The Last Refugees Let Into the U.S. Wonder if Their New Country Wants Them

The January wind stung Luismar Liendo and Edwin Perez the moment they stepped from the plane into Eau Claire, Wis. They had landed in a place colder than they had ever known, a biting contrast to the swelter of their native Venezuela.

The married couple, political dissidents, had been granted refugee status by the United States, and pictured this new land as a welcoming haven.

But soon after Mr. Perez, 27, and Ms. Liendo, 31, arrived, the door to which they had entered America slammed shut. They were among the last refugees to arrive in Wisconsin and indeed in all of America. President Donald Trump, on his first day in office, suspended the Refugee Admissions Program, which admits those facing persecution abroad.

Then Mr. Trump made another move, cutting off federal funds for nonprofit groups helping refugees — money that went to rent, food and other essentials.

World Relief, the evangelical Christian group assisting Mr. Perez and Ms. Liendo, had expected each refugee to receive federal support of $1,325 for the first 90 days. Now, there was nothing.

“We were afraid,” Mr. Perez said. “It was a difficult moment, for sure.”

These refugees arrived in the United States with legal status after careful vetting. But they are caught in a moment in American history when the welcome mat for immigrants, legal or not, is threadbare.

Having won the White House in part by promising mass deportations, President Trump has issued sweeping crackdowns.

The administration has also focused much of its campaign on Venezuelan migrants, claiming, with little evidence, that many are members of Tren de Aragua, a transnational gang.

In Eau Claire, a vocal contingent of activists has cheered the president’s policies, especially his withdrawal of the refugee program. The activists had taken the mic at City Council meetings, arguing that refugees and other immigrants took up precious resources, money that could be used for the state’s citizens.

“My whole talking point over and over was, ‘We just have to hold out long enough to defend America until Donald J. Trump is in office,’” said Matthew Bocklund, a financial planner and local activist who helped rally opponents against the refugee program in Eau Claire, beginning in 2023. “He’s doing everything I want him to.”

Still, Ms. Liendo and Mr. Perez now lived in Eau Claire, along with a few dozen other refugees. How would they make their way?

The future, as ever for the displaced, was a fragile thing.

Suddenly, the End

In Venezuela, expressing a political opinion could make someone an “enemy of the homeland.”

Ms. Liendo, a human-rights activist, said her resolve had been spurred by her brief imprisonment for protesting in 2015, when she and dozens of detainees were threatened and spat on. Mr. Perez said his family had faced threats of starvation, a cruel tactic used by the government to silence dissent. Their accounts align with numerous reports from human rights organizations documenting widespread abuses under the Venezuelan government.

Desperate to leave, the couple navigated prolonged vetting by the Refugee Admissions Program.

Created with bipartisan support in 1980, the refugee program is intended to help those facing persecution in their home countries. Refugees must pass criminal background checks and DNA tests to confirm their identities and relationships to those they state are kin, such as their children. Many have waited in temporary settlements abroad for more than a decade.

The number of refugees admitted through the program every year has varied widely, with more than 200,000 allowed entry in 1980. During his first term, President Trump significantly reduced the numbers, which reached a record low of about 11,000 in fiscal year 2020. In 2024, the final year of President Joe Biden’s presidency, about 100,000 refugees were admitted.

This year, that number will be closer to zero.

The Trump administration, in announcing the suspension, said that the United States cannot absorb large numbers of immigrants — “in particular, refugees” — in a way that does not compromise “the availability of resources for Americans, that protects their safety and security, and that ensures the appropriate assimilation of refugees.”

Matthew Soerens, vice president of advocacy and policy at World Relief, vividly remembers the pit in his stomach as he heard news of the suspension. Then four days later, Mr. Soerens received frantic texts: The government was pulling funds for refugees already in the United States.

“That was a new level of devastation,” he recalled. “We didn’t have the money to fulfill our promises, to pay the rent for new arrivals for the next three months.”

In Eau Claire, World Relief had charge of 29 newcomers who had arrived over the previous three months. When federal aid faltered, the organization reached out to a quiet network of volunteers, many rooted in local churches, who tried to fill the gaps.

While opposition to refugees lingered among some in the Eau Claire area, Mr. Trump’s decision to stop bringing in newcomers had reduced the anger to a simmer. The Rev. Paul Smith of West Ridge Church in Eau Claire observed a change of thinking among some wary congregants.

“It was like a switch flipped,” he said. He attributed the change to personal connection — “when people start thinking, ‘Wait, these are now families in our community, these are parents trying to raise kids.’”

Volunteers met refugees at the airport, helped arrange their housing, drove families around town and helped children get into schools. One church donated $3,200 for gift cards; another covered two months’ rent for a single parent.

On the evening when Mr. Perez and Ms. Liendo arrived at the Eau Claire airport, a World Relief volunteer, Josh Huhmann, was there to greet them. He said he remembers their faces looking young and worn out. An app on a cellphone translated most of the conversation, as the two recent arrivals navigated a new and unfamiliar world.

After a short drive in Mr. Huhmann’s van, they arrived at an extended-stay hotel, where other volunteers had left groceries and a ready-made meal. He left them in a warm room, with a cellphone provided by World Relief. Someone from the agency would arrive in the morning.

Finding Their Way

It did not take long for Mr. Perez and Ms. Liendo to settle in. Soon, they moved into their own small apartment, and quickly became part of an informal mutual aid society that had developed among a small cluster of recently arrived Venezuelan refugees.

The Venezuelan community’s self-sufficiency became a critical, if unexpected, lifeline for World Relief. The organization’s local staff had been cut to just two workers from six, but with the Venezuelans’ resourcefulness, the remaining caseworkers could devote their attention to other families who needed more, including some who would arrive at the office distraught and in tears, terrified by the sudden halt in aid. For Shafiq, an Afghan refugee who asked that his last name be withheld to protect the safety of family in Afghanistan, the new reality felt as if America was “throwing us to the ground.”

Mr. Perez and Ms. Liendo’s community found its center of gravity through one of the earliest Venezuelan arrivals in Eau Claire. Arriving in July 2024, the refugee, a 25-year-old who asked that his name be withheld to protect family back home, quickly found a job and bought a car within three months, a rapid independence that can sometimes be hard to accomplish.

His success echoed through the local Venezuelan community of 21 legal refugees brought in by World Relief, which, while small, grew steadily until the second Trump presidency. (Under World Relief, 111 refugees from Africa, Asia and the Middle East have come to Eau Claire since early 2024.)

They had not known one another before coming to America, yet they created a “big, comforting family,” as Melissa Johnson, a World Relief caseworker, described it. They shared meals, birthday parties and barbecues. The 25-year-old’s car became “everyone’s car,” she said, transporting refugees to English classes, hiring interviews, grocery stores and appointments. One woman, a skilled cook, often shared traditional meals — empanadas, arepas and Venezuelan-style lasagna — providing comfort in the foreign surroundings.

Through texts and phone calls, the Venezuelans also shared job leads; many landed work at department stores or distribution centers.

“We help each other out so much,” Mr. Perez said, speaking through a translator on his cellphone. Mr. Perez, a systems technician in Venezuela, works at a department store, mainly in the shipping department. Ms. Liendo, trained as a physical therapist, works in the kitchen at the University of Wisconsin, Eau Claire, stocking refrigerators, washing dishes, anything that needs to get done.

Although they are here legally, and at least so far have not been targeted for deportation, they fear being mistaken for undocumented workers. Ms. Liendo worried that deportation would threaten her freedom and her life. Many officials — including Secretary of State Marco Rubio when he was a senator — have said sending Venezuelan dissenters back would be a death sentence.

Most refugees said they never leave home without work permits and other identification. Even planning a Refugees Day celebration involved caution. World Relief organizers opted for an indoor venue, concerned about safety and the public’s reaction if the event were held outdoors.

Still, Eau Claire’s new arrivals hold to the belief that this river-crossed Wisconsin town will allow them to thrive.

The 25-year-old Venezuelan refugee now holds two jobs and owns two cars. To him, America is a country of opportunity, where if he and others work hard, they can live well.

Mr. Perez and Ms. Liendo imagine living across the state one day, in Madison, which they love for its mix of Eau Claire’s easy charm and bigger buzz. They will own their own home and have a child. As their English improves, better jobs will come, and Ms. Liendo will one day own a physical therapy business.

“Wonderful,” Ms. Liendo said, thinking of such a life. “It will be wonderful.”