Tek Rimal arrived in Pittsburgh in February 2011 amid a heavy snowstorm. “The temperature was in the single digits,” Rimal said. “Coming from South Asia, it was a physical shock.”
Though he was arriving as a refugee from Nepal, the landscape felt strangely familiar. “Despite the biting cold, there was a quiet beauty to the topography that made me feel, for the first time in a long time, that I might be able to call this place home.”
Rimal settled in Pittsburgh after 19 years in refugee camps following his people’s expulsion from Bhutan. Now he works as a senior software engineer at a bank, and he said his siblings operate grocery stores, trucking companies and retail businesses across several states. Cousins manage fleets and storefronts throughout the Northeast. They’ve worked 15 years to establish themselves — only to find their accomplishments undermined by a flood of misinformation.
When neighbors see property purchases or business openings, he said, assumptions follow.
“They think it was given” by government agencies, Rimal said. “They don’t see the years of sacrifice — the way our families pool resources, live modestly, and save every penny from multiple jobs to invest back into the community.”
Pittsburgh’s Bhutanese community is accustomed to challenges, from learning to converse in a language very different from their own to grappling with social isolation and the psychic toll of statelessness. Now they face what the United Nations Refugee Agency calls a “turbo-charged” misinformation environment as artificial intelligence is “allowing people to inexpensively flood digital platforms with false, manipulative or exploitative content.”
Narhari Pokhrel, a Bhutanese community educator who leads naturalization classes for elders navigating U.S. systems, said the misconception overlooks the long process of rebuilding financial stability.
“One major misconception is that refugees receive free housing and free money,” he said. “That is not how it works. It is unfair to throw a blanket statement over an entire community.”
Some elders qualify for SNAP food benefits or Supplemental Security Insurance, he said, particularly those who arrived here late in life with no U.S. work history. The eligibility requirements are the same as for any other resident.
“Speaking as a refugee who came here with nothing,” Pokhrel said, “we were not given houses. We were given opportunity.”
Rumors and social media
The Bhutanese presence in Pittsburgh traces back to a decades-long displacement that began in the early 1990s, when Bhutan’s “One Nation, One People” policies led to the expulsion of more than 100,000 ethnic Nepali-speaking residents known as Lhotshampas. Most fled to refugee camps in eastern Nepal, where families lived for years with limited legal status, restricted movement and heavy reliance on humanitarian aid.
After diplomatic negotiations stalled, third-country resettlement began in 2007. The United States ultimately resettled about 85,000 Bhutanese refugees, including families who began arriving in Western Pennsylvania in 2008.
Anisha Thapa
- Age: 27
- Origin: Beldangi II refugee camp in eastern Nepal
- Year of arrival in Pittsburgh: 2021
- Profession or role: MBA student.
- “Our house felt beautiful to me,” Thapa said of life in a camp. “My mother painted the window frames blue by hand.” During heavy storms, neighbors gathered in whichever house had the strongest roof, waited together for the storm to pass. She did not see herself as displaced. “Because I was little, I didn’t understand what it meant to be a refugee.” Only later did she understand what statelessness meant. Nepal did not grant her citizenship, and Bhutan did not recognize her family. “I don’t feel fully comfortable calling myself Nepali,” but she never lived in Bhutan, either. Thapa became a U.S. citizen as a teenager after arriving here at age nine. Legal status provided clarity, she said, “but identity is more complicated than mere paperwork.” She’s now pursuing an MBA and is a community advocate with Peace Initiative Bhutan focusing on Bhutanese refugee reconciliation and policy advocacy.
Bhagawat Phuyal arrived in Pittsburgh in 2008 at age 14, when only a handful of Bhutanese families lived locally.
“We didn’t know the systems. We stayed close together.”
Without an established neighborhood, Bhutanese families dispersed across Brentwood, Baldwin, Whitehall and Canonsburg, building community through schools, places of worship, soccer fields and shared navigation of unfamiliar institutions. Community organizations estimate more than 5,000 Bhutanese refugees now live in Allegheny County and surrounding areas.
Phuyal said generational differences shaped adaptation: Younger residents often learned English more quickly, while older residents tended to rely on Nepali-language social media on YouTube, Facebook, WhatsApp and TikTok for news and policy information.
Rumors about immigration enforcement circulate quickly, sometimes leaving even naturalized citizens feeling vulnerable. “Some elderly community members feel insecure because of what they see,” he said.
Pokhrel encounters that insecurity in the citizenship classes he teaches in the South Hills.
“Language is the biggest barrier to our elderly folks,” he said. “If the news is in English, it’s hard to follow. So they rely on Nepali content online.”
Narhari Pokhrel
- Age: 30
- Origin: Bhutan
- Year of arrival in Pittsburgh: 2013
- Profession or role: Medical tech at UPMC
- Pokhrel grew up in refugee camps and first resettled with his family in Houston as a teenager before later moving to Western Pennsylvania. He was placed back into high school and enrolled in ESL classes despite having completed similar coursework — an experience he said reflects how language can obscure academic ability. His family’s Houston neighborhood was largely Spanish-speaking, limiting communication and deepening isolation during early resettlement. “My mom cried for days,” he said. “She had waited years for resettlement. And she still couldn’t communicate with the person next door.” For Pokhrel, integration is a step-by-step process, akin to levels of a video game. “Studying, work permits, jobs, naturalization,” he said. “It is a process. You cannot jump between levels.”
“Language determines whether resettlement feels like opportunity or isolation,” Pokhrel said.
To bridge that gap, the Bhutanese Community Association of Pittsburgh (BCAP), a nonprofit that helps Bhutanese refugees and immigrants navigate schools, health care and civic systems, built its own information infrastructure.
The organization distributes Nepali-language audio messages and text alerts through its robocall channel, explaining policy changes, benefits, school information and urgent community updates.
Audio messages allow information to reach elders who cannot read English fluently. BCAP also maintains relationships with municipalities, school districts, police departments and election officials so questions can be clarified before confusion spreads.
“Speaking directly with residents is the most effective way to correct misinformation,” said BCAP Executive Director Khara Timsina.
Misinformation and assumptions
While language barriers can create information gaps within the Bhutanese community, misinformation also circulates about the community.
Timsina said misunderstandings about refugee assistance remain among the most persistent.
One early example emerged during a conversation at a Whitehall library in 2010, where staff said residents believed Bhutanese families received free money to purchase homes. Timsina visited the library to explain how resettlement works: Refugees may receive short-term rental assistance — typically up to three months — after which families are responsible for rent, utilities and other expenses. Many also arrive with travel loans covering airfare from refugee camps, which must be repaid, including for children.
After the first few months, federal programs can provide some support, including limited, short-term cash, medical assistance, case management services, English classes, job readiness and employment services, budgeting assistance and home maintenance help.
Rimal said support was procedural and limited. Housing assistance was paid directly to landlords through Catholic Charities rather than provided as cash, and most working adults transition off assistance as they enter the workforce.
Each member of Rimal’s family received a small amount of arrival money — $10 for him, $10 for his wife and $5 for their son. He used the $25 to open his first bank account at PNC.
Residents say they’ve built long-term stability through collective strategies: multiple jobs, shared housing, pooled savings and gradual credit building.
“If refugees received free money, my wife and I would not have struggled to establish credit history and take a 30-year mortgage,” Timsina said.
The cost of misinformation
“The idea that refugees receive free housing is not only incorrect, it is insulting and damaging,” Timsina said, noting that persistent misconceptions can compound anxiety and mental health strain for families already adjusting to new systems after years of displacement.
That strain is not new. A 2012 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention investigation found elevated suicide rates among resettled Bhutanese refugees in the U.S. during early resettlement years, identifying language barriers, unemployment and isolation as contributing factors.
BCAP’s work increasingly includes responding to misinformation.
During the 2024 presidential election cycle, a video circulated online claiming a local organization had transported non-citizens to vote at an early voting site in Allegheny County. The claim spread quickly across social media.
Timsina said the video misrepresented BCAP’s voter engagement work, which focuses on transportation and language access for naturalized citizens participating in elections for the first time. The organization transported a small group of registered voters who needed interpretation support. Allegheny County later issued a public statement confirming translators were permitted and that only registered voters could receive ballots.
BCAP declined to engage directly with the online claims, instead directing media outlets to the county’s clarification.
“This incident showed how easily routine civic support can be reframed as suspicion, and how misinformation often spreads faster than clarification when language differences obscure context,” Timsina said.
Tek Rimal
- Age: 47
- Origin: A farming family in Swamitar village, located in the Danabari Block of Bhutan’s Sarpang district
- Year of arrival in Pittsburgh: 2011
- Profession or role: Senior software engineer at PNC Bank, vice president of the Himalayan Foundation-USA.
- Rimal spent childhood in Bhutan.“In the camps, when someone died, neighbors gave part of their rations so the family could sell it and cover funeral costs,” he said. “We learned survival was collective.” Multiple degrees from Nepal, including biology, education and health education, didn’t immediately open doors. “In Pittsburgh, I had to reinvent myself,” he said. His first job was renovating aging houses — work he had never done before — while also serving as an interpreter and community liaison helping other refugees navigate schools, hospitals and government paperwork. He later worked full-time as a check-processing clerk while earning a master of information systems degree before transitioning into technology. Today he is a senior software engineer at PNC Bank. “My journey from a farming village in Bhutan to a tech career in Pittsburgh has taught me that while we may lose our homes, the values of education, hard work and community solidarity are things that no one can take away.”
Service and citizenship
Four years after arriving in Pittsburgh, Phuyal enlisted in the U.S. Army and served seven years in a medical unit.
“I think it’s important that people know that members of our community serve in the U.S. military,” he said.
He now works in home care staffing and co-owns Desi Global Mart in Canonsburg.
Rimal became a U.S. citizen through naturalization after nearly two decades without a country.
“Receiving my citizenship was more than just a legal status,” Rimal said. “It was the restoration of my dignity.”
While he’s moved forward, he said the past is never fully past.
“When I look at the current uncertainties in the country today, I sometimes feel a chilling sense of familiarity,” he said. “For someone who hasn’t lost everything, these might seem like passing political cycles. But for me, they are reminders of a childhood cut short. … It is a unique burden of the refugee experience. Even when you have found safety, you never truly stop looking for the exit, fearing that you might one day have to protect your family from the same history repeating itself.”
Rimal said that vigilance is not a sign of weakness. Instead, it has made him more protective of the democracy and inclusive community he worked hard to become part of.
That vigilance increasingly includes access to clear, reliable information.
“Safety is not only physical,” Timsina said. “It comes from understanding your rights and trusting that you know where to turn.”
Aakanksha Agarwal is a wine, travel and lifestyle writer from India. Formerly a Bollywood stylist, she now resides in Pittsburgh, can be reached at aakanksha.agarwal1988@gmail.com and found on Instagram at @aakanksha.a.
This story was fact-checked by Jamie Wiggan.
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