshire’s Carsey School of Public Policy, “it means that the labor force, even in Northern New England, which is extremely non-Hispanic white, is going to have to depend on somebody other than whites if they are to provide a sufficient labor to address many of the needs that are going to come up in the future, particularly with regard to health care.”

Johnson co-authored a recent study that found more white people are dying than are being born in one-third of the country’s states. That includes all of New England, with the exception of Vermont.

Adding all of this together reveals some unsustainable labor trends.

Barry Bluestone, a professor of public policy at Northeastern University who’s run some of the jobs numbers, predicts that in Massachusetts, “we’re going to need about 93,000 additional home care workers over the next 10 years, or almost 10,000 a year.”

projectedmaopenings

Bluestone says given the population projections for the region — namely, a shrinking workforce — New England needs to plan accordingly. And he’s concerned that national conversations around immigration could hamper those preparations.

“These are overwhelmingly immigrant workers, and what I fear is if the current kind of political environment either shuts off immigration, or potential immigrants look at the United States and say this is not a very comfortable or safe place to be,” Bluestone says. “I don’t have any idea how we’re going to fill those 10,000 jobs each year.”

Over the course of his campaign, President-elect Donald Trump spoke of mass deportations of people in the country illegally, and the need to toughen screening for refugees coming to the U.S.

If put into place, experts say these actions could further strain an industry that already struggles to fill positions.

Dr. Robyn Stone — who’s senior vice president of research at Leading Age, a trade group for nonprofit elder care providers — says meeting the need for care providers in the future is a labor opportunity for both immigrants and workers born here in the U.S. But, she cautions that the native born workforce is the same white, working class that’s expected to continually decline in numbers.

“To think that we can fill all of these jobs for the huge demand that we’re going to see in the next 25 years with just native-born folks is unrealistic,” Stone says.

That’s why nursing training programs like the one at Jewish Vocational Services are so important.

Lakew, the student from Ethiopia, says she’s hopeful that she’ll eventually land her dream job in health care.

“I’m thinking,” she says, “if I got, like, hospital or home health aide, take care of people…”

So while the future of immigration policy may be unclear, one thing we do know is there will be no shortage of people needing care.

This report is part four of a four-part series called “Facing Change.” Check out the earlier stories:

PART 1: Business Leaders Say Immigration Can Stem New England’s Workforce Shortage

PART 2: As New England Ages, Immigrants Make Up A Growing Share Of Health Workers

PART 3: A New England Community Prepares For The Arrival Of Refugees

The series comes from the New England News Collaborative, eight public media companies coming together to tell the story of a changing region, with support from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.