It’s the first of the month, rent is due, and Sarmad Elias’ government benefits haven’t been deposited yet – another instance of paperwork gone wrong, he said. Seror Abdullah, Elias’ wife, bounces their baby in a doughnut-shaped pillow while their older sons, Elias, 11, and Farrah, 9, watch TV. The air conditioning hasn’t worked since they moved in, so the fans in the house is blowing profusely and the front door is propped open to let in any air that might help cool them down on this 101-degree day. Elias crouches, then points to a boarded-up hole underneath his kitchen sink: “The mice come through there.”
The Elias family moved to Ontario, Oregon, from El Cajon near San Diego, Calif., after struggling to make ends meet in the metropolitan area. Before California, they lived in a Turkish refugee camp for more than two years after fleeing religious persecution under ISIS in their hometown of Mosul, Iraq.
While still in El Cajon, Elias’ brother-in-law, Melad Jarjees, told him about the short Section 8 wait list and lower cost of living to be found in Eastern Oregon, so Elias and family packed up their belongings, and migrated once more. Once in Ontario, they found their dollars could stretch a little longer and the job application process was more accessible. But after moving into their second home in the area, they discovered the apartment was already inhabited by rodents.
“He paid a deposit of $850 here. The rent is $650 per month. (After) he signed the lease, he (found the) mice, but when he signed, they (didn’t) tell them they had mice,” explained Jarjees, who works a second job as a translator through the recently opened Four Rivers Welcome Center for refugees. “He called the manager and said, ‘I bought everything. Can you just fix the hole?’” She reportedly agreed but hadn’t followed through with the agreement when we spoke 10 days after the phone call. Instead of waiting, Elias ended up fixing the hole himself fearing that his 6-month-old son, Steve, might eat the droppings.
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Seeking Section 8
Over the past year or so, Ontario has experienced a rising influx of refugees, largely as a result of spreading awareness about the lower-than-usual wait time for the Section 8 Housing Choice Voucher program. While most metropolitan areas can have wait times exceeding three years, the wait for housing assistance in Ontario was only three months. But in May, the Housing Authority of Malheur and Harney Counties announced it had closed the wait list due to a budget shortfall. The Four Rivers Cultural Center – partly for its name and because of the lack of proactive government outreach – organically became a site where refugees sought services and a wider sense of belonging.
In true Malheur County fashion, local residents saw no other choice than to step up in place of governmental assistance to get their new neighbors acclimated.
“We started getting community members together to figure out how we could administer to these refugees and welcome them, integrate them, and it’s turned into something really big,” said Matt Singer, executive director at Four Rivers Cultural Center. “We received grants, have opened a welcome center and have employees now.”
Less than a year after opening the Welcome Center, what started as a grassroots and entirely volunteer-run undertaking has flourished into a bustling community center with four workforce specialists on staff and a full-time director.
“It changed overnight,” said center director Renee Cummings whose employment is funded by a grant awarded to the Four Rivers Cultural Center. Not long after opening in May, Portland-based Immigrant and Refugee Community Organization (IRCO) reached out to connect with the local community and offer further support.
“They’ve been trying to get to this area to serve it for a while and they finally got it approved. (IRCO) is the employer of the staff, except for me,” Cummings said.
“It probably should have been the Housing Authority or Department of Human Services that brought it to everyone’s attention, but it just didn’t happen that way. I think some families moved (from the area) that maybe didn’t find what they wanted while they were here, so I think there were more families than there are now, but I would say there are probably 50 to 75 total (refugee) families here with varying degrees of interaction with the community.”
Jarjees, a refugee from Iraq, was hired by the Welcome Center alongside Ekram Ahmed, Abdikadir Abdi and Jaafar Raheem, who sought refuge from turmoil in Sudan, Somalia and Iraq. But long before being paid to help, Jarjees helped voluntarily and assisted Elias and his family with finding a place to live in Malheur County.
“He was renting a very small apartment in (El Cajon) for $1,100 and when he came here, he felt better,” Jarjees said. “(The family) felt comfortable and he had a full-time job. Over there, he earned about $180 a week (through Welfare-to-Work) and here almost $800 in two weeks.”
Like many newcomers to the area, the refugee community was particularly drawn in by the hopes of receiving Section 8 assistance. Although Elias was eligible for Section 8 in San Diego County and arrived before the wait list was closed, when he reapplied in Malheur County, he learned his take-home pay exceeded the annual limit and was no longer able to receive benefits.
“It (doesn’t) make sense,” Jarjees said. “The whole year, only $100 extra, and that’s the reason he didn’t get approved. After that, he lowered his hours at work.”
FURTHER READING: How Ontario became a haven for immigrant families
The domino effect
Although Elias has successfully applied for and received food stamp benefits of $540 per month for his family of five, he’s had great difficulty receiving public assistance he’s otherwise eligible for and navigating the winding web of governmental administration.
“This is America!” Elias said. “Anybody (who) hears about America from afar says ‘Wow,’ but when (I came) here, there was too much stuff we needed to do. (It) feels like here, they want to break you.”
In San Diego, the family received assistance through TANF, or Temporary Assistance for Needy Famlies, while Elias was participating in the Welfare-to-Work program. Even though he was working, he was still under the income cap.
Once working a full-time job in Ontario, he was no longer eligible for services until he suddenly had to leave his job for hernia surgery. Upon reapplying for TANF, he learned he still had an open case with the Department of Human Services in San Diego. He thought he had resolved it, but he had to wait for that case to expire before applying again. It was the check he was waiting on to pay the rent.
At home, Elias said, his landlord failed to fix ongoing issues with the rodents, air conditioning and faulty electricity. When he tried to move, the landlord threatened to charge him a $1,000 fee for breaking the lease.
On top of their financial struggles, the family’s older sons have both been diagnosed with autism and are receiving inadequate support. They saw a specialist for Farrah, 9, in January in Boise. They had to wait until July for a follow-up appointment and are still waiting for a referral to see an Ontario-based doctor.
Elias, 11, has a more difficult time breaking away from his routines at home and gets teased so severely that he no longer wants to go to school. He’s often fixated on religion and Christian prayer and verbalizes a mix of reality and imagination. His frustrations can result in loud outbursts and self-directed anger. Although he’s taken out of his classroom once per day to work with a specialist, it’s the other hours of the day when most issues arise.
“He can’t go to the school with his problems because they’ll make fun of him and he could hurt himself because sometimes he slaps his face,” said Jarjees. “They need Social Security to help.”
Social Security’s Supplemental Security Income provides assistance for children with disabilities, including autism that limits communication and social functions.
The family said Social Security won’t fix everything, but it will help make sure they can better provide for their sons while Seror stays home with them. But like Farrah’s medical referral process, the family is still waiting for answers.
Elias said he wants access to services to be easier for everyone including refugees, but especially homeless communities.
“He loves America. The problem is the United States’ requirements are too hard,” Jarjees said. “Step by step by step by step. We need something not very easy, but something (streamlined). Like instead of five steps, what about three steps? Or two steps? Make it easier.”
Even through his struggles in the U.S., Elias is reminded of the immense struggles his family has faced to get to this point. “He said he is lucky because he ran away from (ISIS.) There were bodies in the streets and directly killing people (for being Christian,)” Jarjees translated. “That’s why they are here.”
“Sometimes I sit by myself, laughing, because I remember the old memories in Iraq and what happened to me,” said Elias. “Over there and here, there is a big difference. Here, I’m free.”