人兽性交

Several days after the Trump administration began separating children from their parents at the border, our Southeast Immigrant Freedom Initiative (SIFI) received one or two calls from fathers whose children had been taken.聽

The men were detained at the聽Stewart Detention Center聽in Lumpkin, Georgia, one of the sites where we鈥檝e established an office to聽provide legal representation to detained immigrants.

A day or two later, we were up to four fathers, then five. Now it鈥檚 more than 30.

All fathers. Some at Stewart and some at another Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) facility in聽Folkston, Georgia.

They were among the 30,000 to 40,000 immigrants who sleep in some form of ICE detention every night, each of them separated from their families and loved ones. This in an ostensibly civil, not criminal, law system.

I took on the cases of three men. Each had been separated from his son while seeking asylum in the United States. All of them had established in an initial interview with ICE that they had a 鈥渃redible fear鈥� of persecution if returned to their home country.

I鈥檝e represented plenty of families as an immigration attorney. But I had never represented a parent whose young child was detained by my government and then sent to another state thousands of miles away.

The first thing I did was send the local ICE director a written request for the release of all my clients. I pointed to their credible fear and to a federal judge鈥檚 order to reunite families 鈥� a ruling that resulted from an ACLU lawsuit. I also noted the overwhelming evidence from pediatricians and mental health professionals that the government policy was essentially child abuse. There really is no such form or application in immigration law known as a 鈥渞equest for release letter.鈥� But neither had there been a moment like this before in modern American immigration policy.

After that, we simply called the ICE office in Atlanta every day. Did you get our request? Is the government going to respond? What is the government鈥檚 plan? We read in the press that the government was planning to build massive tent camps in Texas, and we feared our clients would end up there.

Our team had spoken with these fathers about the terrible violence they had experienced 鈥� of family members being killed, of being assaulted and threatened with death, and of police in their countries turning a blind eye.

Our client Jose told us he was having headaches. He couldn鈥檛 eat. He could barely sleep, and when he did he was wracked with dreams of yearning to be with his son, who is just 3. All he wanted to do was hold his son.

Several days later I awoke to realize I had had a nightmare of being separated from my own son, who was born exactly 366 days before Jose鈥檚.

Jose, 27, fled Honduras in May after receiving death threats from drug traffickers who had killed his uncle. It took 10 days to make the journey to Hidalgo, Texas, an official U.S. port of entry. He came seeking asylum in the exact way the government says is proper.

It didn鈥檛 matter. ICE locked him up and took his son anyway.

I continued with my calls. One day we learned Jose had been transferred to Eloy, Arizona. He was now in the same state with his boy. What does this mean? We panicked for a moment. Deportation?

I called the detention center in Eloy. 鈥淲ho did you say you were? 鈥� Are you his attorney? We don鈥檛 have your name on file.鈥�

鈥淲ell, I filed with your federal agency in Atlanta, Georgia.鈥�

鈥淲ell, we don鈥檛 have this man鈥檚 file.鈥�

鈥淭hey told me in Atlanta they sent it to you overnight.鈥�

聽鈥淲ell, we don鈥檛 have it. Did you say you were with the Southern Poverty Law Center?鈥�

鈥淐an I talk to a supervisor?鈥�

Another day passed. 鈥淵es, he鈥檚 here. The file must be in transit. He really just got here. It鈥檚 only been a few days. I really can鈥檛 tell you much.鈥�

While not unkind, each officer I spoke to either knew little or could tell me little, for a dizzying and ever-shifting set of reasons. They sounded as if they were in the dark as much as I felt. I pointed out that the government had taken my client and his son into custody and that the federal court was clear that it was their job to put this family back together.

I wanted to know how and when. 鈥淲ell, I am not the government,鈥� one officer replied.

As the court deadline of Tuesday (July 10) closed in, ICE finally began to confirm my client would be released. Not on Monday, but soon. No one could tell me when. I was becoming almost as frustrated with the secrecy as I was with the policy. If the government really thought this was such a defensible idea, why in the world wouldn鈥檛 officials tell us what exactly the plan was?

On Monday, I got a call from Jose. I told him we thought he was going to be free the next day. We couldn鈥檛 promise.

I asked if he still planned to travel to Virginia to be with family members. He said he was. That would be a long way, I thought to myself. 聽鈥淲hat kind of toys might your little boy like when he gets out?鈥� I asked. 鈥淧AW Patrol,鈥� he answered with certainty.

My boy sleeps in a red PAW Patrol bed. In fact, I later realized there hasn鈥檛 been a single night in his life he has not slept at our house with us.

I reached out to a friend and 人兽性交 supporter. Could he make a small donation for my client鈥檚 child? We wanted to make his father鈥檚 wish come true. 鈥淵es, of course,鈥� he answered almost immediately. 鈥淗ow should I send it? I just got married. It will be my first good deed of my married life.鈥�

On Tuesday, I called ICE鈥檚 field office in Phoenix. 鈥淲ho are you? Are you his attorney? I鈥檒l take a message.鈥�

Finally, I got a call. 鈥淛ose? With the little baby? Boy?鈥�

鈥淵es, he鈥檚 very little,鈥� I replied. 聽鈥淏aby, and boy.鈥�

With conviction, the officer answered back, 鈥淵es, I think I just saw him come in.鈥�

鈥淵ou saw him? With your own eyes?鈥�

鈥淵es, I think so. Give your number. I鈥檒l call you back.鈥�

鈥淲hat鈥檚 your name, officer?鈥�

鈥淥h, that鈥檚 how you guys are, 鈥� he laughed. 鈥淵ou always want our name!鈥� And then he gave me his name. 聽鈥淎nd if I say I am going to call you back, I am going to call you back.鈥�

A couple of hours later, my phone rang. It was a woman this time, not the man I had spoken to before. 鈥淚 am returning your call,鈥� she said.

鈥淵es, I was told my client was getting on a bus at 4 p.m. this afternoon. What can you tell me,鈥� I asked, letting myself get a little more excited.

鈥淲ell, if an ICE officer called his relative and said that, then that is what鈥檚 happening.鈥�

鈥淲ell, how do you know that? Because I just told you that鈥檚 what I鈥檝e been told, or because you independently know that?鈥�

鈥淏ecause I am the officer in charge of family reunification in the Phoenix office. Listen, if it weren鈥檛 true, we wouldn鈥檛 be calling. It鈥檚 not like we don鈥檛 have anything else to do.鈥�

Hallelujah.

A couple of hours later, my phone sounded again. I looked down. It was a Face Time call, lit up with Jose鈥檚 image. 鈥淎bogado Pedro! (Attorney Peter!)鈥�

It was Jose. I couldn鈥檛 believe it.聽I realized I had never seen his face.

I raced to a colleague鈥檚 office so we could talk to him together. 鈥淕od bless you, god bless you!鈥� He kept saying. He turned the phone to show us his little boy. It had been 54 days since he saw him last. They were riding in a car with my colleagues Gracie and Tori on the way from the ICE field office to get lunch. His face flickered between delight and sadness.

The boy was quiet, seemingly in shock. He didn鈥檛 say a word, despite his dad鈥檚 prodding. He barely managed a wave. My colleague and I were fighting back tears, each of us thinking of our own children.

That night, home in the midst of bedtime with my own kids, the phone rang one more time. 鈥淧edro, it鈥檚 Jose,鈥� he nearly shouted in Spanish. 鈥淐alling to say again, God bless you. Thank you so much! We are on the bus now!鈥�

They were off, crossing America, the land they had come so far to find. I鈥檇 never heard anyone so happy to be on a bus.

We were two fathers, each with our little boys, where we belong.