Irina Merejko persuaded her sister in Ukraine that her nephew should come and live with her in Los Angeles until the end of the war. And so she traveled halfway around the world to get him. “I told him it was going to be a California vacation. We were going to Disney, Universal Studios, the beach.”
The boy, Ivan Yereshov, 14, accompanied Irina to Tijuana, Mexico, earlier this month, joining the ranks of thousands of Ukrainians waiting at the border for permission to enter the United States.
To avoid possible problems, she carried a notarized power of attorney attesting that Ivan had been handed over to her aunt’s care. But an American official said the boy could not enter the country — because she was not the mother.
“We were told we would spend a day or two apart,” recalls Irina. She hugged Ivan when his initial enthusiasm turned to dismay. Ten days would pass before she discovered his whereabouts.
Due to a law aimed at preventing migrant children from being trafficked, dozens of young Ukrainians are being separated from relatives, friends or older siblings with whom they traveled to the southern US border. In effect since 2008, the law requires border authorities to place unaccompanied minors in government shelters, where they must remain until guardians have been screened and approved.
The law has mainly been implemented with Central American children, the main group of minors arriving in recent years. But they are usually aware of the law and know that they will be placed in temporary custody. For Ukrainian women, being separated from their caretakers is an unexpected and shocking turn in fleeing a war zone.
The case differs from those in 2018, when the Trump administration intentionally separated children from their migrant parents to discourage crossing the border.
“Imagine the situation,” says Erika Pinheiro, a lawyer who advises the migrant support group Al Otro Lado in Tijuana. “The parents of some of these children have died or are fighting. They are traumatized by the war and travel. So they are separated from their relatives, without understanding why, and sent to a shelter where the staff don’t speak their language.”
Pinheiro says it is essential to protect children from potential human traffickers, but that a more careful inspection process at the border could reduce the need for traumatic separations.
US authorities do not disclose the number of Ukrainian children separated from their caregivers, but volunteers working with refugees said they counted at least 50. According to them, up to 20 children and adolescents a day have arrived in Tijuana with someone other than their parents or children. the mother.
The Department of Homeland Security said in a statement that the human trafficking law defines any child who is not with a parent or legal guardian as unaccompanied and requires that they be transferred to a government shelter to receive care and be screened for detection. any sign of human trafficking. “Any potential guardian must by law be checked carefully before being put in contact with the child again.”
Advocates for migrants recognize that amidst the chaos of war there is a risk that children will be vulnerable to being trafficked and exploited, but say US officials are inconsistently implementing the law, sowing confusion and suffering.
In some cases a child traveling with an adult sibling has been transferred to a shelter, but this is not always the case. Last month, Molly Surajski, the daughter of Ukrainian immigrants, accompanied Liza Krasulia, 17, whose mother is a close family friend, from Poland, where the teenager had fled to escape the war, to the southern US border.
Molly, who lives in New York, says she consulted an immigration attorney, who didn’t anticipate that they would have any problems, because they carried a notarized letter from Liza’s mother authorizing Molly to care for her. But when they arrived at the border on March 30, they were told that Liza would be held in custody for up to two days.
“They said, ‘She’ll be better treated than we are,'” says Molly. Liza was shocked and started crying. “I told her, ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere without you.’
Molly checked into a hotel in San Diego and got a call from Liza, who by now was even more distressed. Officials had confiscated his phone, his luggage, his book and even his shoelaces. She was sharing a cell with 25 women and children from Ukraine, Russia and other countries, all sleeping on the floor and having only aluminum blankets.
It was a few days before Molly found out that Liza had been transferred to a shelter for migrant children and adolescents in the Bronx, New York.
She delivered 40 pages of documents, forms and fingerprints. She was waiting for approval to officially take responsibility for Liza. On the 18th, she was informed that the young woman would be allowed to leave the shelter the next day, three weeks after they had crossed the border. “I understand the need to screen caregivers, but there has to be a better way for the government to do this without traumatizing children further,” says Molly,
Casey Revkin, co-founder of an NGO that helps migrant families with reunification, says that for years Central American children and adolescents have been displaced without needing grandparents, adoptive parents or siblings.
Pinheiro notes that during the withdrawal of Western troops from Afghanistan, the US government issued a directive instructing authorities to allow children to stay with caregivers who were not their parents and with whom they had entered the country, rather than being transferred to shelters.
The shelters the Ukrainians are being taken to are maintained by a separate federal agency, the Department of Health and Human Services — which, in a statement, said it is not up to it to make immigration determinations. “Our role is to provide care and protection for children while they are in our temporary custody.”
In the case of Irina Merejko, who has lived in the US since 2014, the family decided to try to send Ivan to Los Angeles, where the boy would be safe, without waiting until the US starts issuing permits for refugees to fly direct. Since the war began, an estimated 5,000 Ukrainians have entered the US via Mexico, which does not require visas for citizens of Ukraine.
Irina spent $7,000 on airfare, took leave from her job, and went to pick up her nephew. They met in the west of the country, after Ivan managed to board a train taking people out of Kharkiv. “I thought I was doing the right thing, that it would be the only way to save the boy.”
From Madrid they boarded for Monterrey, Mexico, and on April 6 they went to Tijuana, crowded with Ukrainians waiting to report to the border checkpoint. Two days later, customs officials said they would have to be separated, for a day or two.
“It’s going to be okay,” Irina said to Ivan. The next day her phone rang, and an agent handed the device to Ivan. “Mother, mother, is that you?” he asked, thinking he was talking to Ukraine.
The aunt was heartbroken. On the 60-second controlled call, the boy said he was still at the border, and the agent informed him that Irina should expect another call soon. Days passed, no one called, and her anxiety grew.
Irina found the number of a hotline for families trying to locate children, and an employee confirmed that Ivan was in the system. He said she would be contacted by a social worker.
“I haven’t received any information about how or where he is,” says Irina. Days passed, she called again and an operator asked for patience. She said it could take 20 or 30 days for Ivan to be released, that the process hadn’t even started yet.
In an anguished phone call, her sister Katerina said she was sorry she had sent her only child away.
Last Monday, Irina’s husband, Vadim, finally received a call from Ivan, who said he was in a shelter in California. A social worker said they could send documents to process the boy’s release, but there was no word on when he would be able to leave the shelter.
