Utica became a refugee magnet by accident.
In the 1970s, Roberta Douglas, a local resident, became concerned about the mistreatment of Amerasian children in Vietnam. She helped one Amerasian resettle in Utica. Then along with Catholic Charities in Syracuse, she started resettling hundreds of Amerasians, and later, working with others, established the Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees.
Over the next 40 years, there was a remarkable migration: Thousands of immigrants seeking sanctuary, including Vietnamese, Russians, and Burmese, have transformed this once-fading industrial town.
The newcomers make up about a quarter of Utica’s population of 60,000, according to Shelly Callahan, executive director of the Center for Refugees, recently renamed The Center, a nonprofit group that helps to resettle refugees and assist others in the community. And they have been an economic engine for the city, starting small businesses, renovating down-at-the-heels houses, opening houses of worship—and injecting a sense of vitality to its streets.
“It was so much more than economics,” John Zogby, the national pollster, said about the refugees’ effect on the city. “A whole generation couldn’t wait to get out. Then you had thousands of people who wanted to live here.”
“Other people started feeling good. It was infectious.”
The refugees came in waves: In the 1980s, people arrived from Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Poland, and the Soviet Union. Starting in the early 1990s, over 4,500 Bosnians fleeing the Balkan conflict became the largest group to be resettled.
In the last few years, there has been a sense of accomplishment and possibilities.
In the 2000s, there was a surge of refugees from Burma—including the Karen, an ethnic minority persecuted by the Burmese military, who fled to camps in Thailand—and from Iraq, Nepal, Somalia, and Sudan. By 2019, more than 4,000 Karen and Burmese were resettled, becoming Utica’s second-largest group.
“The refugees helped stem the decline,” Ms. Callahan said. “They have a great work ethic and are willing to take jobs that native folks don’t want.” The refugee center helps cushion the landing: It spends about $1,100— federal and state money—on each refugee. Newcomers are given a furnished apartment, with the basics to get started.
Every refugee initially accesses public assistance—but is supposed to take the first viable job offered. “Refugees don’t come here to be on public assistance,” Ms. Callahan said. “That’s not the dream.”