Tamila Vashchuk and her husband, Mykola, have become fixtures in Cleveland's Ukrainian community. The couple built a thriving pierogi business, appeared on local television, and met with Ohio's governor. Mykola recently graduated from Cleveland State University's law school. On most Sundays, they volunteer at their church. But an immigration court hearing scheduled for August could strip them of everything they've built and send them back to a war zone.
The trouble began four years ago when Tamila noticed their 10-year-old son was not growing as expected and had lost his appetite. Facing prohibitive medical costs in Ohio, Tamila traveled to Kyiv in Ukraine to seek affordable treatment for what turned out to be a hormonal deficiency. Before leaving, she made multiple trips to the US Citizenship and Immigration Services office in Cleveland and called Customs and Border Protection officials to confirm she could return safely. She received repeated assurances that her humanitarian parole status would allow easy re-entry.
When the family returned through Boston Logan International Airport in December 2022, immigration officials immediately issued removal orders. They were told they had violated the terms of their parole by leaving the country without permission, despite the guidance they had sought and received before departing.
"The officer said: 'Technically, you have broken the parole.' Our brains were absolutely melted," Mykola recalled. He does not face deportation since he entered the US only once, but his wife and son do.
The stakes for the family are extraordinarily high. Their son requires daily medication to manage his hormonal deficiency, and the medicine must be refrigerated at all times. Russia's relentless bombing campaign has destroyed half of Ukraine's electricity generation capacity, leaving many apartment buildings without power, refrigeration, or stable water supplies. The medication itself is in short supply in Ukraine, and the boy must take it until he turns 18. Deporting the family would likely make it impossible to maintain his treatment.
The Cleveland immigration court where they face their hearing does not inspire confidence. Research by TRAC, a center at Syracuse University, found that judges in Cleveland have been denying asylum applications at rates exceeding 70% for years. The judge assigned to the Vashchuks' case has the highest asylum denial rate in the entire court, ranking among the highest in the nation. The court has also become a place where ICE agents regularly detain people.
When asked whether deporting a family with a child requiring specialized medication in a country ravaged by war constituted excessive punishment, the Department of Homeland Security did not directly address the question. A DHS spokesperson instead described the re-entry as an illegal attempt and noted that the family had traveled without valid documents, though they entered on humanitarian parole in June 2022.
The Vashchuks' predicament reflects a broader crisis facing Ukrainian immigrants in the US. Temporary protected status covering approximately 103,000 Ukrainian nationals is set to expire in October. The Uniting for Ukraine program, which allowed more than 235,000 people fleeing the war to enter the country, was frozen by the Trump administration last year. Russia's assault has intensified dramatically, with recent weeks bringing some of the worst attacks on major cities since the February 2022 invasion.
Human rights organizations are urging the Trump administration to extend protections for Ukrainians already in the US. A February report by Global Refuge, a Maryland-based non-profit, concluded that conditions in Ukraine still meet legal requirements for protection, citing armed conflict and extraordinary hardship. The State Department categorizes Ukraine as a "level four: do not travel" country due to active combat, frequent shelling, and missile attacks on civilians and infrastructure.
Cleveland has historically been home to one of the largest Ukrainian communities in America, a legacy dating to the early 1900s when immigrants came seeking factory work. Since Russia's invasion, thousands more have arrived, strengthening cultural festivals and community institutions. Yet immigration policies have not kept pace with the scale of Ukrainian arrivals and their contributions.
Patrick Kearns, executive director of Re:Source Cleveland, a non-profit serving immigrants in Ohio's Cuyahoga County, emphasized the community's success. "We have seen every single Ukrainian student graduate on time and every single one be accepted into post-secondary education programs," he said. "They have worked incredibly hard when they get here. They've been nothing but a boon to our economy."
Kearns pointed to the bipartisan Ukrainian Adjustment Act, which would provide certain Ukrainians in the US a pathway to permanent residency, as a necessary step forward. The bill has not gained sufficient momentum among lawmakers.
The deportation threat has frozen the Vashchuks' ability to grow their food business or plan for the future. Their production business in Kyiv is barely operational due to the war. They petitioned to have the removal proceedings dismissed, but that request was denied. Appeals to local politicians have yielded no response.
Mykola said immigration judges retain discretionary authority and can decide cases as they see fit. "I don't know what's going to be in the judge's mind," he said. The family's hearing in August will determine whether they remain in the country they chose to build their lives in, or face separation and exile to a nation under sustained assault.
Author James Rodriguez: "This family did everything right, made genuine contributions to their community, and sought permission before leaving. Deporting them over a procedural technicality while their child faces medical danger in an active war zone tests the bounds of bureaucratic cruelty."
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