"I need permission to work to get my documents and not be sleeping in the streets, to rent," says Alexander Sequera, a Venezuelan migrant living in the encampment. "I don't know where I'm going, because it's a shelter, fifteen days, a month, and back out in the streets again."
Sequera, who's been in the United States for six months, says that he noticed the encampment's tents a month ago while walking through downtown. After showing up and introducing himself, he was handed a tent.
The encampment is around an empty parking lot, in a corner that doesn't see too many cars passing by when Elitch Gardens is closed. Juan Carlos Pioltelli, a Venezuelan migrant who has been in Denver for eight months and lived in the shadow of Elitch Gardens for the past two, calls the encampment a "precious space" offering privacy in a wide-open area.
"There aren't a lot of neighbors, there isn't a lot of stuff," he says. "The only reason they're sweeping us is because they're opening this park. Otherwise, this was all a perfect location"
Elitch Gardens operates from late April to October, with season pass holders able to visit as early as April 20. To prepare for opening the park, park management asked the City of Denver to clear the migrant encampment, which is home to mostly Venezuelans and a few other foreign nationals.
The city will close the encampment on Thursday, March 28.
Migrants who aren't staying at the encampment still visit the area to use the group's propane grill.
Bennito L. Kelty
"Elitch did ask that we resolve this encampment by the end of the month. They’ve been incredibly willing to work with that population as well as the city, and we appreciate their patience," Denver Human Services spokesperson Jon Ewing says. "At the same time, we do not believe living on the streets of Denver to be a viable option, especially when we have a dedicated congregate site where individuals can receive supportive services and regular meals while being protected from the elements."
Elitch Gardens did not respond to a request for comment.
Pioltelli says he has been at the encampment from its beginning and spread the word about it through a WhatsApp group that he uses to connect migrants to resources. It started with ten tents and about fifteen to twenty people, but over the past two months the encampment ballooned to about forty tents, with upwards of sixty people living there.
The city will be moving about fifty migrants from the encampment into a shelter that the city has been using as a transitional space meant to give migrants a little more time to find other housing options. Each of them will get three weeks at the shelter, says Ewing. "Hopefully, we’ll figure out something better for them soon," he adds.
The encampment sprang up in early February, shortly after the City of Denver resumed discharging migrants from shelters; freezing cold weather and snowfall brought nearly 5,000 migrants indoors during January's cold weather, when the city suspended its length-of-stay policy, which allows individual migrants to stay up to two weeks at shelters while families with children get 42 days.
"People learned about it because we're all looking for a place to live while we don't have permission to work," Pioltelli says. "We're not hiding here. We're making things the way they should be: clean, organized, and we're fine like that."
Pioltelli used to work as an interpreter for the Housekeys Action Network Denver, a homeless rights group. Prior to being swept, the encampment boasts an area stocked with potatoes, carrots, chicken, spices, jugs of water, a small Blackstone propane grill and a box of LaMar's donuts, among other supplies.
Martha Perdomo walked from Colombia to the United States twice. She now visits an encampment outside Elitch Gardens to cook for her kids.
Bennito L. Kelty
Most of the supplies come from donations, Pioltelli says, but a few items such as meat were purchased by migrants in the encampment. Cars pass through the area and drivers open their trunks and hatchbacks to hand out food and clothes, he adds. The migrants stockpile donated tents and give them to people who show up at the encampment looking for a place to stay.
According to notices posted by the city outside the encampment, Denver plans to permanently close several blocks around Elitch Gardens to camping. The designated area stretches from Speer Boulevard along Elitch Circle to the nearby train tracks.
"The city and our non-profit partners are working with every shelter resident to help them create a long-term plan," says Jose Salas, a spokesperson for the Mayor's Office. "Including finding housing and work, and for some, traveling to a destination where they may have family, friends, or easier access to affordable housing and work opportunities."
Pioltelli says that after the sweep, many of the migrants will likely exhaust their time at a congregate shelter and then circle back to a new encampment or spot on the street; he doesn't know where he's going yet.
"People will probably go to the shelter for as long as they can and then head back out to the streets," he says. "It's all you can do once you're done with a shelter and while we still don't have work."
Many of the migrants at the encampment came to Denver months ago and have timed out of their length-of-stay at shelters, Pioltelli notes. Ewing says he's "fairly certain" that all the migrants at the encampment have timed out of a city shelter.
Few of the thousands of migrants who have come to Denver are eligible for work permits to begin earning and saving for their own homes.
"There are a lot of families here that ended up having to leave shelters," Pioltelli explains. "To get them inside, they were taken to other shelters. Sometimes there are families who came here if there's no food. They come here and the encampment serves them and the kids."
Ibad Ghazzali has lived in Denver for fifteen years after moving from Morocco, but he can't work after an arrest.
Bennito L. Kelty
More than 40,000 migrants have come to Denver since December 2022. The city's migrant shelter population dropped to less than 1,000 last week for the first time since September. More than 700 migrants are in the city's shelters as of Wednesday, March 27, according to the city's migrant dashboard.
Pioltelli says that many of the migrants at the encampment will venture out to clean car windows on Speer Boulevard or other nearby streets during the day.
"They go out and clean windows. They go searching because they have to go across town to find work," he says. "It's not easy because they're not alone. They have kids. All of us here have a family."
Since early February, city officials have said that they don't want to add to the city's homeless population as shelters resumed discharging migrants. That point was reiterated when Mayor Mike Johnston announced he would close four migrant shelters by the end of March to save the city $20 million. The last of those four shelters is set to close next week.
A notice for the March 28 sweep was posted by the Denver Department of Transportation and Infrastructure, stating the need to clear a public right of way, such as public streets, alleyways, sidewalks or curbs. Multiple agencies are involved in sweeps operations, including Denver Police Department.
In addition to Venezualans, other foreign nationals live at the Elitch Gardens migrant encampment. Ibad Ghazzali came from Casablanca, Morocco, to Denver fifteen years ago, but lost his green card and Social Security number after being arrested a couple of years ago. He says he's back at square one because he can't work without his documents, and he'll likely remain on the streets after the sweep.
"I don't know where I go," Ghazzali says. "I'll sleep in the street like this, wherever I see I can put the tent and wait for some miracle to happen. I don't have no choice."
Sleeping in the streets is "better than the shelter because [there are] a lot of mental health issues there. I don't want to go to that place again," he says.
Martha Yineth Perdomo, who arrived from Colombia seven months ago, only comes to the encampment to cook because shelters don't allow migrants to cook indoors or bring in meals or fresh food. She lives in a private shelter for women and children with her fourteen-year-old daughter and two-year-old son. Her dog, Kiara, spends nights with Perdomo's friend at the encampment, because pets aren't allowed in her shelter.
"I don't want to lose my dog. I want her by my side, but I can't bring her into the shelters," Perdomo says. "I also have to find a place to cook for my kids, because they give very little food and they don't let food inside."
Perdomo walked from Colombia to the U.S. southern border twice — she was deported afterher first arrival. She left her country after she was threatened for leading a human rights group, she says. She has an arrangement with a local resident to take care of her dog after the sweep, an idea that hasn't worked out for other migrants with dogs before. All Perdomo wants is work, she says, but until she can secure that, she's just trying to keep her head up.
"I want to be working, living in an apartment with a kitchen and to leave to work. I dream about that," she says. "I know it will happen because, above all, I'm very tough, a strong believer and very positive. This will pass. This is temporary."
