Fleeing Collapse, Facing Barriers

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Fleeing Collapse, Facing Barriers: The Venezuelan Crisis and U.S. Immigration Hurdles 

By Katheryn Olmos, Emma Wyler, & Isabella Serra

Severe Humanitarian Emergency in Venezuela

Just a few decades ago, Venezuela stood as a beacon of economic prosperity and oil wealth on the Caribbean coast of South America. However, the rise of authoritarian rule led to economic collapse, widespread corruption, and rampant inflation, creating a dangerous political climate that forced millions to flee their homes.

For many Venezuelans, including the 48 living in the Washington Metropolitan region (DMV) whom we interviewed, migrating to the U.S. was not their first choice when pursuing a more stable life. Previously, many Venezuelans migrated to and were displaced from places closer to home, from neighboring countries such as Venezuela, Colombia, Peru, Chile, and Brazil.

Venezuelan displacement is driven by a myriad of circumstances. Almost all of the Venezuelans we interviewed expressed that the economic situation in their home country, including hyperinflation, food scarcity, and inadequate wages, is not viable to sustain themselves or their families.

“No hay trabajo. [Cuando] hay trabajo y te quieren pagar, son 20 dólares semanales. Sí, y eso es muy poco dinero para los consumos de mi mamá, mis hijas. Nada más un bote de leche son 10 dólares. ¿Y me quedan 10 dólares para qué?”

“There’s no work. When there is work and they want to pay you, it’s 20 dollars a week. Yes, and that’s very little money for my mom and daughters’ basic needs. Just one gallon of milk costs 10 dollars. That leaves me 10 dollars for what?”

— Gabriel, Venezuelan Man, 28

When asked about corruption and impunity playing a role in the reason they migrated, the answer is almost always “yes.” Many of our participants experience corruption and political persecution from their government.

“Pues primero por la escasez de comida, y segundo, el barrio donde yo vivía era uno de los barrios más peligrosos de Venezuela… No tanto por parte de los que te roban sino más que todo por la policía. A la policía no importa si eres sano, si eres delincuente, igualito te extorsionaban, te sembraban drogas, de todo… nada más por el hecho de que uno perteneciera a La Cota 905 pensaban que ya uno estaba relacionado con [la pandilla]. Sí a todo el mundo que agarraron o sembraron le daban golpe, lo metieron preso, lo desaparecía… Te mataban y te ponían un arma, y ponían carajo de la banda de La Cota 905, cuando no es así. Entonces esa fue uno de los principales motivos porque me vine: La policía.”

“Well, first, because of the scarcity of food, and second, the neighborhood where I lived was one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Venezuela…Not so much by people who rob you, but mostly by the police. It doesn’t matter to the police if you’re normal or if you’re a criminal; they still extorted you, planted drugs, everything. Just because you belonged to La Cota 905, they thought you were part of the gang. Everyone they grabbed or planted on was beaten, imprisoned, disappeared… They’d kill you and put a gun on you, and they’d say you were from La Cota 905 gang, when that’s not true. So that was one of the main reasons why I left: The police.”

— Andres, Venezuelan Man, 25

Humanitarian Protection Terminated

Given the unsafe conditions back home, many of the interviewees entered the United States under humanitarian parole, a common pathway to seek protection. The discriminatory attempt by the second Trump administration (now being blocked in federal court) to terminate humanitarian parole for Venezuelans, Cubans, Haitians, and Nicaraguans (CHNV) has upended the legal status for over half a million immigrants, and threatens to block all new applicants from these countries from receiving humanitarian protection. As of December 2024, 117,330 Venezuelan nationals had entered the U.S. under humanitarian parole. As Nicolas, a 29-year-old Venezuelan man, described:

In the appointment-making process for their asylum cases and legal processing, many interviewees used the CBP One app.

“Había hecho varios registros [en la aplicación CBP One] y todo eso, y no salía nada… Y trabajé hasta que me salió la cita… Estuve casi 12 meses, 11 meses [en México esperando la cita]… Entonces, de ahí, me dieron [la cita] para San Ysidro… Cuando por fin crucé, pues, solo la felicidad de estar aquí, todo fue, bueno, incluso mejor. Y de ahí llegué, compré [un boleto], tomé mi vuelo, y luego volé hasta aquí.”

“I had done several registrations [on the CBP One app] and all that, and nothing came up… And I worked until I got the appointment… I spent almost 12 months, 11 months [in Mexico waiting for the appointment]… So, from there, I got [the appointment] for San Ysidro… When I finally crossed, well, just the happiness of being here, everything was, well, even better. And from there, I arrived, bought [a ticket], I got my flight, and then I flew here.”

— Diego, Venezuelan Man, 19

The CBP One app, once a tool to schedule asylum appointments, was shut down by Trump and transformed “self-deportation” tool. This effectively weaponizes one of the only services for Venezuelans to legally process their asylum applications.

Venezuelans we spoke to often had experience with the Temporary Protected Status (TPS) program. TPS provides temporary protection and work permits to individuals who are unable to safely return to their home countries.

In February of 2025, President Trump announced his intentions to upend TPS for Venezuelans, stripping the 700,000 who would have been eligible for the program. While ending TPS for Venezuelans backpedals on basic humanitarian protection policy, our interviews shine a more nuanced light on the program’s existing limitations. TPS was too temporary to be a pathway.

“Ah sí, porque con el estatus temporal, o sea, lo dan solo por 18 meses. Y el asunto es que, para cuando lo recibes, ya casi se está acabando, así que nadie te va a dar un trabajo por un mes y luego te quedarás, ya sabes, sin los papeles legales.”

“Oh yeah, because with the temporary status, I mean they give it for only 18 months. And the scene is by the time you receive it. It’s almost already sparse, so I mean, nobody will go in to give you a job for a month, and then you will be, you know, without the legal paper.”

— Alejandra, Venezuelan Woman, 73

Despite its limitations, now that TPS is terminated, Venezuelans in the U.S. have lost their temporary work authorizations and currently risk deportation. The sensationalization of Venezuelan deportations by the Trump administration is an escalation of racial profiling experiences that interviewees previously reported.

Experiences in the U.S.

The hardships Venezuelans face do not end at the border. Our team looked deeper into the immigrant experiences of Venezuelans upon entering the U.S.

Many of our interviews uncovered further obstacles, including racial profiling, political persecution, labor exploitation, health implications, and detainment.

A commonality we discovered within our interviews is that people who seek refuge in the United States are criminalized based on their country of origin. Many Venezuelans interviewed experienced racial profiling committed by American police enforcement. The following interview, along with several others, reported job exploitation and unlivable wages. Racial profiling by police is a common thread among our interviews.

In our interviews with Venezuelans who had been detained in the United States, there were reports of close confinement and stress leading to health issues. On his experience being detained, a young man shared:

“Hubo un momento en que, prácticamente por tanto encierro, se me estaba cayendo el cabello del estrés y de tanto pensar. A veces quería pedir la deportación, y a veces me decía a mí mismo, ‘No estoy aquí, ya no estoy aquí’… Entonces aguanté, y cuando salí, me rapé la cabeza porque se me estaba cayendo el cabello.”

“There was a moment when, practically from so much confinement, my hair was falling out from the stress and the thinking. Sometimes I wanted to ask for deportation, and sometimes I said [to myself], I’m not here, I’m not already here… Then, I held on, and when I came out, I shaved my head because my hair was falling out.”

— Jose, Venezuelan Man, 23

Key Takeaways

Venezuelans had to leave their worlds behind to escape the humanitarian crisis, just to face repeated struggles in an escalating authoritarian regime seizing power in the United States. Daniel, a 46-year-old Venezuelan man, described that throughout the difficult journey across the Americas, all he was doing was:

“Buscando una oportunidad de vida y una mejor calidad de vida, buscando una forma en la que me puedan dar una oportunidad o de tener mis documentos. Buscar un estatus.”

“Looking for an opportunity and a better quality of life, searching for a way in which they can give me the opportunity of having documents… a chance to have a status.”

— Daniel, Venezuelan Man, 46

ICE now weaponizes these discriminatory views of Venezuelans, painting them as gang members or terrorists. These are not unlike the claims with which the government in Venezuela used to persecute normal citizens back home.

The rampant political corruption, lack of transparency and due process, and smothering of dissent are escalating in the United States. This is a story Venezuelans know because they have already witnessed the fall of a functioning democracy to authoritarian excesses.

At the end of the day, a Venezuelan man responds to the question of whether he sees himself as an immigrant, saying:

“Yo le digo una cosa, todos somos iguales porque somos personas, somos seres humanos [a pesar de haber] nacido aquí y allá en diferentes ciudades. O sea, no quiere decir que seas tú más que el otro porque tengas más dinero. Todos vamos a morir, vamos a un solo hueco.”

“I’ll tell you what, we’re all the same because we’re people, we’re human beings [despite being]… born in different cities. In other words, just because you have more money doesn’t mean you’re more than everyone else. We’re all going to die; we’re going to the same hole.”

— Liam, Venezuelan Man, 29

Katheryn Olmos, Research and Data Coordinator at the Immigration Lab and graduate student in the Sociology Research and Practice program at American University.

Emma Wyler, Research Assistant at the Immigration Lab and undergraduate student at American University.

Isabella Serra, Research Assistant at the Immigration Lab and recent graduate of American University.

Edited by Jacqueline Aguirre De La O, Noah Green & Ernesto Castañeda