What happened in Rockland, Massachusetts, is not just a tragedy — it’s an indictment of an entire system that has collapsed under the weight of political negligence, bureaucratic incompetence, and ideological blindness.
This week, Haitian national Cory Alvarez, a 27-year-old illegal alien, was sentenced to 10 to 12 years in prison for the aggravated rape of a 15-year-old girl at a taxpayer-funded migrant shelter. That shelter, like many others in the state, was being operated under the Massachusetts emergency housing system — a system that has become overwhelmed, underregulated, and, as whistleblowers have now confirmed, dangerously unaccountable.
Alvarez’s case is horrifying on its own. But it’s not isolated. Just months ago, another Haitian national — Ronald Joseph — was convicted of raping and impregnating his own 14-year-old daughter at another shelter in Marlborough. And again, that shelter was being paid for by Massachusetts taxpayers.
Both men came into the U.S. under a parole program launched by the Biden administration, which allows nationals from countries like Venezuela, Cuba, Haiti, and Nicaragua to enter the U.S. legally — provided they meet certain requirements. But according to James Fetherston, a former shelter director turned whistleblower, those requirements weren’t being enforced.
“Not a single one of these people was vetted,” Fetherston said. “Nobody knows who they are.”
Fetherston isn’t an armchair critic. He ran a migrant shelter. He saw the system from the inside. And now he’s sounding the alarm: this isn’t just a policy failure — it’s a moral one.
His words are damning:
“The state didn’t protect these children. And when you don’t protect children, you have no moral authority to run these programs.”
This isn’t a partisan talking point. This is a man who, by his own admission, says 98% of the people he encountered were just trying to build a better life. But the other 2%? As he put it, “some of the worst people I have ever seen.” And those are the people the system failed to screen — and then housed with vulnerable children, often in repurposed hotels with little to no oversight.
Meanwhile, Governor Maura Healey has tried to shift blame, claiming she “inherited a disaster” and touting changes like length-of-stay limits and background checks. But Fetherston says plainly: “That is on her.” She opened the doors wide. She didn’t vet. And now families, children, and entire communities are paying the price.
It doesn’t end at the shelter door. Fetherston notes that after the shelters began to close, small towns have seen an uptick in car accidents, overwhelmed school systems, and budgets stretched to the brink.
“Where do you pull the money from?” he asks. “Police? Fire? Roads?”
This is more than a policy dispute. It’s a question of accountability. Who is responsible when a state program — funded by hardworking families — facilitates the rape of children? Who answers when laws are ignored, when vetting is bypassed, and when known threats are quietly moved to new shelters instead of arrested?
As of now, no one at the top has been held accountable.
