Commentary >> Catherine Rampell She moved to Texas for safety; now the state wants to keep out refugees like her
Marwa Sabah loves everything about Texas — the people, the heat, the vibrant economy.
Everything except the thunderstorms.
Her son, who turns 8 next week, adores them — the flashes outside his window, those gigantic, heart-skipping, only-in-Texas thunderclaps. For his mother, though, those blazes and booms evoke memories she’d rather not think about: the terrifying bombings she fled when she left Iraq six years ago.
Sabah is one of nearly 57,000 refugees who have resettled in Texas over the past decade, of whom about 12,000 are from Iraq. Like most refugees, she didn’t want to leave behind nearly everyone and everything she knew. But facing death threats, she and her husband had no choice. They requested refuge in the United States and specifically asked to be resettled in Fort Worth.
She knew little about the area, she says, but had been told it was warm, friendly, inexpensive and “good for families.” Most important, she’d heard that Texas was a place where she could find what refugees seek most: “safety and self-sufficiency.”
Her intel was good. Texas, whose motto is “Friendship,” has welcomed families such as hers, resettling more refugees than any other state since 2010. At least it did until recently, when the state abruptly slammed its doors.
On Friday, Texas became the first state to take up President Trump’s likely illegal offer to let governors close their borders to new refugees. This was despite pleas from mayors, lawmakers, faith leaders and employers, from both parties, who argued that continued refugee resettlement was both a moral and economic imperative.
No matter. Republican Gov. Greg Abbott declared that Texas was full.
In his letter explaining his decision, Abbott conflated unauthorized immigrants with refugees who are, by definition, coming here legally, and only after exhaustive screening. He suggested that Texas lacks the resources to absorb additional refugees, playing into stereotypes of refugees as dangerous, destitute and typically on the dole.
Sabah and her husband worked as interpreters for Western media organizations covering the Iraq War. Almost immediately, they were threatened for “betraying” their country. When a family member was left disabled by a bomb, they decided it was time to leave. That was in 2008; it took them another six years before they were approved to come to Texas.
As for Sabah’s twin goals — safety and self-sufficiency — her family achieved the first immediately. And self-sufficiency? That took less than a year.
It’s true that when her family arrived, they were enrolled in a slew of public services, including food stamps, rent and utilities assistance, and Medicaid. But that was temporary. By their eighth month, Sabah says, the last of those programs ended, as the family transitioned from Medicaid onto her husband’s employersponsored health plan.
Both parents now work full time — he at a warehouse, and she for another refugee services agency, where she helps pay forward the support she received. As of this past fall, they are naturalized American citizens.
Soon, they will be homeowners, with space enough for a new baby due in June.
Sabah’s story is typical. Antiimmigrant rhetoric, from the 19th century onward, has long cast newcomers as irretrievably lazy and poor.
But multiple studies — including one commissioned by the Trump administration! — have found that after an initial adjustment period, refugees have a net positive economic impact. They are more likely to be employed and to start their own businesses than their native-born counterparts.
Seven other states are still considering whether to close their borders to refugees.
They have only until Jan. 21 to decide whether to seize the valuable economic opportunity that Abbott has waived, and to show the world there’s still room at the inn.