One year after the first buses full of immigrants arrived in Chicago, Vanessa Olivera's journey to asylum has only just begun. (2023)

Vanessa Olivera checks the mailbox at her family's Northwest Side home every day, but the documents that could determine her future are nowhere to be found.

Seven months ago, Olivera, her husband and their four children applied for asylum. But they have not yet been given a date to announce their case.immigrationcut.

More than five months ago, she and her husband applied for work permits pending their immigration case, but have yet to hear back.

"It stresses you out even more than you already are, and that generates fear, impatience and uncertainty, because you don't know when we are going to appear in court, where we can explain what happened to us," Olivera said in Spanish. "All of this leaves us in the dark."

Olivera, 35, and her family arrived in Chicago in early September. They were among the first wave of immigrants bused from Texas to Chicago last fall by that state's Republican Gov. Greg Abbott, who sent immigrants to Democratic-led cities.

More than 13,000 immigrants have arrived in Chicago since last August. Like Olivera, many of them have fled Venezuela and are now seeking asylum in the United States.

Navigating the transition from temporary to long-term resident of the US is a journey in itself that will take years. Many of those who arrived last year are seeking asylum. Some who, like Olivera, have applied for asylum are waiting a long time for their cases to be heard in immigration court, according to immigration attorneys, and some will not receive a hearing until 2025.

As of the government's fiscal year 2022, an asylum case had been pending in Chicago immigration court for about four years, from the time it appeared at an asylum hearing, according to a Syracuse University analysis.

More than 6,000 immigrants are staying in shelters across the city of Chicago this month, and 1,080 people are sleeping in police stations and airports, waiting for a shelter bed, according to city officials.

The bus ride will be a blessing.

Olivera's family planned to settle in New York. But they were told they could take a bus to Chicago or San Antonio, Texas.

It was only later that Olivera said she realized that she and her family were pawns in a national debate over immigration policy.

However, he said the bus ride to Chicago turned out to be a "blessing."

Although her asylum case is still deadlocked after she applied for it about seven months ago, her family is beginning to settle on the Northwest Side, after months of living in a suburban Salvation Army hostel and hotel, which became in a temporary shelter. for immigrants.

Immigrants like Olivera, who have been in Chicago for nearly a year, are trying to gain independence and stability and await work permits and updates on their immigration issues.

Asylum seekers must apply within one year of entering the United States. There are two types of asylum cases, known as affirmative and defensive, and many of those who arrived last year are on the defensive track, meaning they are seeking asylum as a defense against deportation. If no charging document has been filed with the immigration court, the person can apply for affirmative asylum.

Asylum seekers can apply for awork permit150 days after filing an asylum application.

But legal experts say it can take longer if someone changes their address, misses an appointment, or takes longer to find a lawyer.

If someone is granted asylum, they must wait another year before applying for permanent residence, also known as a green card. A permanent resident usually waits five years before applying for US citizenship.

Olivera and her family received a six-month housing benefit from the state of Illinois to move into a three-bedroom home. But the family has had to come together to pay $1,800 a month in rent, including utilities.

Anthony Vázquez / Sun-Times

Rincon Family Services, one of the organizations that helped immigrants who stayed at the temporary hotels last year, helped negotiate the lease, Olivera said, and helped the family set up the place.

The couple have an 11-year-old son, a 7-year-old son, a 5-year-old daughter, and a 2-year-old daughter.

Over the past year, older children have begun to learn English as they enter new schools.

And Olivera, who has been taking English classes through City Colleges for the past year, finds it easier to book medical appointments herself.

“There was a reason that God brought me to this city,” he said. "In one place the doors were closed, but we were blessed and privileged to come here."

Anthony Vázquez / Sun-Times

reunion attempt

Ivette Cuello, 34, arrived in Chicago in late August with her husband and 8-year-old daughter. She said they arrived by plane, not by bus, after a religious organization in Texas paid for their tickets and told them about Chicago.

They briefly spent time in a city shelter with other immigrant families before moving to a suburban hotel where the state had set up temporary shelter.

But the death of another immigrant,Ron Roseau, during her stay at the hotel, left her shocked.

"When this situation arose, it got complicated because people were already tired of sitting at home all day," Cuello said at the hotel.

Anthony Vázquez / Sun-Times

The death prompted the family to intensify their search for permanent housing, he said. A Honduran immigrant they met while walking through Chicago told them about an apartment in Garfield Ridge, where the de Cuello family now lives with other relatives.

Like Olivera, Cuello said the family received six months of housing benefit but now has to pay $1,600 a month in rent and utilities.

Cuello said he is adjusting to life on the Southwest side. About three months ago he applied for asylum. He does not have the right to apply for a work permit since he has to wait 150 days later.

Cuello said her two teenage daughters stayed in Venezuela because she feared what might happen to them on their journey from South America to the US border. But now that she's settled, she's looking for ways to get her daughters safely to Chicago.

“I want to take my daughters with me,” she said. "It's the only thing I'm missing."

Anthony Vázquez / Sun-Times

"Great Sense of Relief"

In an apartment on the Near West Side, a man named Daniel folded his arms in prayer and said his only wish was for his family to be granted asylum. Nearby, his three-year-old daughter grabbed a pillow and ran across the living room.

"It's a great relief here," Daniel said, as long as his and his wife Yurimar's last names are not disclosed for fear their asylum case would be jeopardized if they speak out.

They were shipped by bus from Texas last October after leaving Venezuela.

“There is freedom,” Daniel said, unlike Venezuela, where he said: “There wasn't. It was a dictatorship."

For three months they lived with other immigrant families in a hotel converted into temporary accommodation. In January, with housing benefits and aid from the state and nonprofit organizations, they got an apartment on the Near West Side for $1,250 a month.

Now they feel more alone as they try to go through the asylum process, obtain work permits and understand the intricacies of credit scores. Many of his relatives live far away in South American countries.

“You feel this change, that you can achieve many things, but you also feel nostalgic because you can share the little you have with your family,” Yurimar said.

Her daughter sometimes asks about the people who stayed with them at the hotel. Families shared meals, and children often played together.

Yurimar gets used to life in Chicago, learns to operate the CTA and understands messages in English. The couple have taken English classes online and Daniel would like to eventually find a job in the tech industry.

Their new home looks completely different from the way they lived in their native Venezuela. They have easier access to food and medicine and are confident that they can work.

"Here you live as you should live, or as you lived in Venezuela," said Daniel.

Elvia Malagón's report on social justice and income inequality is made possible by a grant from The Chicago Community Trust.