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I can't imagine how normies are motivated to go to work everyday in some stressful, low paying working class job for the rest of their lives just to "pay bills". Do they do it just to simp for used up whores?
• 11h • 6 min read
(Bloomberg) -- Kseniia Nadvotska’s dreams of traveling the world panned out unexpectedly.
Soon after Russia began shelling her hometown of Kyiv, the then 35-year-old fled with her young son to Romania, then onto Poland, Germany and Mexico. From there, she crossed into San Diego with about a hundred dollars in her pocket, before being flown to New York by a volunteer organization.
“America had always been a dream,” Nadvotska said over Zoom. “It was always so unattainable, and suddenly we were just there. I couldn’t process it.”
The novelty faded quickly. She spent the next 18 months in a series of low-paying medical billing jobs and cramped Brooklyn apartments, with little time to learn English or pick up her son from school. Isolated and increasingly worried about her ability to make ends meet, she started on antidepressants and began virtual sessions with a Mariupol-based therapist.
Toward the end of last year, she decided to move back to Ukraine.
“I would tell anyone coming to New York to take off their rose-colored glasses,” Nadvotska said. “You have to work so much just to pay your bills, your living expenses. To get a driver’s license. For a single parent and a child, it’s impossible.”
More than two years after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, this is the reality for displaced Ukrainians like Nadvotska. Those under New York City’s care now compete with more than 60,000 migrants from around the world for limited resources, while those going it alone face the threat of eviction and unpaid bills.
Related video: Albany holds fundraiser for Ukrainian sister city (WTEN Albany)
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It underscores why about 80% of displaced persons dream of going back to Ukraine, according to a survey published in July by the United Nations — even as the war seems to have no end in sight. Just last month, Russia pummeled major cities including Kyiv with more than 3,000 guided aerial bombs, 600 drones and 400 missiles, according to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy.
“I don’t think most of them anticipated this conflict to be so protracted,” Federica Franzè, a supervisor at the Refugee Support Project — a group that provides free psychological support to asylum-seekers — said of the Ukrainians who fled.
Where Migrants to US Are Going — and Where They’re Coming From
And now, many of them face a deadline. In April, Uniting for Ukraine, a parole program that granted more than 170,000 Ukrainians a two-year stay in the US, expires for the first wave of arrivals.
Those who want to stay longer must either renew their parole status or obtain Temporary Protected Status vis-a-vis a legal process that’s become bogged down by the large influx of asylum-seekers. And with many pro bono lawyers at capacity, some displaced individuals must foot the cost of a private attorney on top of a several-hundred dollar filing fee.
Those applications, which used to be processed almost immediately for Ukrainians, now take about five months, according to Evan Taras Bokshan, an immigration attorney. Once obtained, TPS enables holders to work and gives them protection from deportation. It also grants them authorization to travel.
Neither program offers a path to permanent residency, and recent arrivals on the so-called U4U program have had to contend with fewer resources after the city curbed funding for resettlement aid. Parolees arriving since October haven’t been entitled to the legal services, cash and rent assistance that earlier arrivals received.
Catholic Charities, a refugee resettlement agency, has a list of 200 people waiting for benefits if the city resumes funding them, according to Kelly Agnew-Barajas, the co-director of the Immigrant and Refugee Services division there.
“I couldn’t stretch my pay, not just for an apartment but even for a room,” said Marina Kostenko, a former teacher from Odesa who moved to New York in 2022.
The 52-year-old said she offered child-care services in exchange for housing, an arrangement that fell through on three different occasions, each time leaving her without a place to live. In October, she decided to return home after her 27-year-old son was injured on the battlefield.
The stress from the moves and multiple evictions streaked her hair gray, she said.
While official data is hard to come by, the reverse migration is bearing out at refugee centers, where monthly check-ins are dwindling, and schools, where kids’ names are disappearing from rosters, according to non-profits interviewed by Bloomberg.
Canada Is So Expensive That Some Ukrainian Immigrants Are Leaving
Andrew Stasiw, principal of St. George Academy, a private Ukrainian-Catholic high school in the East Village, said that almost 10% of its displaced Ukrainian students — many of whom receive financial aid — have returned home since enrolling after the start of the war. The most common reasons were family circumstances and housing costs, he said.
“Let’s say you’re a mom and you have three kids and now you’re renting one room in a two-bedroom apartment,” said Stasiw. “That’s crowded. And now I have a student who’s living like that.”
Others are worried about crime, he said. Last year, New York City recorded more major felony offenses than any year since 2006, according to NYPD data.
Daniella Ugryn, 31, moved from Kyiv to her boyfriend’s family home in Queens about two months after the war started. Constantly looking for work and dependent on her partner’s American relatives, she quickly fell homesick and despondent. After finding a job with the nonprofit Razom Inc., she was disheartened to see what was initially a flood of donations for her country slow to a trickle.
Meanwhile, social media posts by friends in Kyiv painted what she thought to be a relatively stable picture of the situation back home.
“We didn’t have plans to stay in the US, and for me, it was too stressful,” said Ugryn. She spent days with her eyes glued to her phone, texting relatives and monitoring the news. “I wanted to go home a lot.”
Ugryn made it two months before she went back to Queens. But she’s already planning her next return home.
The bombing eventually wore on Nadvotska, too. She relocated to nearby Moldova, where she was provided six months of free rent and a monthly food stipend, she said.
“It was very scary,” she said of arriving in a post-invasion Ukraine. “There were alarms going off, bombs flying. But at least I have family there. In America, there’s no one.”
It’s not an easy decision. Yuliia Makarenkova and her two children bounced from host to host before landing in a shelter in Brooklyn. They waited in line for 15 hours for a spot.
The family faced eviction for failing to present their TPS documents, which were taking months to process.
Her daughters go to school an hour away in opposite directions from the shelter. After school, they kill time at department stores while Makarenkova finishes her shift selling black caviar in Grand Central.
She’s been weighing a return, but isn’t sure it’s the right move.
“We want to do what’s best for the kids,” Makarenkova said. “While there’s still war, their future is here. But it’s hard to say for sure.”
--With assistance from Polly Mosendz.
More stories like this are available on bloomberg.com
©2024 Bloomberg L.P.
I can't imagine how normies are motivated to go to work everyday in some stressful, low paying working class job for the rest of their lives just to "pay bills". Do they do it just to simp for used up whores?
NYC’s Displaced Ukrainians Weigh Ditching City for War-Torn Home
Story by Mia Gindis• 11h • 6 min read
(Bloomberg) -- Kseniia Nadvotska’s dreams of traveling the world panned out unexpectedly.
Soon after Russia began shelling her hometown of Kyiv, the then 35-year-old fled with her young son to Romania, then onto Poland, Germany and Mexico. From there, she crossed into San Diego with about a hundred dollars in her pocket, before being flown to New York by a volunteer organization.
“America had always been a dream,” Nadvotska said over Zoom. “It was always so unattainable, and suddenly we were just there. I couldn’t process it.”
The novelty faded quickly. She spent the next 18 months in a series of low-paying medical billing jobs and cramped Brooklyn apartments, with little time to learn English or pick up her son from school. Isolated and increasingly worried about her ability to make ends meet, she started on antidepressants and began virtual sessions with a Mariupol-based therapist.
Toward the end of last year, she decided to move back to Ukraine.
“I would tell anyone coming to New York to take off their rose-colored glasses,” Nadvotska said. “You have to work so much just to pay your bills, your living expenses. To get a driver’s license. For a single parent and a child, it’s impossible.”
More than two years after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, this is the reality for displaced Ukrainians like Nadvotska. Those under New York City’s care now compete with more than 60,000 migrants from around the world for limited resources, while those going it alone face the threat of eviction and unpaid bills.
With Love was the name of the event where both
Loaded: 37.73%
Play
Current Time 0:09
/
Duration 1:19
Quality Settings
Captions
Fullscreen
Albany holds fundraiser for Ukrainian sister city
Unmute
0
View on Watch
It underscores why about 80% of displaced persons dream of going back to Ukraine, according to a survey published in July by the United Nations — even as the war seems to have no end in sight. Just last month, Russia pummeled major cities including Kyiv with more than 3,000 guided aerial bombs, 600 drones and 400 missiles, according to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy.
“I don’t think most of them anticipated this conflict to be so protracted,” Federica Franzè, a supervisor at the Refugee Support Project — a group that provides free psychological support to asylum-seekers — said of the Ukrainians who fled.
Where Migrants to US Are Going — and Where They’re Coming From
And now, many of them face a deadline. In April, Uniting for Ukraine, a parole program that granted more than 170,000 Ukrainians a two-year stay in the US, expires for the first wave of arrivals.
Those who want to stay longer must either renew their parole status or obtain Temporary Protected Status vis-a-vis a legal process that’s become bogged down by the large influx of asylum-seekers. And with many pro bono lawyers at capacity, some displaced individuals must foot the cost of a private attorney on top of a several-hundred dollar filing fee.
Those applications, which used to be processed almost immediately for Ukrainians, now take about five months, according to Evan Taras Bokshan, an immigration attorney. Once obtained, TPS enables holders to work and gives them protection from deportation. It also grants them authorization to travel.
Neither program offers a path to permanent residency, and recent arrivals on the so-called U4U program have had to contend with fewer resources after the city curbed funding for resettlement aid. Parolees arriving since October haven’t been entitled to the legal services, cash and rent assistance that earlier arrivals received.
Catholic Charities, a refugee resettlement agency, has a list of 200 people waiting for benefits if the city resumes funding them, according to Kelly Agnew-Barajas, the co-director of the Immigrant and Refugee Services division there.
Exorbitant Costs
In the city’s overflowing shelter system, families with children must reapply for housing every 60 days. They risk being moved out-of-district, which complicates schooling. But the alternative is facing New York’s exorbitant costs: The median rent for a two-bedroom apartment is almost $5,000 in April, according to RentHop, an apartment rental service.“I couldn’t stretch my pay, not just for an apartment but even for a room,” said Marina Kostenko, a former teacher from Odesa who moved to New York in 2022.
The 52-year-old said she offered child-care services in exchange for housing, an arrangement that fell through on three different occasions, each time leaving her without a place to live. In October, she decided to return home after her 27-year-old son was injured on the battlefield.
The stress from the moves and multiple evictions streaked her hair gray, she said.
While official data is hard to come by, the reverse migration is bearing out at refugee centers, where monthly check-ins are dwindling, and schools, where kids’ names are disappearing from rosters, according to non-profits interviewed by Bloomberg.
Canada Is So Expensive That Some Ukrainian Immigrants Are Leaving
Andrew Stasiw, principal of St. George Academy, a private Ukrainian-Catholic high school in the East Village, said that almost 10% of its displaced Ukrainian students — many of whom receive financial aid — have returned home since enrolling after the start of the war. The most common reasons were family circumstances and housing costs, he said.
“Let’s say you’re a mom and you have three kids and now you’re renting one room in a two-bedroom apartment,” said Stasiw. “That’s crowded. And now I have a student who’s living like that.”
Others are worried about crime, he said. Last year, New York City recorded more major felony offenses than any year since 2006, according to NYPD data.
Daniella Ugryn, 31, moved from Kyiv to her boyfriend’s family home in Queens about two months after the war started. Constantly looking for work and dependent on her partner’s American relatives, she quickly fell homesick and despondent. After finding a job with the nonprofit Razom Inc., she was disheartened to see what was initially a flood of donations for her country slow to a trickle.
Meanwhile, social media posts by friends in Kyiv painted what she thought to be a relatively stable picture of the situation back home.
“We didn’t have plans to stay in the US, and for me, it was too stressful,” said Ugryn. She spent days with her eyes glued to her phone, texting relatives and monitoring the news. “I wanted to go home a lot.”
Russian Bombs
Six months after arriving in New York, Ugryn did just that. A week later, Russia launched one of its most aggressive offensives on Ukraine to date, killing and injuring hundreds and damaging power and water supplies across the country. She soon learned of a new saying among Ukrainians: “It’s not you today.”Ugryn made it two months before she went back to Queens. But she’s already planning her next return home.
The bombing eventually wore on Nadvotska, too. She relocated to nearby Moldova, where she was provided six months of free rent and a monthly food stipend, she said.
“It was very scary,” she said of arriving in a post-invasion Ukraine. “There were alarms going off, bombs flying. But at least I have family there. In America, there’s no one.”
It’s not an easy decision. Yuliia Makarenkova and her two children bounced from host to host before landing in a shelter in Brooklyn. They waited in line for 15 hours for a spot.
The family faced eviction for failing to present their TPS documents, which were taking months to process.
Her daughters go to school an hour away in opposite directions from the shelter. After school, they kill time at department stores while Makarenkova finishes her shift selling black caviar in Grand Central.
She’s been weighing a return, but isn’t sure it’s the right move.
“We want to do what’s best for the kids,” Makarenkova said. “While there’s still war, their future is here. But it’s hard to say for sure.”
--With assistance from Polly Mosendz.
More stories like this are available on bloomberg.com
©2024 Bloomberg L.P.
