Chicago resident Dyonne Indra Blanco came to the United States with nothing but her two young children, her Venezuelan passport and the clothes on her back.

Almost two years later, with help from the nonprofit Refugee Support Chicago, Blanco has a job, an apartment and a plan for her future. The nonprofit, led by Evanston resident Debra Michaud, has been the “first support” for Blanco and hundreds of other new migrants by helping them meet basic needs as they begin to navigate life in the U.S., Blanco said.

What started as Michaud driving around with a Toyota Prius full of donated goods has grown into something much larger. Now, thanks to the support of a Facebook group with more than 2,700 members, Michaud operates a store where migrants can receive essential items like clothes, cookware and blankets for free. 

Michaud met Blanco just two weeks after she arrived in the U.S., around the same time her nonprofit got off the ground that September.

“For me, it was like, ‘who’s falling through the cracks?’” Michaud said. “‘How can we spread this out, so we can help as many people as possible?’”

With a strong fundraising effort to help pay the rent, Michaud said she signed a year-long lease for an office space at 3701 N. Ravenswood Ave. in April.

Sitting among the clutter of the store’s new location, Blanco recounted her seven-week trip across seven countries in a mix of English and Spanish. 

She recalled how Venezuela’s government under Nicolás Maduro targeted her family after her twin sister’s job was replaced by government allies. Her sister fled to Indiana and told her to come to Chicago, Blanco said, so she left her home country in the Summer of 2023.

Blanco remembered how a group of men stole almost all of her belongings, including her phone and psychology diploma, near the Guatemala-Mexico border.

“My plan was to change my life, from (living) in a really bad and unsafe country, to continue here, work, pay for my house and take care of my children. I wouldn’t be afraid of being killed or robbed or anything,” she said. “But (I wanted to) do it right: to bring my papers and say, ‘I come to be a psychologist for you, I come to study.’”

Blanco said an appointment through the Biden administration’s Customs and Border Protection One program granted her entry into the U.S., and she became one of more than 1.8 million people with a pending asylum application, according to data released by the Department of Justice in April.

The American refugee resettlement system, made of a network of nonprofits like RSC, welcomed 100,034 refugees in the 2024 fiscal year, the most since 1995.

That resurgence came to a screeching halt on President Donald Trump’s first day in office, when he signed an executive order banning new refugee admissions. Non-governmental organizations that managed a robust resettlement process, funded in large part by federal grants, had their funding frozen days later.

Sally Schulze, communications manager for RefugeeOne, the largest refugee resettlement organization in Illinois, told The Daily in an email that the agency is still providing services to more than 500 refugees who arrived in the six months before the ban. 

Schulze did not comment on whether the organization was still receiving federal funding.

Michaud said larger organizations like RefugeeOne had usually ensured that those migrants were supported, but after the Trump administration’s executive order, she began to welcome more refugees through Refugee Support Chicago.

“I’m now feeling a little bit of fear because I’m 35 years old, and 25 years ago, the dictatorship in my country started,” Blanco said. “I’m afraid that the same thing will happen in this country. What Trump is doing is the same thing they did initially in my country.”

Immigrant and native-born volunteers alike helped Michaud move into the new space on April 15. She added she hopes to hold community events like English and Spanish classes, fundraisers, legal clinics and even weekly group acupuncture.

Additionally, Michaud said, she runs a WhatsApp group with more than 300 migrant families in which they connect each other to job opportunities, legal support and other resources necessary to navigate life in the U.S.

Chicago resident Francie Steiner said the organization’s volunteer base is split into teams. Some help out in the free store while others deliver large items like furniture, and another team scouts for potential donations, she said.

“Debra (Michaud) really tries to take care of people from top to bottom,” Steiner said.

Exactly 365 days after crossing the southern border, Blanco moved into her first apartment in the U.S. with Michaud’s help. She also volunteers for the nonprofit because she wants other migrants to dream of achieving more than just survival, she said.

“We don’t want to have them (at the free store) every day,” Blanco said. “We want to see them advance, not stay. We need them to advance, to grow. We’re children who were born the day we entered this country.”

This story has been updated to better reflect the number of migrant families in Debra Michaud’s WhatsApp groupchat at the time of publication.

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