Migrants deported by the U.S. face despair and fear while being held in the Decapolis Hotel, unable to leave or seek help.
**Trapped and Silent: The Migrant Crisis in Panama’s Decapolis Hotel**
**Trapped and Silent: The Migrant Crisis in Panama’s Decapolis Hotel**
A glimpse into the heartbreaking situation of detainees stranded in a hotel in Panama.
In Panama City, a distressing scene unfolds within the confines of the Decapolis Hotel, where approximately 300 migrants find themselves trapped after being deported from the United States. These individuals hail from various countries, including Iran, Afghanistan, and Cameroon, and for them, the hotel is a prison.
Through the glass windows of their hotel rooms, many migrants convey messages of desperation. For instance, a woman from Cameroon holds a napkin that reads "HELP US," while others, including two Iranian families who have converted to Christianity—an act that could lead to dire consequences under Iranian law—choose to hide their faces from view, fearing that exposure may have severe repercussions.
The atmosphere is charged with anxiety; some detainees don the gray sweatshirts typical of U.S. detention centers, a stark reminder of how their journey led them to this precarious existence. Inside their rooms, they struggle with fears of abandonment and isolation; while some play television to drown out the reality of their situation, armed guards keep them from accessing the outside world.
Messages of hope and plea for assistance come through creative means. One migrant, Artemis Ghasemzadeh, boldly scrawled “Help” on a window with lipstick, defying the silencing walls around them. Meanwhile, efforts are made by outside supporters, including a New York Times journalist who held up her contact information, encouraging the migrants to reach out if they can.
These migrants left their homelands seeking safety and the chance for a new beginning, only to find themselves in limbo in Panama—a country they did not intend to settle in. Many have fled oppressive regimes hoping to seek asylum in the U.S., only to be met with barriers that prevent their escape from this hotel-turned-detention center. The situation remains dire and unresolved, echoing the desperate cries of those unable to voice their suffering beyond the glass.
Through the glass windows of their hotel rooms, many migrants convey messages of desperation. For instance, a woman from Cameroon holds a napkin that reads "HELP US," while others, including two Iranian families who have converted to Christianity—an act that could lead to dire consequences under Iranian law—choose to hide their faces from view, fearing that exposure may have severe repercussions.
The atmosphere is charged with anxiety; some detainees don the gray sweatshirts typical of U.S. detention centers, a stark reminder of how their journey led them to this precarious existence. Inside their rooms, they struggle with fears of abandonment and isolation; while some play television to drown out the reality of their situation, armed guards keep them from accessing the outside world.
Messages of hope and plea for assistance come through creative means. One migrant, Artemis Ghasemzadeh, boldly scrawled “Help” on a window with lipstick, defying the silencing walls around them. Meanwhile, efforts are made by outside supporters, including a New York Times journalist who held up her contact information, encouraging the migrants to reach out if they can.
These migrants left their homelands seeking safety and the chance for a new beginning, only to find themselves in limbo in Panama—a country they did not intend to settle in. Many have fled oppressive regimes hoping to seek asylum in the U.S., only to be met with barriers that prevent their escape from this hotel-turned-detention center. The situation remains dire and unresolved, echoing the desperate cries of those unable to voice their suffering beyond the glass.
