Why are Haitians in Chile embarking on a dangerous journey to reach the United States?

Phalone had managed to make ends meet since moving from Haiti to Chile in 2013, working as a hairdresser in a small town north of the capital.

But in May, she, her two children and twenty relatives and friends set off a dangerous trip of 7,500 kilometers in the USA, making a dangerous bet but hoping all would go well.

“Things have gotten too tough for immigrants to Chile,” said Phalone, who did not want her last name published for fear of jeopardizing her prospects for immigration to the United States. “They tell us to go back to our country, that we are rubbish,” he added.

Of the thousands of Haitians who recently approached the southern border of the United States, many, like Phalone, were from Chile. Over the past decade, when Haitians sought refuge after the devastating earthquake of 2010, Chile – with its generous income policy and stable economy – has become an even more attractive destination for them.

Things changed quickly with the election of two new presidents.

In Chile, migrants encountered new restrictions, while in the United States, the Biden administration offered new guarantees to Haitian migrants already present.

From the failed “Chilean dream” to deportation to the United States

Haitians in Chile, taking it for a welcome mat, set out on the arduous path to the border, only to find that they have been forcibly returned to Haiti, sometimes in chains.

“They sold us the ‘Chilean dream’, but it turned out to be wrong,” said Steeve Azor, 28, who immigrated to Chile from Haiti in 2014. “Everyone thought the president (Joe) Biden would be more flexible with the migration.

It was immediately clear to those who arrived in the border community of Del Rio, Texas, after months of walking, that they had made a mistake. They were not very well received by the United States and only encountered scenes of misery and despair.

Some were violently pushed back by US Border Patrol agents on horseback as they attempted to cross the Rio Grande. Thousands more gathered under a bridge and many were sent back to where it all began: Haiti, a bankrupt country where one crisis meets another.

And yet, many Haitians continue to make their way from Chile, not knowing what to expect at the US border or ready to take the risk.

This is partly because life in Chile is increasingly difficult for migrants.

In December, more than 182,000 Haitians lived in the Andean country, according to government figures. This does not include unauthorized migrants, who are invisible to the government and therefore vulnerable to “labor and housing abuse,” said Álvaro Bellolio, director of Chile’s National Migration Service.

Crisis and pandemic

As work and housing, always hard to find, became even more scarce during the pandemic, many Haitians became destitute.

Some rented rooms in overcrowded and dilapidated houses. Others have become squatters. Many worked as street vendors.

“I researched Chile and its economy before I came,” said Azor, the Haitian immigrant, “but I never imagined that we would live in a very expensive room and share a bathroom with twenty other people.

Ivenet Dorsainvil, 34, a teacher and spokesperson for Haitian groups in Chile, moved to Santiago in 2010 after obtaining a student visa and a place in a graduate program. Upon arrival, Chile was recovering from the global financial crisis and there were many jobs for immigrants.

But over the years that has changed. Immigrants have been accused of taking jobs from Chileans and overburdening social services.

Chile had to absorb hundreds of thousands of Venezuelans fleeing the terrible living conditions of their country. And as the number of Haitian migrants grew, peaking in 2017 and 2018, many in this predominantly white nation began to treat them with particular contempt, Dorsainvil said.

Some Haitians, he said, were clearly aware of the risks of trying to reach the United States. “People sell what little they have and leave with their children,” Dorsainvil said. “.

Waleska Ureta, director of the Jesuit Migrant Service, said Chile could have done more to prepare Haitians for success.

“It was a failed inclusion experience,” Ureta said. “In Chile, Haitians face cultural and social discrimination, including at the government level, and racism in the workplace and on the streets.

The dangerous journey through jungles and forests

Phalone, the hairdresser, said that by the time her group, traveling by bus, reached the Darién Gap – a 160-kilometer stretch of swamps and mountainous forests along the Colombian border with Panama – the number of people had grown to 100 and included Haitians who lived in Brazil.

At this dangerous point, they threw their suitcases away and put their belongings and food in backpacks. Colombian smugglers charged them in dollars to guide them on foot to the Panamanian border on a week-long trip along marked trails.

“Lots of people have died in crashes on this road, which is very slippery when it rains,” Phalone said. “It was a very harsh and dangerous experience.”

In Panama he heard stories of migrants who suffered robberies and rapes.

Phalone left Chile in May. In early August, she and her group crossed the border from Texas and entered the United States, where they now live, in the hope of obtaining asylum.

Sebastián Piñera’s government, harsher on immigrants

Haitians say that the process to obtain legal residency in Chile has become much more difficult durante el gobierno del presidente Sebastián Piñera, that asumió su cargo a fines de 2018. Entre enero y julio de este año, el 7% de los permits de residencia permanence emitidos por el gobierno fue para los haitianos, muy por debajo del 20% del past year.

The government claims that residence permits are issued on a first come, first served basis. With the great exodus of Venezuelans fleeing the economy of their collapsing country, most of the permits are coming back to them.

Haitians see the reduction as a clear sign that they are not welcome, Azor said.

His brother Gregorio, 26, tried for six years to find a stable job in Chile that would allow him to obtain legal residency. In June, he gave up and left for the United States.

“It’s a way of putting pressure on us to leave,” said Steeve Azor.

Translation: Elisa Carnelli

CB