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Yahoo
7 days ago
- Politics
- Yahoo
Kari Lake brought back a skeleton crew to Voice of America. They're ‘angry most of the time'
While a federal appeals court appears to have given its blessing to the Trump administration's efforts to completely gut Voice of America, the bare-bones staff that Kari Lake brought back earlier this month has been wracked with low morale and confusion. 'I am angry most of the time I'm in there,' one staffer told Poynter this week. In March, President Donald Trump issued an executive order calling for the U.S. Agency for Global Media, which oversees VOA and its sister outlets, to reduce staffing down to the 'statutory minimum.' Lake, the failed Arizona politician who now serves as senior adviser overseeing the agency, subsequently laid off hundreds of contracted employees and placed the rest of VOA's staff on indefinite leave. Following a series of lawsuits from VOA employees and executives, Lake was ordered by a district court judge last month to restore Voice of America and bring back its workforce. Additionally, the judge ruled that the administration needed to reinstate Radio Free Asia and Middle East Broadcasting Networks. 'Not only is there an absence of 'reasoned analysis' from the defendants; there is an absence of any analysis whatsoever,' Judge Royce C. Lamberth wrote. Earlier this month, however, a three-judge appellate court panel decided to freeze the lower court's injunction, saying it needed more time to consider the merits of the case. On Thursday, the full appellate court said it would not intervene at this time. 'We are devastated and concerned that this ruling might lead to further adverse reactions from the administration,' Patsy Widakuswara, the lead plaintiff in the lawsuit and VOA's White House bureau chief for Voice of America, told The Independent about the appeals court decision. 'But our day in court is not over yet, and we are committed to fighting until we can return to our congressionally mandated right to broadcast factual, balanced, and comprehensive new.' After Lamberth's initial order to return Voice of America to the air and staff it back up, a small group of 30 employees – from a staff of 1300 workers on leave – was brought back by Lake earlier this month. In an article for Poynter, Liam Scott – VOA's press freedom reporter until he was placed on leave in March and informed he would be terminated this month – spoke to several of the staffers who returned this month and described the 'grim and confusing' atmosphere in VOA headquarters. 'People who are in there do not see this as some kind of hopeful return,' one employee told Scott. 'I am angry most of the time I'm in there… They can't credibly say that they haven't shut us down when zero people are working,' Prior to the president's executive order, VOA broadcast in 49 languages around the world to a weekly measured audience of roughly 360 million people, some of whom live in highly censored authoritarian states. Now, according to those at the pared-down network, Voice of America's content is only translated into Dari, Mandarin Chinese, Pashto and Persian. 'The amount of programming that's being produced is not a credible replacement for what was on air before,' a staffer said. 'We were a 24/7 news operation. Now we're a five-minutes-a-day, five-days-a-week operation,' another source added. 'We all know that this is not what this place is meant to be doing.' Voice of America's primary English-language newsroom, meanwhile, produces just one television segment and a handful of articles a day, which are then translated into four different languages and published, according to Poynter. Notably, with press freedom experts expressing concern about Kremlin propaganda filling the airspace left vacant by VOA's absence, the network is not publishing in Russian in its current depleted state. At the same time, the small cohort that is currently working to produce what little VOA content they can is still following the network's charter, noting that they haven't received any editorial requests from the agency since returning. Interestingly, despite Lake's recent announcement that VOA had partnered up with MAGA cable channel One America News to provide a news feed, Voice of America has yet to air any OAN content. 'No one's really in charge,' a staffer told Poynter, noting the lack of clear leadership at VOA right now. Mike Abramowitz, the network's director, remains on administrative leave. The Independent has reached out to Lake and the USAGM for comment. While fewer than three dozen employees man the ship, hundreds of other full-time VOA staffers remain on the sidelines and in limbo as they wait to hear from the administration about their fate. All the while, Lake has cut other 'frivolous expenditures' from VOA and its sister broadcasters. In March, for instance, she canceled the agency's contracts to carry reporting from wire services such as Reuters, Associated Press and Agence France-Presse. The media agency also reneged on a 15-year lease for new office headquarters – even though it actually saved the government more than $150 million. Though much of the network's full-time staff remains on administrative leave, such as Widakuswara, hundreds of others have already been told they are gone. Last week, Lake announced that 584 total employees were terminated across the agency, the majority of whom came from VOA. 'We will continue to scale back the bloat at [the agency] and make an archaic dinosaur into something worthy of being funded by hardworking Americans,' she told The Washington Post of the terminations before adding: 'Buckle up. There's more to come.' Widakuswara, meanwhile, bluntly described how she feels that Lake and the administration are treating the VOA staff at the moment. 'My assessment of the situation is that this is just more emotional terror that they're applying to us,' she told The Independent. 'There's no rhyme or reason why they're bringing people back and then kicking them out. To me, it feels like emotional terror to ensure obedience.'
Los Angeles Times
19-05-2025
- Politics
- Los Angeles Times
In Virginia, a military stronghold becomes a haven for Afghan refugees
FREDERICKSBURG, Va. — Kat Renfroe was at Mass when she saw a volunteer opportunity in the bulletin. Her Catholic parish was looking for tutors for Afghan youth, newly arrived in the United States. There was a personal connection for Renfroe. Her husband, now retired from the Marine Corps, had deployed to Afghanistan four times. 'He just never talked about any other region the way he did about the people there,' she said. She signed up to volunteer. 'It changed my life,' she said. That was seven years ago. She and her husband are still close to the young man she tutored, along with his family. And Renfroe has made a career of working with refugees. She now supervises the Fredericksburg migration and refugee services office, part of Catholic Charities of the Diocese of Arlington. That faith-based work is now in peril. As part of President Trump's immigration crackdown, his administration banned most incoming refugees in January and froze federal funds for the programs. Across the country, local resettlement agencies like hers have been forced to lay off staff or close their doors. Refugees and other legal migrants have been left in limbo, including Afghans who supported the U.S. in their native country. The upheaval is particularly poignant in this part of Virginia, which boasts both strong ties to the military and to resettled Afghans, along with faith communities that support both groups. Situated south of Washington and wedged among military bases, Fredericksburg and its surrounding counties are home to tens of thousands of veterans and active-duty personnel. Virginia has resettled more Afghan refugees per capita than any other state. The Fredericksburg area now has halal markets, Afghan restaurants and school outreach programs for families who speak Dari and Pashto. Many of these U.S.-based Afghans are still waiting for family members to join them — hopes that appear on indefinite hold. Families fear a new travel ban will emerge with Afghanistan on the list. A subset of Afghans already in the U.S. may soon face deportation as the Trump administration ends their temporary protected status. 'I think it's tough for military families, especially those who have served, to look back on 20 years and not feel as though there's some confusion and maybe even some anger about the situation,' Renfroe said. The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops announced in April that it was ending its decades-old partnership with the federal government to resettle refugees. The move came after the Trump administration halted the program's federal funding, which the bishops' conference channels to local Catholic Charities. The Fredericksburg Catholic Charities office has continued aiding current clients and operating with minimal layoffs thanks to its diocese's support and state funds. But it's unclear what the local agency's future will be without federal funding or arriving refugees. 'I'll just keep praying,' Renfroe said. 'It's all I can do from my end.' Religious groups have long been at the heart of U.S. refugee resettlement work. Until the recent policy changes, seven out of the 10 national organizations that partnered with the U.S. government to resettle refugees were faith-based. They were aided by hundreds of local affiliates and religious congregations. Catholic Charities of the Diocese of Arlington has been working with refugees for 50 years, starting with Vietnamese people after the fall of Saigon. For the last 10 years, most of its clients have been Afghans, with an influx arriving in 2021 after the Taliban returned to power. Area faith groups like Renfroe's large church — St. Mary's in Fredericksburg — have been key to helping Afghan newcomers get on their feet. Volunteers from local congregations furnish homes, provide meals and drive families to appointments. 'As a church, we care deeply. As Christians, we care deeply,' said Joi Rogers, who led the Afghan ministry at her Southern Baptist church. 'As military, we also just have an obligation to them as people that committed to helping the U.S. in our mission over there.' Rogers' husband, Jake, a former Marine, is one of the pastors at Pillar, a network of 16 Southern Baptist churches that minister to military members. Their flagship location is near Quantico, the Marine base in northern Virginia, where nearly 5,000 Afghans were evacuated to after the fall of Kabul. With Southern Baptist relief funds, Pillar Church hired Joi Rogers to work part time as a volunteer coordinator in the base's makeshift refugee camp in 2021. She helped organize programming, including children's activities. Her position was under the auspices of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, which the government contracted to help run the camp. For Pillar's founding pastor, Colby Garman, the effort was an easy decision. 'It was affecting so many of the lives of our families here who had served in Afghanistan.' 'We've been told to love God and love our neighbor,' Garman said. 'I said to our people, this is an opportunity, a unique opportunity, for us to demonstrate love for our neighbor.' Within five months, as the Afghans left the base for locations around the country, the support at the camp transitioned to the broader community. Pillar started hosting an English class. Church members visited locally resettled families and tried to keep track of their needs. For one Pillar Church couple in nearby Stafford, Va., that meant opening their home to a teenager who had arrived alone in the U.S. after being separated from her family at the Kabul airport — a situation they heard about through the church. Katlyn Williams and her husband Phil Williams, then an active-duty Marine, served as foster parents for Mahsa Zarabi, now 20, during her junior and senior years of high school. They introduced her to many American firsts: the beach, homecoming, learning to drive. 'The community was great,' Zarabi said. 'They welcomed me very well.' She attends college nearby; the Williamses visit her monthly. During the Muslim holy month of Ramadan this spring, they broke fast with her and her family, now safely in Virginia. 'She has and will always be part of our family,' Katlyn Williams said. Her friend Joi Rogers, while careful not to speak for Pillar, said watching the recent dismantling of the federal refugee program has 'been very hard for me personally.' Veterans and members of the military tend to vote Republican. Most Southern Baptists are among Trump's staunch white evangelical supporters. For those reasons, Pillar pastor Garman knows it may be surprising to some that his church network has been steadfast in supporting refugees. 'I totally understand that is the case, but I think that is a bias of just not knowing who we are and what we do,' Garman said after a recent Sunday service. Later, sitting in the church office with his wife, Jake Rogers said, 'We recognize that there are really faithful Christians that could lie on either side of the issue of refugee policy.' 'Regardless of your view on what our national stance should be on this,' he said, 'we as Christ followers should have a heart for these people that reflects God's heart for these people.' Later that week, nearly two dozen Afghan women gathered around a table at the Fredericksburg refugee office, while children played with toys in the corner. The class topic was self-care, led by an Afghan staff member. Along the back wall waited dishes of rice and chicken, part of a celebratory potluck to mark the end of Ramadan. Sitting at the front was Suraya Qaderi, the last client to arrive at the resettlement agency before the U.S. government suspended new arrivals. She was in Qatar waiting to be cleared for a flight to the United States when the Trump administration started canceling approved travel plans for refugees. 'I was one of the lucky last few,' said Qaderi, who was allowed to proceed. She arrived in Virginia on Jan. 24, the day the administration sent stop-work orders to resettlement agencies. Qaderi worked for the election commission in Afghanistan, and she received a special immigrant visa for her close ties to the U.S. government. She was a child when her father disappeared under the previous Taliban regime. The return of the Taliban government was like 'the end of the world,' she said. As a woman, she lost many of her rights, including her ability to work and leave home unaccompanied. She studied Islamic law during her university years. She believes the Taliban's interpretation of Islam is wrong on the rights of women. 'Islam is not only for them,' she said. The resettlement office includes not only Catholic staffers, but many Muslim employees and clients. 'We find so much commonality between our faiths,' Renfroe said. Her Catholic faith guides her work, and it's sustaining her through the uncertainty of what the funding and policy changes will mean for her organization, which remains committed to helping refugees. 'I'm happy to go back to being a volunteer again if that's what it takes,' Renfroe said. Regardless of government contracts, she wants local refugee families to know 'that we're still here, that we care about them and that we want to make sure that they have what they need.' Stanley writes for the Associated Press.
Chicago Tribune
17-05-2025
- Politics
- Chicago Tribune
‘I think it's here': Uprooted Afghan family settles in Chicago after being rescued ahead of refugee program suspension
The route to Kilmer Elementary School is about a mile and a half each way for Hamid Azizi, who heads out every afternoon to walk his daughters home. What would seem like a mundane activity for most is a joyous occasion for the father of seven, who arrived in Chicago a little more than a month ago. The 30-minute walk has been Azizi's easiest journey in many years. At the start of the summer of 2021, his family fled its village in Afghanistan, moving quickly and often to evade the Taliban, which swiftly took control after United States armed forces began withdrawing from the region following a 20-year war. 'We were very, very worried about our situation,' Azizi, who speaks Dari, told the Tribune through a translator on a recent Tuesday afternoon at his apartment in the North Side neighborhood of West Ridge. 'Once the Americans left, we could not live in our own city where we grew up or in the other cities that I went to (with U.S. troops) because if anybody knew me and saw me, just to get some credit, they would tell the Taliban, 'This man worked with Americans.' I had to keep moving.' Azizi, 41, is one of thousands of Afghans who were waiting to resettle in the U.S. after being promised safety and relocation for serving alongside American troops as a member of the National Mine Removal Group, or NMRG. He assisted U.S. special forces in various zones in Afghanistan from 2017 until 2021, and received a Special Immigrant Visa, or SIV, intended to facilitate the resettlement of individuals who have risked their lives by collaborating with the U.S. government. Despite the stamp cemented in his passport for years, Azizi and his family had to find help on their own, and be rescued by organizations such as No One Left Behind after President Donald Trump's inauguration added a sense of urgency. Days after taking office, Trump signed an executive order that suspended the U.S. Refugee Admissions Program, pausing foreign aid and ending operations of U.N. organizations such as the International Organization for Migration that were vital for processing refugees. The administration also suspended government programs that buy flights for refugees who have SIVs. 'We found ourselves in this interesting situation where you had Special Immigrant Visa holders who were still being processed, but there were no flights for them to travel on because they basically had to buy their own flights,' said Andrew Sullivan, executive director of No One Left Behind, a nonprofit focused on evacuating Afghan and Iraqi SIV applicants to safety. 'For many of these folks, they left their lives behind in Afghanistan. Many of them have been sitting on a State Department processing platform in either Albania or Qatar. It's not like they can work there. They really just don't have the finances to buy flights.' Sullivan said the executive order thwarted thousands of families' prospects for resettlement, a process that often takes years. And many of those families, like Azizi's, have been on the run. Within a month of U.S. troops leaving, Azizi had to flee from Parwan, his home province where the U.S. military had a significant presence. His wife and six daughters —his son, the youngest of seven children, wasn't yet born — kept a few essential items and hid in homes of various relatives in nearby provinces and villages, staying mere weeks or days at a time. '(The relative whose home we were staying in) would say 'don't leave, because (the Taliban) are all over the village. Don't go out, because they're going to get you. You're safe in the house until they find you,'' Azizi recalled. 'But after that, (the relative) said we couldn't stay anymore because it was dangerous for them, and then in two, three days, we went to another relative's house, which was by the river.' With the Taliban rapidly taking over rural areas, Azizi said his family went to the bordering city of Kabul, the country's capital, 'because it had not fallen yet.' Azizi's wife, Fahima, knew a family in Kabul who took them in for a couple months. But on Aug. 15, 2021, the Taliban seized control of Kabul, signaling a full recapture of Afghanistan. Civilians soon swarmed Kabul's main international airport hoping to evacuate. Azizi said his family attempted to get on a plane out of Kabul. 'We were one of the people that went to the airport. They were flying everywhere and there were barriers and everything. But my younger daughter, Zhra, stayed behind. I couldn't take it that my daughter won't have a family, won't have a father, a mother. I can't just go and leave her behind,' Azizi said. 'We all went back from the airport. We got her, and from there we stayed but at that time we knew the Taliban said, 'We have forgiven everybody, blanket forgiveness — but not for people who worked for the Americans.'' Will Reno, a professor at Northwestern University, said the images out of Kabul's airport were a stark representation of America's frantic departure from a country it occupied for 20 years. 'That first day or two was chaos when there were people on the airfield grabbing onto the landing gear of the aircraft — that got that very bad, politically, pictures like that,' said Reno, who was a contractor for the Department of Defense while the U.S. was involved in Afghanistan. Reno said in the days following the U.S. withdrawal and the Taliban takeover, there was a rush to get high-priority groups such as military intelligence and Afghan special forces that trained American soldiers onto evacuation aircrafts. He explained that President Joe Biden's administration was late in getting a system in place that would effectively vet and process all SIV holders and their families, leaving many, like Azizi, to flee, as the situation with the Taliban became increasingly dangerous for them. Despite the desperate circumstances, Azizi shared fond memories of working with U.S. troops. 'Those times were our best memories; they were like our brothers,' Azizi said. 'We will eat together, either on the floor, or if we find a table, we'll all sit together. If, God forbid, one of us got injured or something like that, we all would get together, be around him like a family. So the relationship was very nice, very beautiful and brotherly.' As a member of the National Mine Removal Group, Azizi's team was the first line of defense for American soldiers, clearing hazardous devices off a battlefield and seeking out snipers trying to target U.S. troops. Azizi said there were several teams of NMRG personnel stationed across the war zone. One of his friends was a guard with the NMRG and immigrated to the U.S. on an SIV years before the war ended, when the U.S. still had an embassy in Afghanistan. In Kabul, Azizi's family continued moving around, hiding in homes of friends and acquaintances. This went on for several months, Azizi said. The family finally found a reason for optimism after connecting with the 1208 Foundation, a nonprofit providing immigration assistance to the surviving members of the NMRG. The organization helped the Azizi family cross into the last leg of its tireless run and eventually paved the way for No One Left Behind to link up with Azizi's family. Eventually, Azizi's family left Kabul for Islamabad, Pakistan, where they lived for 11 months. Through a website launched by No One Left Behind, Azizi was able to fill out an online form to share his visa status and resettlement plans. They didn't have much in terms of money or food, 'but plenty of hope,' Azizi said. Life on the run was especially hard on Fahima, who gave birth to her son, Mohamad, at home without medical care, all while caring for her six other children. In January, No One Left Behind helped Azizi and his family fly to Doha, Qatar, where the organization had sent many Afghans and Iraqis who have already immigrated to the U.S., many through the SIV program, to help facilitate the process. The endgame was America, but Azizi said he knew the 'situation with Trump' was not ideal for refugees seeking asylum. Anticipating even more upcoming limitations for Afghans, and the looming threat of the Trump administration introducing a travel ban that could restrict their entry, No One Left Behind urgently started tapping into existing infrastructure and raised money to buy flights for families and individuals in places such as Albania and Qatar. Between Feb. 1 and March 17, the group said it successfully booked flights for 659 Afghans. And since they began this 'all-out sprint,' Sullivan said, No One Left Behind has spent $1.5 million on 1,300 flights for stranded Afghans with a U.S. visa. 'Life is not easy for people who just come from one place to another place, especially for kids,' Azizi said, looking around his new home. 'We were very, very happy when they told us, especially when we're leaving the (hotel) room and there was a bus to take us to the airport. It was a different feeling … we are really going right now.' After 50 days in Doha, Azizi's family got on a flight to Chicago. No One Left Behind covered the cost of their one-way flights from Doha International Airport to O'Hare International Airport. 'When they told us we are going to take you all, buy tickets for all of you, and you don't have to pay it back — wow, (we asked) how is that going to be possible?' Azizi said. 'We couldn't believe it.' In West Ridge, a volunteer from No One Left Behind comes by weekly to help the family with chores or tasks that require an English speaker. She carries around an English/Dari phrasebook and flips through it regularly, but uses the Google Translate app for faster communication. She helped set up Azizi's three-bedroom apartment off Devon Avenue, furnished with just enough: two comfortable couches, a dining table with six chairs, a bookshelf fashioned into a shoe rack stacked with tiny sandals and sneakers. There isn't a TV, so Azizi's cellphone is typically where his youngest children, Mohamad and Hfsah, watch cartoons on YouTube. Azizi laughed that his phone is not his anymore. Although No One Left Behind offers resettlement assistance to several of the refugees it helps, Sullivan said the group prefers sending its families and individuals to cities in America where they know someone — even just a friend. If there isn't any contact person, the group will send Afghans to areas with a higher volume of Afghan refugees, such as Sacramento, San Francisco or the greater Washington, D.C., area, so there's a sense of community and shared language. In Azizi's case, he got in touch with his friend from the NMRG who resettled in Chicago while the U.S. was still in Afghanistan. The friend invited the family to stay at his home for a couple weeks, then borrowed $3,000 to give to Azizi to secure a month's rent for their apartment. The No One Left Behind volunteer set up a GoFundMe for Azizi's family to help raise money that could go toward rent and basic necessities. The situation for Afghans has become more fragile in some of the places where many have temporarily sheltered, like Azizi's family did in Pakistan. Having hosted millions of refugees, Pakistan has recently increased deportations. And an agreement that made Albania a way station for Afghans expired in March, Sullivan said. Sullivan said for individuals like Azizi who have SIV status, going back to Afghanistan was not an option. 'If they got deported, they would, by definition, go back to a Taliban-controlled immigration checkpoint and fly back into Kabul, where they would be greeted by Taliban immigration authorities who would see their passport and see a U.S. visa in it,' he said. 'We very much worry that it would very much open them up to questioning at the very least, and at the worst, detention, torture and possibly murder from the Taliban.' During the final months of U.S. military operations in Afghanistan, an American documentary film crew followed the intimate relationship between American Green Berets and the Afghan officers they trained. Since its release in 2022, the film 'Retrograde' faced criticism for failing to protect the identities of its subjects, leading to the killing of one of the Afghan men by the Taliban. Earlier this month, the Hollywood Reporter wrote that the man's family is suing the producers and distributors of the documentary, including Disney and National Geographic, faulting them for the man's death. Azizi said he was also featured in the film and knew of the man who was killed by the Taliban. Had he not found his way out, Azizi said, he might have faced a similar fate, or would have had to endure the harsh restrictions of Taliban rule. Fahima would not be allowed to work or move freely, and their six daughters wouldn't be allowed post-secondary education. When he drops his daughters off at school and picks them up — both times on foot — he said he often thinks about all the what-if's. His 14-year-old daughter Surya has dreams of becoming a doctor. His youngest daughter, Hfsah, 4, wants to be a hairstylist. Roya, 13, would love to be a teacher. When the girls enrolled at Kilmer, the culture shock and language barrier made going to school dreadful. But now, Azizi said, he watches them run up to their teachers in the morning and looks on as they're immediately enveloped in a hug. 'I'm super proud and full of happiness,' he said. While fleeing from place to place, Azizi said, the family often took pictures to capture the memories of being in each location. Even though circumstances were far from ideal, he said they were together, safe, healthy. It was worth capturing. They have pictures in Pakistan, in Doha, and now in Chicago, as they traverse the new neighborhood curiously. A few weeks ago, Azizi said, as he was taking a selfie with his children, his daughter Sarah, 7, turned to him and asked, 'Baba, where are we going next?' Azizi wiped his tears as he recounted that moment. 'Because we were leaving every city, going to different places, my little girl was thinking maybe America is not home as well,' Azizi said. 'I said, Sarah jaan, we are not going anywhere. I think it's here.'
Yahoo
16-05-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Trump policy moves worry Afghan refugees in US military town and Christian groups that assist them
FREDERICKSBURG, Va. (AP) — Kat Renfroe was at Mass when she saw a volunteer opportunity in the bulletin. Her Catholic parish was looking for tutors for Afghan youth, newly arrived in the United States. There was a personal connection for Renfroe. Her husband, now retired from the Marine Corps, had deployed to Afghanistan four times. 'He just never talked about any other region the way he did about the people there,' she said. She signed up to volunteer. 'It changed my life,' she said. That was seven years ago. She and her husband are still close to the young man she tutored, along with his family. And Renfroe has made a career of working with refugees. She now supervises the Fredericksburg migration and refugee services office, part of Catholic Charities of the Diocese of Arlington. That faith-based work is now in peril. As part of President Donald Trump's immigration crackdown, his administration banned most incoming refugees in January and froze federal funds for the programs. Across the country, local resettlement agencies like hers have been forced to lay off staff or close their doors. Refugees and other legal migrants have been left in limbo, including Afghans who supported the U.S. in their native country. The upheaval is particularly poignant in this part of Virginia, which boasts both strong ties to the military and to resettled Afghans, along with faith communities that support both groups. Situated south of Washington, D.C., and wedged among military bases, Fredericksburg and its surrounding counties are home to tens of thousands of veterans and active-duty personnel. Virginia has resettled more Afghan refugees per capita than any other state. The Fredericksburg area now has halal markets, Afghan restaurants and school outreach programs for families who speak Dari and Pashto. Many of these U.S.-based Afghans are still waiting for family members to join them — hopes that appear on indefinite hold. Families fear a new travel ban will emerge with Afghanistan on the list. A subset of Afghans already in the U.S. may soon face deportation as the Trump administration ends their temporary protected status. 'I think it's tough for military families, especially those who have served, to look back on 20 years and not feel as though there's some confusion and maybe even some anger about the situation,' Renfroe said. The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops announced in April that it was ending its decades-old partnership with the federal government to resettle refugees. The move came after the Trump administration halted the program's federal funding, which the bishops' conference channels to local Catholic Charities. The Fredericksburg Catholic Charities office has continued aiding current clients and operating without layoffs thanks to its diocese's support and state funds. But it's unclear what the local agency's future will be without federal funding or arriving refugees. 'I'll just keep praying,' Renfroe said. 'It's all I can do from my end.' A legacy of faith-based service Religious groups have long been at the heart of U.S. refugee resettlement work. Until the recent policy changes, seven out of the 10 national organizations that partnered with the U.S. government to resettle refugees were faith-based. They were aided by hundreds of local affiliates and religious congregations. Catholic Charities of the Diocese of Arlington has been working with refugees for 50 years, starting with Vietnamese people after the fall of Saigon. For the last 10 years, most of its clients have been Afghans, with an influx arriving in 2021 after the Taliban returned to power. Area faith groups like Renfroe's large church — St. Mary's in Fredericksburg — have been key to helping Afghan newcomers get on their feet. Volunteers from local congregations furnish homes, provide meals and drive families to appointments. 'As a church, we care deeply. As Christians, we care deeply,' said Joi Rogers, who led the Afghan ministry at her Southern Baptist church. 'As military, we also just have an obligation to them as people that committed to helping the U.S. in our mission over there.' Rogers' husband Jake, a former Marine, is one of the pastors at Pillar, a network of 16 Southern Baptist churches that minister to military members. Their flagship location is near Quantico, the Marine base in northern Virginia, where nearly 5,000 Afghans were evacuated to after the fall of Kabul. With Southern Baptist relief funds, Pillar Church hired Joi Rogers to work part time as a volunteer coordinator in the base's makeshift refugee camp in 2021. She helped organize programming, including children's activities. Her position was under the auspices of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, which the government contracted to help run the camp. For Pillar's founding pastor, Colby Garman, the effort was an easy decision. 'It was affecting so many of the lives of our families here who had served in Afghanistan.' 'We've been told to love God and love our neighbor,' Garman said. 'I said to our people, this is an opportunity, a unique opportunity, for us to demonstrate love for our neighbor.' Christians called to care for refugees, politics aside Within five months, as the Afghans left the base for locations around the country, the support at the camp transitioned to the broader community. Pillar started hosting an English class. Church members visited locally resettled families and tried to keep track of their needs. For one Pillar Church couple in nearby Stafford, Virginia, that meant opening their home to a teenager who had arrived alone in the U.S. after being separated from her family at the Kabul airport — a situation they heard about through the church. Katlyn Williams and her husband Phil Williams, then an active-duty Marine, served as foster parents for Mahsa Zarabi, now 20, during her junior and senior years of high school. They introduced her to many American firsts: the beach, homecoming, learning to drive. 'The community was great,' Zarabi said. 'They welcomed me very well.' She attends college nearby; the Williamses visit her monthly. During the Muslim holy month of Ramadan this spring, they broke fast with her and her family, now safely in Virginia. 'She has and will always be part of our family,' Katlyn Williams said. Her friend Joi Rogers, while careful not to speak for Pillar, said watching the recent dismantling of the federal refugee program has 'been very hard for me personally.' Veterans and members of the military tend to vote Republican. Most Southern Baptists are among Trump's staunch white evangelical supporters. For those reasons, Pillar pastor Garman knows it may be surprising to some that his church network has been steadfast in supporting refugees. 'I totally understand that is the case, but I think that is a bias of just not knowing who we are and what we do,' Garman said after a recent Sunday service. Later, sitting in the church office with his wife, Jake Rogers said, 'We recognize that there are really faithful Christians that could lie on either side of the issue of refugee policy.' 'Regardless of your view on what our national stance should be on this,' he said, 'we as Christ followers should have a heart for these people that reflects God's heart for these people.' Unity through faith and refugee work Later that week, nearly two dozen Afghan women gathered around a table at the Fredericksburg refugee office, while children played with toys in the corner. The class topic was self-care, led by an Afghan staff member. Along the back wall waited dishes of rice and chicken, part of a celebratory potluck to mark the end of Ramadan. Sitting at the front was Suraya Qaderi, the last client to arrive at the resettlement agency before the U.S. government suspended new arrivals. She was in Qatar waiting to be cleared for a flight to the United States when the Trump administration started canceling approved travel plans for refugees. 'I was one of the lucky last few,' said Qaderi, who was allowed to proceed. She arrived in Virginia on Jan. 24, the day the administration sent stop-work orders to resettlement agencies. Qaderi worked for the election commission in Afghanistan, and she received a special immigrant visa for her close ties to the U.S. government. She was a child when her father disappeared under the previous Taliban regime. The return of the Taliban government was like 'the end of the world,' she said. As a woman, she lost many of her rights, including her ability to work and leave home unaccompanied. She studied Islamic law during her university years. She believes the Taliban's interpretation of Islam is wrong on the rights of women. 'Islam is not only for them,' she said. The resettlement office includes not only Catholic staffers, but many Muslim employees and clients. 'We find so much commonality between our faiths,' Renfroe said. Her Catholic faith guides her work, and it's sustaining her through the uncertainty of what the funding and policy changes will mean for her organization, which remains committed to helping refugees. 'I'm happy to go back to being a volunteer again if that's what it takes,' Renfroe said. Regardless of government contracts, she wants local refugee families to know that 'that we're still here, that we care about them and that we want to make sure that they have what they need.' ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
San Francisco Chronicle
16-05-2025
- Politics
- San Francisco Chronicle
Trump policy moves worry Afghan refugees in US military town and Christian groups that assist them
FREDERICKSBURG, Va. (AP) — Kat Renfroe was at Mass when she saw a volunteer opportunity in the bulletin. Her Catholic parish was looking for tutors for Afghan youth, newly arrived in the United States. There was a personal connection for Renfroe. Her husband, now retired from the Marine Corps, had deployed to Afghanistan four times. 'He just never talked about any other region the way he did about the people there,' she said. She signed up to volunteer. 'It changed my life,' she said. That was seven years ago. She and her husband are still close to the young man she tutored, along with his family. And Renfroe has made a career of working with refugees. She now supervises the Fredericksburg migration and refugee services office, part of Catholic Charities of the Diocese of Arlington. That faith-based work is now in peril. As part of President Donald Trump's immigration crackdown, his administration banned most incoming refugees in January and froze federal funds for the programs. Across the country, local resettlement agencies like hers have been forced to lay off staff or close their doors. Refugees and other legal migrants have been left in limbo, including Afghans who supported the U.S. in their native country. The upheaval is particularly poignant in this part of Virginia, which boasts both strong ties to the military and to resettled Afghans, along with faith communities that support both groups. Situated south of Washington, D.C., and wedged among military bases, Fredericksburg and its surrounding counties are home to tens of thousands of veterans and active-duty personnel. Virginia has resettled more Afghan refugees per capita than any other state. The Fredericksburg area now has halal markets, Afghan restaurants and school outreach programs for families who speak Dari and Pashto. Many of these U.S.-based Afghans are still waiting for family members to join them — hopes that appear on indefinite hold. Families fear a new travel ban will emerge with Afghanistan on the list. A subset of Afghans already in the U.S. may soon face deportation as the Trump administration ends their temporary protected status. 'I think it's tough for military families, especially those who have served, to look back on 20 years and not feel as though there's some confusion and maybe even some anger about the situation,' Renfroe said. The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops announced in April that it was ending its decades-old partnership with the federal government to resettle refugees. The move came after the Trump administration halted the program's federal funding, which the bishops' conference channels to local Catholic Charities. The Fredericksburg Catholic Charities office has continued aiding current clients and operating without layoffs thanks to its diocese's support and state funds. But it's unclear what the local agency's future will be without federal funding or arriving refugees. 'I'll just keep praying,' Renfroe said. 'It's all I can do from my end.' A legacy of faith-based service Religious groups have long been at the heart of U.S. refugee resettlement work. Until the recent policy changes, seven out of the 10 national organizations that partnered with the U.S. government to resettle refugees were faith-based. They were aided by hundreds of local affiliates and religious congregations. Catholic Charities of the Diocese of Arlington has been working with refugees for 50 years, starting with Vietnamese people after the fall of Saigon. For the last 10 years, most of its clients have been Afghans, with an influx arriving in 2021 after the Taliban returned to power. Area faith groups like Renfroe's large church — St. Mary's in Fredericksburg — have been key to helping Afghan newcomers get on their feet. Volunteers from local congregations furnish homes, provide meals and drive families to appointments. 'As a church, we care deeply. As Christians, we care deeply,' said Joi Rogers, who led the Afghan ministry at her Southern Baptist church. 'As military, we also just have an obligation to them as people that committed to helping the U.S. in our mission over there.' Rogers' husband Jake, a former Marine, is one of the pastors at Pillar, a network of 16 Southern Baptist churches that minister to military members. Their flagship location is near Quantico, the Marine base in northern Virginia, where nearly 5,000 Afghans were evacuated to after the fall of Kabul. With Southern Baptist relief funds, Pillar Church hired Joi Rogers to work part time as a volunteer coordinator in the base's makeshift refugee camp in 2021. She helped organize programming, including children's activities. Her position was under the auspices of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, which the government contracted to help run the camp. For Pillar's founding pastor, Colby Garman, the effort was an easy decision. 'It was affecting so many of the lives of our families here who had served in Afghanistan.' 'We've been told to love God and love our neighbor,' Garman said. 'I said to our people, this is an opportunity, a unique opportunity, for us to demonstrate love for our neighbor.' Christians called to care for refugees, politics aside Within five months, as the Afghans left the base for locations around the country, the support at the camp transitioned to the broader community. Pillar started hosting an English class. Church members visited locally resettled families and tried to keep track of their needs. For one Pillar Church couple in nearby Stafford, Virginia, that meant opening their home to a teenager who had arrived alone in the U.S. after being separated from her family at the Kabul airport — a situation they heard about through the church. Katlyn Williams and her husband Phil Williams, then an active-duty Marine, served as foster parents for Mahsa Zarabi, now 20, during her junior and senior years of high school. They introduced her to many American firsts: the beach, homecoming, learning to drive. 'The community was great,' Zarabi said. 'They welcomed me very well.' She attends college nearby; the Williamses visit her monthly. During the Muslim holy month of Ramadan this spring, they broke fast with her and her family, now safely in Virginia. 'She has and will always be part of our family,' Katlyn Williams said. Her friend Joi Rogers, while careful not to speak for Pillar, said watching the recent dismantling of the federal refugee program has 'been very hard for me personally.' Veterans and members of the military tend to vote Republican. Most Southern Baptists are among Trump's staunch white evangelical supporters. For those reasons, Pillar pastor Garman knows it may be surprising to some that his church network has been steadfast in supporting refugees. 'I totally understand that is the case, but I think that is a bias of just not knowing who we are and what we do,' Garman said after a recent Sunday service. Later, sitting in the church office with his wife, Jake Rogers said, 'We recognize that there are really faithful Christians that could lie on either side of the issue of refugee policy.' 'Regardless of your view on what our national stance should be on this,' he said, 'we as Christ followers should have a heart for these people that reflects God's heart for these people.' Unity through faith and refugee work Later that week, nearly two dozen Afghan women gathered around a table at the Fredericksburg refugee office, while children played with toys in the corner. The class topic was self-care, led by an Afghan staff member. Along the back wall waited dishes of rice and chicken, part of a celebratory potluck to mark the end of Ramadan. Sitting at the front was Suraya Qaderi, the last client to arrive at the resettlement agency before the U.S. government suspended new arrivals. She was in Qatar waiting to be cleared for a flight to the United States when the Trump administration started canceling approved travel plans for refugees. 'I was one of the lucky last few,' said Qaderi, who was allowed to proceed. She arrived in Virginia on Jan. 24, the day the administration sent stop-work orders to resettlement agencies. Qaderi worked for the election commission in Afghanistan, and she received a special immigrant visa for her close ties to the U.S. government. She was a child when her father disappeared under the previous Taliban regime. The return of the Taliban government was like 'the end of the world,' she said. As a woman, she lost many of her rights, including her ability to work and leave home unaccompanied. She studied Islamic law during her university years. She believes the Taliban's interpretation of Islam is wrong on the rights of women. 'Islam is not only for them,' she said. The resettlement office includes not only Catholic staffers, but many Muslim employees and clients. 'We find so much commonality between our faiths,' Renfroe said. Her Catholic faith guides her work, and it's sustaining her through the uncertainty of what the funding and policy changes will mean for her organization, which remains committed to helping refugees. 'I'm happy to go back to being a volunteer again if that's what it takes,' Renfroe said. Regardless of government contracts, she wants local refugee families to know that 'that we're still here, that we care about them and that we want to make sure that they have what they need.' ___
