Ukrainian Americans hope to evacuate loved ones to U.S.

Tonya Levchuk woke up on Feb. 23 and still hadn’t slept when I spoke with her on the 25th, a day after Russia invaded Ukraine. Levchuk, 36, was trying to find a way to get her family to the United States. She grew up in Kyiv, moved to the United States in 2007, and has lived in Austin, Texas, since 2012. On Wednesday afternoon, she watched Russian President Vladimir Putin’s speech announcing a “special military operation” against Ukraine.

Filled with dread, she called her family in Kyiv at 5 a.m. their time and told her mom they needed to leave. Her mom protested. That’s when they heard the first explosions. Levchuk’s aunt, her two sons, and their families live in Kharkiv, a city in eastern Ukraine that is under heavy bombardment.

“I have no idea if there is a way to get them out alive,” she said, “My family has no one in the world but me.”

The family—her mom, sister, and 9-year-old niece—immediately jumped in their small car and drove toward the Polish border. Her dad would stay in Ukraine. At the time I spoke with Levchuk, her family was crawling through border traffic. After seven hours, they had driven 2 miles. There were no shelters and limited provisions. “People are terrified,” she said.

Estimates from the U.S., EU, and UN of how many refugees might flee Ukraine range from 3 million to 7 million. Poland, where Levchuk’s family was trying to cross the border, is preparing to welcome 1 million refugees, said Danilo Zak, a policy and advocacy manager with the U.S.-based National Immigration Forum.

“The U.S. has long led by example in resettling forced migrants and refugees,” he noted, especially those fleeing conflicts caused by oppressive dictators.

But our current system cannot meet that need, he warned. The United States is resettling record low numbers of refugees due to the COVID-19 pandemic and the Trump administration’s decision to lower the number of refugee admissions. In 2020, Trump capped admissions at 18,000. President Joe Biden set the refugee ceiling at 15,000 in April 2021 even though he promised to reset the cap to 125,000 on the campaign trail. The backlash from advocacy groups compelled him to raise the ceiling to 62,500. By then, it was too late. Resettlement agencies reeling from uncertainty and cutbacks struggled to recover. Only 11,411 refugees were resettled in 2021, 18 percent of the quota.

The result: People are in imminent danger and too many refugees are “stuck in the pipeline,” of a “bloated and disorganized” vetting system, Zak said. Though people with family in the U.S. use a slightly expedited pathway, it is still a long process. When the Office of Refugee Resettlement needs to act quickly, it can’t.

Many refugees like Levchuk’s family have relatives in the United States who are willing to house them, said Stephanie Dowbusz, 50, another Ukrainian who lives in Austin. Her parents fled Ukraine for the U.S. after the Soviet Union invaded during World War II. But Dowbusz isn’t sure how to get her aunts, uncles, and many cousins here without months of waiting. “Legally, I don’t know what can be done,” she said.

To speed up the process, refugees could bypass the overloaded refugee resettlement system and apply for humanitarian parole, a program that gives temporary residence to people facing an urgent humanitarian crisis. But it does not confer long-term legal status, and many of the $600 applications are rejected. Afghan refugees experienced this, Zak pointed out. About 40,000 Afghans applied for the program. The overwhelmed department, which typically processes 2,000 applicants per year, rejected numerous claims. Those admitted must still apply for asylum to stay in the country. Congress directed U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) to prioritize Afghans, but the average applicant won’t get a hearing for nearly five years.

Zak said the U.S. can immediately aid refugees by supporting the neighboring countries where they arrive, including by setting up welcome stations at the border, he said. Then, he said, the federal government should find a way to speed up visa processing.

Alla Lutsenko’s entire family is still in Ukraine. They woke to the sounds of gunfire on Feb. 24. Her parents live in Kherson, a city near the border of the Russian-occupied Crimean Peninsula. They want to flee but are scared to leave their home because of shelling, she said. Lutsenko, 29, attended San Diego State University as a Ukrainian international student and is now a permanent resident. She recently moved to Austin.

For about 30,000 Ukrainians in the United States without permanent resident status, Zak said USCIS should provide temporary protected status or deferred enforced departure so they don’t have to go back to a war zone when their visas expire. He added that Ukrainian international students should receive special student relief, which confers permission to take fewer courses, work more jobs, and stay longer because of a crisis situation in their home countries.

Many Ukrainian Americans who fear for their loved ones’ lives lack reliable information about the refugee process. The U.S. Ukraine Foundation is working to fill this need by building a page with information to help people through the asylum process, president Nadia McConnell said.

Levchuk is desperate for answers. On Saturday, she attended the second of three protests organized by Ukrainian immigrants at the Texas State Capitol, urging lawmakers to support their loved ones overseas. She doesn’t want her mom, sister, and 9-year-old niece to make it through the congested Polish border only to sit in a hotel in a foreign country for months. She wants to get them as far away as possible. “I have a beautiful house with enough room,” she said. “I want them here.”