People displaced by extreme weather events are increasingly finding their way to New York City, with many arriving from regions repeatedly battered by floods and droughts. A pattern has emerged linking climate-related devastation in specific areas abroad to increased migration to the United States.
In a mosque in the South Bronx, a man from Senegal recently reflected on the farm he once managed. He described inheriting his family’s land nearly two decades ago, where he grew maize, watermelon, and peanuts. Today, he is among thousands of West Africans who have journeyed to the U.S. southern border in recent years, ultimately settling in New York.
The years preceding his departure were marked by severe environmental challenges in his home region, which experienced alternating cycles of intense flooding and prolonged drought. These conditions not only ruined harvests but also heightened tensions within his extended family. “When the rain finally came, it was a shock after such a long drought,” the 45-year-old said. Inside the mosque, when others were asked if they had faced similar climate hardships, roughly a third raised their hands.
Data indicates a notable increase in migration to the U.S. from parts of Senegal, Guatemala, and Bangladesh that have suffered multiple major climate disasters. Following a series of significant floods in 2020, the number of migrants from affected Senegalese regions crossing the border rose dramatically.
This trend is part of a broader phenomenon. Analysis of border apprehension records and international disaster data suggests that tens of thousands of people who crossed the border in 2024 originated from localities that have been repeatedly hit by hurricanes, floods, or droughts since 2010. These recurring disasters have placed immense strain on local economies, pushing many to a breaking point.
While migrants rarely cite climate change as the sole reason for leaving, its effects are visible in their collapsed homes and failed fields. Researchers identified over 500 distinct birthplaces in Guatemala, nearly 350 in Senegal, and about 100 in Bangladesh among those apprehended at the border in 2024. Many of these locations have been devastated by three or more major climate catastrophes in recent years.
The data, while insightful, has limitations. It does not capture the full picture of why a person migrates, nor does it account for slower-onset changes like rising sea levels or consistently diminishing rainfall. However, it serves as a guide to understanding the pathways of those displaced by environmental crises.
In New York, new arrivals often settle in established immigrant neighborhoods. Many Guatemalans have left the country’s western highlands, where repeated storms and droughts have destroyed livelihoods. Bangladeshi migrants, often found in Brooklyn, frequently come from coastal areas plagued by monsoon-driven river flooding.
Experts note that migration is rarely caused by a single factor. However, understanding how climate-amplified disasters can be a critical push factor is vital. “It’s not just that a hurricane happened,” explained one policy director. “It’s the devastation it caused and the inadequacy of the state’s response.”
Many who make the perilous journey hope to seek asylum. However, U.S. immigration law offers no specific protection category for those fleeing climate disasters, leaving them in a legal limbo. This precarious situation is now compounded by increased immigration enforcement, raising the risk of deportation back to places ravaged by climate impacts.
One woman from Guatemala described her decision to leave after years of struggling to protect her mud-wall home from stormwater. Drought exacerbated her problems, causing the earth walls to crack and crumble. Her family’s life revolved around their harvest of corn, beans, and potatoes, but the growing cycle became increasingly unpredictable. The rainy season shifted, and when the rains came, they were often destructive, inundating fields and wiping out crops.
“If the rain is too late, you might only get half a harvest,” she said, noting that her relatives still live in her native village. “By the time the season is over, the loss for the year is total.”
Her experience aligns with climate research in Central America, which shows that intensifying droughts and storms create a dangerous mix for agriculture-dependent families. Studies have linked severe drought conditions in rural areas to spikes in migration to the U.S., with the harsh conditions discouraging people from returning.
After her husband left for New York to work in restaurants, she stayed behind with their children. Watching her in-laws’ house weaken with each storm, she finally took out a loan, using her father’s land as collateral. She and her children then embarked on a three-week trek to the border. After being processed by federal agents, they eventually joined her husband in New York.
Years later, she now raises her four children in a small apartment. A previous attempt to apply for asylum ended when she was defrauded, and she has been hesitant to try again. “I don’t want to go back,” she stated firmly.
For the Senegalese man, flooding in his hometown left standing water for months, creating mosquito-infested pools. He tried switching crops, but the maize stalks eventually withered. “The land was basically useless,” he recalled. The environmental stress fueled tensions within his family compound and led to his children being bullied about their dilapidated home.
Lured by videos on social media that portrayed an easy path to work permits and jobs in the U.S., he sold livestock and borrowed money to pay a smuggler. Upon arriving in New York, the reality was starkly different from the glossy advertisements. He struggled with the asylum process and was eventually evicted from a shelter after a misunderstanding, leading him to sleep on the subway before finding community at a Bronx mosque.
There, he connected with other farmers from his region. They share information and support through WhatsApp groups, discussing jobs and housing. The community is now grappling with the threat of increased deportations. Despite the challenges, the mosque’s leader says he still receives calls from farmers in Senegal who can only afford one meal a day, drawn by the promise of earning in a week what might take months back home.
“They still want to come to America,” he said.
