HONOLULU ― When Jesse Biluk moved his family to Hawaii, he didn’t think they’d end up in a homeless shelter. For several months, the 56-year-old and his wife, along with their younger daughter, slept in a giant cinderblock room with other struggling families. They stored their belongings in trunks and plastic boxes stacked near their beds. From the roof of the shelter, they could glimpse the ocean between clusters of gleaming high-rise hotels that line the nearby surfing beach Biluk came to Honolulu last year from the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM), a remote country of tiny islands in the western Pacific around 3,500 miles away. He wanted his wife to have better access to treatment for her diabetes, and he hoped his 8-year-old could get a quality education. A former policeman, Biluk found work as a security guard at a Honolulu Walmart and used his modest salary to lease a cheap apartment. But a series of medical emergencies and a rent hike meant he ended up with a choice: go hungry or move into a homeless shelter. Biluk chose the latter, and eight months down the line, with nothing more permanent on the horizon, he is moving his family again. This time to Alaska. “I’m trying to survive,” Biluk told HuffPost. He didn’t expect life in America to be like this.

Marie Eriel Hobro for HuffPost Jesse Biluk, a Micronesian migrant, poses for a portrait on his familyʻs bed at the Kaʻaʻahi Homeless Shelter for Women and Families in Honolulu, HI on Dec. 28, 2018.

GIANLUCA GIACOPPO FOR HUFFPOST

Shanty Sigrah Asher, who came to Honolulu from the FSM state of Kosrae, said she and her husband sometimes struggle to afford their $1,800-a-month two-bedroom despite their reasonable salaries. The situation can be even worse for new arrivals who lack a formal education or English-language skills. They often find work in the generally lower-paying food and service industries, sending relatives back home what little money is left over from their paychecks. “I don’t know how the other families do it,” said Asher, who works at the nonprofit Pacific Resources for Education and Learning. “Most of them don’t have cars, so they have to stay closer to where they work” in the city center, where rents tend to be higher. Housing costs in Hawaii can be astronomical. The real estate firm Zillow pegs the median home value in Honolulu, Hawaii’s capital and population center, at around $677,000. A January report by Apartment List put the median rent for a two-bedroom apartment at $2,040 — more than 70 percent higher than the national average. This city is also an international tourist destination, where foreign investors and vacation rentals have helped propel prices upward, housing activists say. With strict building regulations and high construction costs, the number of affordable units has been unable to keep up with demand. Many incoming COFA migrants don’t have significant savings, let alone credit scores, making it even more difficult for them to get home loans or secure rental apartments. Some COFA migrants, whose culture revolves around large, extended families, respond by doubling- or tripling-up in single apartments. “Micronesians want housing ASAP because, culturally, home is where the family is,” said Josie Howard, head of We Are Oceania, an organization that aims to ease Micronesians’ transition to Hawaii. But she added that some “people will get into housing and get kicked out fast because they don’t understand the [occupancy] rules.” Soon after Biluk came to Hawaii, from Chuuk, his home island in the FSM, he scored a one-bedroom apartment where he moved with his wife and daughter. At $950 a month, it was a solid find in pricey Honolulu. But then two of his in-laws also moved in. Biluk said his landlord noticed the additional tenants and laid down an ultimatum: Pay $1,300 each month or leave. Biluk had received a raise at his security job to $14 an hour and worked overtime on weekends. But the family’s medical bills were piling up. Biluk’s wife visited the emergency room twice after arriving from Chuuk, and his employer’s barebones insurance plan didn’t cover her. Biluk, who has gout, said there were times when money was so tight he’d forgo the out-of-pocket expense for his own medication. They simply could not afford a dramatic rent increase. “If we [stay], we won’t be able to eat,” Biluk recalled telling his wife. He moved his wife and daughter into a shelter run by the Institute for Human Services, where they paid$130 a month for a place to sleep, meals and a semblance of stability.

Marie Eriel Hobro for HuffPost The Biluk family's bed photographed at the Kaʻaʻahi Homeless Shelter for Women and Families in Honolulu, HI on Dec. 28, 2018.

While native Hawaiians comprise the largest share of the state’s homeless population, people from the Micronesia region experience homelessness at disproportionately high rates. At just over 1 percent of the state’s population, migrants from Micronesian countries comprised about 11 percent of the more than 15,000 people who used homeless services in the state in 2017. Washington provided Hawaii with $12.8 million in 2018 to offset the costs of education, healthcare and other initiatives for COFA migrants. But it’s a pittance compared to the public expenses that the state says it spends on the migrants, with Hawaii reporting an average of more than $100 million annually between 2003 and 2014. Homeless service organizations have at times helped pick up the slack. While nonprofits’ clienteles vary by location, representatives for three shelters visited by HuffPost in November said COFA migrants can make up between 20 and 50 percent of their clients at any given time. Politicians have tried to fight for more assistance. Rep. Tulsi Gabbard (D-Hawaii) introduced legislation a year ago to increase federal support for such social services, and former Rep. Colleen Hanabusa (D-Hawaii) pledged to sue Washington for funds during a failed gubernatorial campaign last year. But mainland politicians don’t seem to be listening. Meanwhile, Micronesian migrants in Hawaii face prejudice. Children are sometimes bullied in schools and migrants often deal with hate over social media. Stereotypes about Micronesians have even crept into the state’s ongoing debate over how to reduce homelessness. The urgent need to address homelessness in Hawaii has culminated in a new strategy called “Housing First,” which emphasizes finding people homes as quickly as possible and then surrounding them with services. The aim is to rapidly return the homeless to stable living situations, said Scott Morishige, the Hawaii State Homeless coordinator. “People move through the system faster,” he said, adding that the strategy targets families with children. But it’s not always fast enough. At the Institute for Human Services, one of the largest Hawaiian organizations carrying out this strategic shift, Biluk was working with a case manager in the hope of landing one of Honolulu’s highly sought-after affordable units. After about eight months in the shelter — more than double the average stay — his family decided in February to give up their search and move to Anchorage, Alaska, where Biluk’s brother and sister live. “We’ve been waiting and waiting, but there’s been no progress,” Biluk said, adding that he paid the airfare with money he’d been saving for an apartment. “Most of the families who came in after us already left.” It’s not uncommon for COFA migrants struggling to find affordable housing in Hawaii to leave for cheaper locations on the U.S. mainland.

Marie Eriel Hobro Located on the outskirts of Honolulu, the Kahauiki Village, is a permanent supportive housing community where 30 formerly homeless families live. Biluk and his family were hoping to be placed in one of the units here. But after months of waiting, they recently gave up and moved to Alaska, where housing is cheaper.