The Refugees of North Dakota

by

On a 2015 visit to Fargo, North Dakota, I joined a workshop hosted by the city to discuss new visions for a communal green space. The invitees included people who lived in neighborhoods surrounding a large, empty basin created to hold stormwater during deluges to prevent flooding. Seeing the basin as an opportunity to create community-friendly spaces in a fast-growing metropolis, the city organized a series of listening sessions and workshops to come up with ideas.

Just as the workshop was about to begin, a community organizer showed up with seven gentlemen, all recent arrivals to the area. They hailed from Somalia, Sudan, Bhutan, and Iraq. I was surprised to learn that almost 8 percent of Fargo’s population is foreign born, largely refugees settled through Lutheran Social Services of North Dakota, the only federally approved resettlement organization in the state.

In recent years, North Dakota has led the nation in per capita refugee resettlement. Far from the snow-white portrayal in the eponymous Coen brothers’ movie, Fargo is, in fact, a city of many colors.

People seeking asylum have been coming to the state since the 1940s. Previous groups hailed from Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, and Bosnia. Today, they often come from Bhutan, Iraq, Somalia, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

This is all part of a much larger drama.

The U.N. Refugee Agency estimates that 65.6 million people worldwide are on the move due to violence, climate disaster, and extreme economic hardship, “the highest levels of displacement on record.” This includes nearly 22.5 million refugees—people facing such upheaval and risk that they walk away from their homes, communities, and even countries, into the unknown.

More than 85 percent of those refugees will find new homes in developing countries. Although the United States is a top supporter of international aid, the public here has long been mixed about offering a new home to people who no longer have one.

Still, since the Refugee Act of 1980, the United States has settled about three million refugees. While the cap on admissions has fluctuated according to global crises, it has averaged about 76,500 over the past decade.

Now, Donald Trump has dramatically lowered the total number of refugees allowed into the country to no more than 45,000, down from the 110,000 set by Barack Obama to accommodate people fleeing the war in Syria. That is the lowest level since the resettlement program was established in 1980.

Trump has dished out putdowns of immigrants and massive increases in funding for immigration and border control agencies. Soon after taking office, he banned immigration from seven largely Muslim countries, which the courts deemed unconstitutional. He later imposed a more limited ban, affecting immigrants from eight countries.

Against this backdrop are the efforts of people like Darci Asche, who works with the New American Consortium for Wellness & Empowerment, a nonprofit focused on providing long-term support for refugees in North Dakota. Before that she worked with Lutheran Social Services for twenty years helping “new Americans,” as resettled refugees are called, get established in the state.

Lutheran Social Services resettles an average of 400 people in the state each year, 70 percent of whom reside in the Fargo area. A strong school program and a growing job market have helped give newcomers traction in a bewilderingly different environment.

“So many people here have filed over the course of several years to have family members join them,” Asche tells me. “They are now very much in limbo wondering if their family members will ever be able to come to the United States, and if they should stay or try to move to some other place where their families can join them.”

Refugee resettlement in the U.S. is essentially local. Community support and dedication make all the difference.

The work of bringing refugees to the United States for resettlement has always been driven by the dedication and political will of religious organizations and local communities. Often described as a “public-private partnership,” refugee resettlement in the U.S. is essentially local. Community support and dedication make all the difference.

North Dakota has a large and committed community of professionals and volunteers working to help refugees make a new life there. But, as is true in many places, that generosity and commitment are not universally endorsed.

In September 2016, perhaps following the lead of national figures promoting fear and animosity toward “outsiders,” Fargo City Commissioner Dave Piepkorn made waves when he publicly voiced concerns that refugee resettlement efforts were costing Fargo millions of dollars.

“It’s a lot of money going to a nonprofit. That troubles me,” Piepkorn said. He also suggested that refugees may break the law more than other citizens, a charge that has been disproven. And a city task force, organized in partial response to Piepkorn, gathered data showing that most immigrants to Fargo hit the ground running.

“In North Dakota, return on investment [for refugees] happens in the first generation, meaning there is never a time when immigrants are not contributing to North Dakota’s economy,” the task force’s report states. “On average, a first generation immigrant is cost positive in North Dakota by approximately $3,250 per individual.”

‘There is never a time when immigrants are not contributing to North Dakota’s economy.’ 

A 2017 study of the national impact of refugees, rejected by Trump Administration officials, similarly found that refugees brought in $63 billion more in government revenue over the past decade than they cost.

In other words, refugees are a terrific investment. Supported by a strong education system and dedicated nonprofits and government agencies, immigrants helped boost Fargo’s economy and civic life. At a 2016 Center for American Progress panel on refugee integration, Fargo Mayor Tim Mahoney, upon hearing a reporter state that Fargo has one of the highest per capita number of refugees, stated, “Great! We should tell everybody!”

Nevertheless, a rash of hate crimes followed Piepkorn’s statements. A Somali man was beaten up by two men yelling racial slurs. A video showed a woman, gold cross dangling from her neck, threatening three Muslim women in a Walmart parking lot, telling them “we’re going to kill every single one of you fucking Muslims.”

In response, the city’s daily newspaper, The Forum, ran stories about the contributions made by Fargo-Moorhead refugees. One story from last October notes that some area immigrants risked their lives to aid U.S. forces in Iraq. Participants in the Fargo Women’s March in January gathered downtown, chanting, “Let me hear it loud and clear, refugees are welcome here.”

At one point, a known white supremacist named Pete Tefft made an appearance and was promptly engulfed by marchers who shouted “white supremacy has to go,” and “go home Pete,” after which he melted into the crowd.

Advocates for immigrants in Fargo are quick to point out that negative sentiment toward immigrants is not unique to their city, and that over the decades the community has offered consistent support for the mission of offering new homes to desperate people.

Shirley Dykshoorn, vice president for senior and humanitarian services with Lutheran Social Services, says she doesn’t have to look far in Fargo to find people delighted to be living with and working with refugees.

“Fargo businesses that rely on certified nursing assistants, housekeeping, or do light manufacturing—they are facing worker shortages,” she says. “And we have eager employees.” She mentioned Cardinal IG, a residential glass manufacturer in Fargo where 30 percent of employees are former refugees. General manager Mike Arntson said in a local news story that he made no deliberate attempt to recruit new Americans but just hires the best applicants: “It seems to be filling a gap that wouldn’t otherwise be filled.”

Sanford Health’s director of media relations, Darren Huber, told me that in their Fargo facilities and health provider departments alone, the company employs 250 new Americans, 177 of whom are doctors, nurse practitioners, and physician assistants. Dykshoorn’s mother-in-law is cared for by certified nurse assistants from the Democratic Republic of the Congo and other countries, she says, adding, “I’ve witnessed excellent care.”

Dykshoorn says people in Fargo have worked to push back against negative rhetoric about new Americans, and to foster connections, for example, by participating in story-sharing organizations like Narrative 4 and Green Card Voices. “We are being more intentional,” she says.

Community members in Fargo also host a “Welcoming Week” for refugees in September, featuring dozens of educational and social events during which people can eat food from dozens of different cultures, enjoy dancing, music, and art, and above all, meet new people.

Danielle Grigsby, associate director of the Refugee Council USA, a national umbrella group based in Washington, D.C., says the Trump Administration’s attacks on immigration are affecting the entire refugee community.

“Almost half of the numbers of refugees admitted to the United States originate in the banned countries,” she explains, adding that as the ban has rolled through the court process it’s created “unnecessary administrative hurdles.”

Even before the Trump Administration cracked down, Grigsby explains, the average time for vetting a potential refugee was eighteen months to two years. At this point, everyone is uncertain. She says only the most vulnerable people are ever chosen as candidates to enter the U.S. refugee program—what amounts to one-half of 1 percent of all refugees—and they proceed “only when there is no other option.”

Darci Asche agrees that things have gotten worse, especially for immigrants from Trump’s “banned” country list. She says Bismarck, which has a significant Iraqi population, did not have a single new refugee from Iraq settled there in the last three months of 2017.

“Grand Forks has welcomed many Somalis in the past, but is not seeing the numbers either,” Asche says. “I have coworkers with family members from those places scheduled to arrive at the end of 2016, and that has still not happened.”

With regard to the immediate future, Asche is not optimistic. The Trump Administration’s call for merit-based immigration is “ridiculous,” she says. “We resettle architects, engineers, and teachers, and, I mean, who is going to decide what merit even is?”

Asche adds that the recent fear-mongering about “family-based immigration” (termed “chain migration” by Trump and the media) has been particularly challenging for the people she works with.

“For those overseas there is zero reason for them to even want to come to the U.S.,” she adds. “I’ve had refugees tell me ‘I’ll go to Australia because my family can follow me. Otherwise I could be essentially separated forever.’ ”

At the Fargo green space visioning workshop, after the newcomers settled in for a meal of chili and cornbread, we were invited to talk about our different understandings of nature and how it might be celebrated in this giant space. A gentleman volunteered to speak. He identified himself as a Kurd from northern Iraq, and in very competent English explained how concepts of nature are woven into his culture.

He described one ceremony involving red flowers and the dying of eggs “like at your Easter.” The flowers and colored eggs are woven into decorations and hung on people’s doors, announcing, he says, “Here lives a Yazidi. Good luck to this person.”

He kept talking, but I stopped hearing his words. I knew about what had been happening to the Yazidis, their slaughter at the hands of the Islamic State, the recalcitrance of the Iraqi government to help. In that moment, I caught a glimpse of what many people in Fargo see everyday.

Here is someone with a cherished culture, homeland, and family—all violently torn apart by forces far outside of their control. These people deserve help, not only temporary refuge but the kind of support that will enable survivors to establish themselves as happy, productive members of a society.

They need a new home. And in helping them find it, the people of North Dakota shine.

Mrill Ingram is The Progressive’s online media editor. Lucas Sczygelski contributed to this article.