‘Climate of terror’: New York’s migrants and asylum seekers brace for Trump 

Manhattan, New York – On a brisk autumn day, Diana Zarate stood on a New York City sidewalk, surrounded by a clump of her family’s suitcases and backpacks.

Towering above her was the Roosevelt Hotel, a sprawling 850-room facility that has served as a migrant shelter since 2023.

The hotel had been the 33-year-old Venezuelan’s home for the past two months. But as the United States prepares for a new presidential administration, the Roosevelt Hotel has also become a symbol of the uncertainty facing the city’s migrants and asylum seekers.

Since 2014, New York City has limited its cooperation with federal authorities seeking to deport “unauthorised” residents of the metropolis, embracing its identity as a “sanctuary city“.

But with Donald Trump returning to the White House in January, Zarate and others fear what might lie ahead in the coming months.

“Trump said he was going to do the biggest deportation and remove political asylum,” Zarate, an asylum applicant, told Al Jazeera with a gloomy look. “That worries me because I am coming to this country to work to give a better future to my children.”

New York in the spotlight

Zarate, her husband Rogel and their two kids were preparing to leave the Roosevelt Hotel less than 48 hours after Trump won the 2024 presidential election.

For Zarate, the city’s shelter system had been a lifeline. But it came with an expiration date.

Under city bylaws, asylum-seeking families are largely restricted to 60 days in shelters before facing eviction. Single adults often have even less time.

“My time at Roosevelt is almost over,” Zarate explained, as she waited for a car from a ride-hailing service to take them to a new shelter.

Dubbed the “new Ellis Island” of New York City, the Roosevelt Hotel has welcomed upwards of 150,000 migrants and asylum seekers from more than 160 countries since reopening as a shelter.

The line regularly seen outside its doors has become a symbol of the crisis the city faces.

Since 1981, New York City has had a policy of offering housing to those without shelter. But that policy has come under pressure amid an uptick of new arrivals from abroad.

The city has absorbed more than 214,000 migrants and asylum seekers since 2022. They joined the ranks of the approximately 400,000 undocumented immigrants already living in the city, some for decades.

Some recent arrivals were drawn to New York for its employment opportunities. Others have family in the region. Still more have been sent by Republican governors on buses, as part of a programme to transport migrants and asylum seekers to Democratic jurisdictions.

At the peak of the recent influx, New York City came to operate more than 200 shelters, including more than a dozen relief stations, which provided temporary housing, food and services for migrants and asylum seekers.

But officials, including Mayor Eric Adams, have voiced concern that the city’s resources have been overstretched. New York City projects that it will spend at least $12bn on addressing the immigration crisis through 2025.

That struggle has generated public outcry — and political backlash.

Trump himself visited the city, his hometown, in the final stretch of his 2024 re-election campaign. On October 27, he held a rally at the famed Madison Square Garden arena, where he claimed that “savage” criminals were flooding into the country.

“They’re coming from all over the world,” Trump said. “The day I take the oath of office, the migrant invasion of our country ends, and the restoration of our country begins.”

“They’ve even taken over Times Square,” he added, referencing the commercial heart of New York City.

‘No more sanctuary cities’

Zarate’s story is just one of many in New York’s sprawling migrant crisis. Zarate and her family entered the US legally approximately 10 months ago in the twilight of President Joe Biden’s administration.

She had been banking on Vice President Kamala Harris winning the presidency in November’s race. Now, she is terrified of what the future holds.

“It was my wish for Kamala Harris to win,” Zarate said. “If she were president, my family would be safer.”

In Zarate’s case, she and her family were forced to flee Venezuela where they had endured chronic poverty as a result of President Nicolas Maduro‘s leadership. A federal judge is set to rule on Zarate’s asylum application in July 2025.

“I left Venezuela because the situation is very difficult and the economy is on the floor,” Zarate explained.

As Zarate spoke, other families funnelled into the Roosevelt Hotel, carrying tote bags of clothes. Young mothers held crying infants, while others hauled luggage into Uber cars and sped off.

Moments later, Zarate herself gathered her family’s luggage and scampered across the street towards a rideshare taxi. They piled into the black Ford SUV and disappeared as their driver pulled onto 45th Street and into the blur of midtown traffic.

Zarate’s fears are echoed by many migrants and asylum seekers across the city, who see Trump’s surprise return to the White House as a direct threat to their fragile foothold in the US.

On his first day in office, Trump has pledged to launch “the largest deportation programme of criminals” in the country’s history — and has affirmed plans to declare a national emergency so he can deploy the military to expel undocumented migrants.

His administration also plans to scrap visa-free “protected status” for Cuban, Haitian, Nicaraguan and Venezuelan nationals in the country.

In September, Trump announced as well that he would take aim at so-called “sanctuary cities” like New York.

“No more sanctuary cities,” he said at a campaign stop in North Carolina. “As soon as I take office, we will immediately surge federal law enforcement to every city that is failing, which is a lot of them, to turn over criminal aliens.”

Already, Mayor Adams, a centrist Democrat, has agreed to work with the Trump administration’s plans.

“I made it clear that I’m not going to be warring with this administration. I’m going to be working with this administration,” Adams said at a news conference in early December.

He added that he had arranged to speak with Trump’s incoming “border czar” Tom Homan this month, a meeting that ultimately came to pass on Thursday. It is unclear to what extent the city will cooperate with Trump’s deportation plans.

“I don’t believe in mass deportation, but I don’t believe in mass saturation,” Adams said on the talk show The View shortly after the election.

After his meeting with Homan, Adams indicated that “law-abiding” migrants and asylum seekers were welcome to use city services, but he added, “We will not be the safe haven for those who commit violent acts.”

Homan, meanwhile, has struck an adversarial stance towards cities that might fail to comply with Trump directives.

“If we can’t get assistance from New York City, we may have to double the number of agents we send to New York City,” Homan told Fox News in November. “Because we’re going to do the job. We’re going to do the job without you or with you.”

Outside the Roosevelt Hotel, another Venezuelan asylum seeker, 30-year-old Anthony Morales, rolled a cannabis cigarette. Like Zarate, the young father was also concerned about what Trump might mean for the city.

“What Trump said is worrying,” Morales told Al Jazeera. “It would be very sad for many immigrants who have still fought to get here to be deported without being given the opportunity to get ahead.”

Morales, soon to be a father for the second time, arrived in New York City from Caracas four months ago with his pregnant partner, who is due in January. He too fears deportation under a second Trump administration if his asylum application is rejected.

“I would feel very bad because of everything we went through,” Morales explained. “Not only the money but the entire journey: the suffering, the trips on the trains, the unstoppable walks. Sometimes, it was very hard.”

Elora Mukherjee, the director of the Immigrants’ Rights Clinic at Columbia University, said that trepidation is widespread as a new Trump presidency looms.

“So many immigrants — those who are undocumented as well as those who are seeking immigration relief, such as those who are seeking asylum — are extremely scared right now,” Mukherjee told Al Jazeera.

Mukherjee explained that she has been flooded with calls and texts from migrants and asylum seekers whose futures now hang in the balance. She described the overall sentiment as a “climate of terror”.

“That fear is prevalent in immigrant communities here in New York City, but also nationwide,” she said.

Mukherjee, however, noted that individuals with pending immigration applications, such as asylum claims or adjustment-of-status requests, are generally less likely to face detention and deportation.

For example, it is legal under US law to cross into the country to escape persecution and file a claim of asylum. Asylum seekers are generally allowed to remain on US soil while their claim is processed.

However, Mukherjee pointed out that those who have no such claim face a higher risk of deportation. So too do long-term residents with criminal records and those perceived as security threats.

“These are individuals who are embedded in our communities, in our daily life, in the New York City service sector, in grocery deliveries and selling fruits and vegetables at food stands throughout the city,” Mukherjee explained.

Under current federal policy, US Immigration and Customs (ICE) agents cannot enter “sensitive” locations like shelters, hospitals, schools and religious institutions where their presence might discourage people from seeking vital services. Agents must receive a judicial warrant first.

But even with restrictions in place, thousands of people are deported from the US each year. The Migration Policy Institute anticipates that the outgoing Biden administration is on track to match the 1.5 million people Trump deported during his first term, from 2017 to 2021.

Already, migrant rights protests have cropped up around New York as Trump’s inauguration approaches. Mukherjee predicts there will be more activism in the months ahead.

“We may see protests. We may see communities banding together to try to protect those who may be undocumented within their communities,” she said. “And I expect that there will be significant organising to protect immigrants’ rights here, in New York City.”

Shifting trends

Across the Harlem River, on Randall’s Island, the shifts in New York’s immigration crisis can be felt the strongest.

Sandwiched between Manhattan and Queens, Randall’s Island is home to the city’s largest migrant shelter. Roughly 2,250 migrants and asylum seekers live in a gigantic tent complex, enduring what critics call cramped and sometimes “inhumane” conditions.

But that shelter is soon to close. In October, Mayor Adams announced that arrivals of migrants and asylum seekers in the city had started to decline, leading to the city’s lowest rate in more than a year.

“We have turned the corner on this crisis,” said Adams. “We’re not scrambling every day to open new shelters. We’re talking about closing them.”

The tent shelter at Randall’s Island is slated to shutter in February. Still, staff at the shelter said they have seen an explosion of migrants rushing to file asylum claims, work authorisation applications and other documents to help bolster their immigration status before Trump takes office.

“Everybody’s trying to get their stuff together — take resources, look for things,” one city case worker told Al Jazeera on condition of anonymity. “None of them were doing that, so now that it’s crunch time, they want to do it.”

For migrants, gathering the proper materials — like paperwork to prove their identity or make a case for persecution — can be difficult, though.

“They’re coming here with nothing,” the case worker explained.

Cruz Salazar, 40, was among those trying to get his paperwork in order before Trump’s inauguration.

Salazar, a former oilfield mechanic in Venezuela, filed for asylum after crossing into the US with the help of the Red Cross, a humanitarian nonprofit. His next court date is set for February.

Without a lawyer to advise him though, he has been relying on shelter employees to help build his case. He has also applied for a work permit: He now labours at a construction job in Yonkers.

“They are facilitating getting those documents,” Salazar said of the shelter staff. “Ninety percent of the people are coming here, they come to work. But that 10 percent that doesn’t — it’s bad for the rest of us.”

He fears that his asylum application could be denied, putting him at risk of deportation under the Trump administration.

“Certainly with immigration, this is a disaster,” Salazar said of the recent election. “If you look Black, Latino, it doesn’t matter if you’re good or bad. They’re going to deport everybody.”

Still, Salazar said he had “mixed feelings” about Trump, whom he described as “the best option” on this year’s ballot. Other migrants and asylum seekers shared his ambivalence.

‘Why fear Trump?’

On a sunny day outside the tent shelter, several people hawked canned drinks and toiletries at an open-air market along the riverbank. Barbers gave outdoor haircuts while a sunbathing couple blasted reggaeton music on a portable speaker.

Salazar himself sat under a set of clippers wielded by 26-year-old Venezuelan barber and asylum seeker Victor Lopez, who was charging $15 a cut.

The young barber said he would have voted for Trump in an instant if he had been eligible. He identifies with Trump’s image as a scrappy businessman.

“Why fear Trump?” Lopez told Al Jazeera as he traced Salazar’s hairline with a buzzer. He emphasised that Trump’s focus was on deporting criminals. “He hasn’t said everybody will be deported.”

Lopez was sceptical Trump would give him the boot, estimating he had a “50/50” shot at remaining in the country, depending on his asylum application.

Asylum denial rates can reach as high as 54.5 percent, according to US government statistics, but many more claims are dismissed for other reasons, including missed deadlines.

“If I do things properly, maybe they don’t deport me,” Lopez said stoically. “But you never know. You have to just accept the situation.”

Salem Allabouch, 26, a Moroccan national who arrived at the US-Mexico border earlier this year, was equally unburdened by the prospect of a second Trump presidency. He had crisscrossed three continents and more than half a dozen countries before touching US soil.

“No, I’m not afraid. I don’t worry,” Allabouch told Al Jazeera. “I am with Donald Trump. He’s good. He loves his country. That’s it. He’s going to make America great again.”

While Allabouch admitted that Trump was “not good for immigration”, he said he had faith that the president-elect would not send him back to Morocco.

“I think he’s not going to [deport] everyone — people who are criminals, that’s it,” Allabouch explained. “But the people who are working good, pay the tax — I don’t think he’s going to deport them.”

Still, not everyone at the Randall’s Island facility was convinced of smooth sailing ahead.

Sudytza, another Venezuelan asylum seeker living at Randall’s Island, declined to give her last name out of fear of reprisal. But she said she was bracing for the impending Trump presidency.

“As far as I know, Donald Trump is going to kick out everybody that is not in the migration process,” Sudytza told Al Jazeera.

Since arriving in the US, Sudytza said she has followed federal immigration procedures by the book — and had taken numerous legal steps to insulate herself from any potential deportation measures. She vowed to stick it out under a Trump White House.

“I’m already in the process,” said Sudytza. “I have my court date already. The attorney told me that even if Donald Trump wants to deport me, he cannot do it. I entered the United States of America legally. I entered with humanitarian parole, and my court date is in four years.”

She confessed Trump’s threats did not seem all that scary compared with the horrors she witnessed on her journey to the US.

Sudytza explained that the bus she took to reach the border had been intercepted by Mexican cartel members. They kidnapped her and other passengers at gunpoint, placing them in cages.

They were only released after they collectively paid nearly $1,000 in ransom money.

Salazar, meanwhile, said he fears living in purgatory for the rest of his days — particularly if his asylum application is rejected. Venezuela currently refuses to accept US deportees, even if they themselves are Venezuelan.

Trump’s administration may have to deport him to a whole other country, where Salazar would once again have to file for immigration status.

“They’re saying that Venezuelans that are here [in the US] — they’re not going to accept us any more,” Salazar said. “My own country doesn’t even accept us. Where am I going to go?”

With additional reporting from Vicente de Juan Morales.