At the same time, Katrina Lima, 42, a real estate agent on the island of Martha’s Vineyard, was going about her normal routine: running, working, dinners with friends. He was looking forward to fall, a time when the holiday crowds thin out and the island becomes even brighter. Earlier this week, these two lives intersected in an unlikely chapter in America’s bitter immigration debate. Florida Gov. Ron DeSandis (R) chartered two planes to fly a group of immigrants from Texas to this small island in Massachusetts, which serves as a summer retreat for the liberal elite. He and other Republican officials said the point was to draw attention to the growing number of immigrant arrivals and get Democratic-led states to share the burden of caring for them. Democrats decried the flights as a stunt that used human beings as political pawns. But for Aguero and Lima, the political strife was far from over. He never imagined that he might end up in a place like Martha’s Vineyard. Lima never expected such desperate journeys would lead to her island, but when they did, she jumped in to help. Later, some of the immigrants would tell her that it turned out to be a stroke of good luck — a stroke of luck — that they had landed there. Scrutiny is intensifying over DeSantis’ use of state funds for migrant flights On Friday morning, Lima helped mark names as the nearly 50 migrants boarded buses to take them from the church where they had spent two nights to a ship bound for the mainland. From there they would be transferred to a military base on Cape Cod. They now had full bags and new cell phones. Many wore long-sleeved purple shirts from Martha’s Vineyard High School. As the migrants bid farewell to the local volunteers who had offered them food and shelter, many in the group wept. Seeing them leave, Lima cried too. “You just hope they land where they’re supposed to,” he said. “And that they meet good people along the way.” Aguero made a peace sign with his fingers as he boarded the bus. “Thank you all,” he said in Spanish. “Without these people here, I don’t know where we would be.” He had woken up before 7 that morning, his second full night of sleep after weeks of dwindling sleep. After the initial shock of landing not in Boston, Washington, New York or New York, as most immigrants expected, Aguero began to relax. The island was beautiful, and his wife, Maria, was safe. After two months of danger, he could breathe. Aguero spent his life in Caracas, the capital of Venezuela. The economic crisis and political unrest that hit the country pushed almost the entire population into poverty, including his family. Millions have fled. Aguero, too, began to look for a way out. There was one, but it was dangerous. Aguero and his wife left Venezuela in July hoping to reach the United States. For weeks, they had nowhere to sleep. At some point they were sent from Chile back to Colombia. From there, they traveled throughout Central America. Finally, after riding a notoriously dangerous train through Mexico, they reached the Rio Grande. He and Maria knew how to swim and thought they would make it. They tied up with others in the group, waded into the murky waters and made it safely to land. They were now in the United States, but they had no money, no clothes, no phone. Aguero and his wife were eventually taken by immigration agents to San Antonio, where they were reunited with Aguero’s 23-year-old brother, Rafael, who had started his journey north a few weeks earlier. The pair spent 72 hours in a migrant aid center before hitting the streets, where they joined Rafael, who scraped together cash to buy food by doing whatever odd jobs he could find. A blonde woman approached the trio on the streets of San Antonio and introduced herself as “Pearl”. He asked if they needed help. He offered them a hotel room while he made plans to take them elsewhere. Days later, Aguero, Maria and Rafael boarded a plane to an unknown destination. He only learned where they were going when the pilot came over the loudspeaker announcing that they would soon reach Martha’s Vineyard. When Aguero’s plane landed, Lima was in front of her computer for an afternoon of email correspondence, followed by a Zoom meeting. When the meeting was over, he ran out the door to meet a group of friends for dinner at 19 Raw, an oyster bar in nearby Edgartown. Lima was born in New York to Bolivian immigrant parents. When she was growing up, her family sometimes vacationed on Martha’s Vineyard. Lima’s older sister, a chef, later settled there, as did Lima, joining a community of about 20,000 year-round residents. Seven years ago, she started volunteering at the local homeless shelter. As dinner finished, Lima finally checked her phone. He saw text messages asking if he could help interpret for a group of immigrants who had arrived at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, which was very close to the restaurant. He went straight. The volunteer effort was in full swing. The first man she spoke to began to tell her his story. He had walked most of the way through Central America. He was driving a freight train notorious for danger and violence – known as La Bestia – through Mexico. He faced hunger and corrupt officials and gangs. That first night was spent trying to reassure people who didn’t understand where they were, Lima said. He tried to let them know that they were in good hands, but also that they were free to go if they wanted to. He returned the next morning at 6:30. It didn’t matter what he had to work to do – he wanted to show immigrants that they were welcome. He spent the next 15 hours there, helping manage a stream of volunteers, donors and journalists. She started making an Excel spreadsheet of what they had offered to donate: blankets, spare rooms, books, diapers, legal aid, therapy. In the evening, she pulled an empty gray folding chair next to her and invited the migrants to talk about what they had been through. He heard about people stealing and cheating and watching their friends struggle to survive. So many had started the journey with more people. Some were kidnapped or drowned or died of dehydration. From the moment it learned of the immigrants’ arrival, Lima was in an uproar. “Then you have moments where you hear the stories,” he said. These are “heart stopping moments”. Friday morning started with breakfast provided by a nearby golf course. Meanwhile, Massachusetts Gov. Charlie Baker (R) had arranged for a voluntary transfer to Joint Base Cape Cod, a military base designated as an emergency shelter. The state has said it will provide migrants with food as well as access to health care and legal aid. Lima had only spoken briefly to Aguero and his family. On Friday, she noted his name as he approached the bus and hugged him. He spent the rest of the morning helping to clean the church — stripping the beds, emptying the refrigerator, collecting bottles of water. Early in the afternoon she had returned home and was opening her laptop. Aguero got on the bus. Clutched tightly in his hand was a new cell phone provided by a local social services agency. Less than half an hour later, the buses arrived at Vineyard Haven Harbor. The sky was deep blue and the water was dotted with sailboats. “It’s beautiful,” Aguero said, pointing to the port. On the ferry to the mainland, Aguero and his brother had fun, making videos as the boat passed through the water. The two brothers stood side by side and looked at the sea. The waters now looked friendlier than when Aguero had landed at the airport two days earlier. He still didn’t know exactly where they were going. Some of his fellow immigrants had learned from volunteers that they would be staying on a military base. They didn’t know what that would mean, how long they would be there, or how safe they would be. On their long trips to the United States, military officials were not always friendly. Aguero wasn’t nervous about what was to come, he said, because he was in America. Even with all the confusion of the last few days, everything was going to be okay. Rosenzweig-Ziff reported from Edgartown, Massachusetts. Slater reported from Williamstown, Massachusetts.
