Myrelis Casique López is devastated after recognizing her son, Francisco José García, in videos of Venezuelans deported to a mega-prison in El Salvador. While US authorities assert that deportees are gang members, families like hers are challenging this classification and express concerns about wrongful arrests fueled by harsh immigration policies.
Mother Recognizes Son Among Deported to El Salvador's Prisons
Mother Recognizes Son Among Deported to El Salvador's Prisons
A mother from Venezuela discovers her son, deported from the US, in footage showing detainees at a notorious prison in El Salvador, sparking fears over the US immigration policy's impact on innocent lives.
In a poor neighbourhood of Maracay, Venezuela, Myrelis Casique López was waiting anxiously for her son Francisco José García Casique, who had recently been deported from the US. Having migrated to the US 18 months prior, García’s last contact with his mother had ignited hope for his safe return. However, that hope turned into despair when she saw alarming footage on television showing him, not in Caracas, but at a mega-jail in El Salvador, surrounded by other detainees being forcefully escorted by armed guards.
The US government described the deportees as members of the Tren de Aragua gang, recently designated a foreign terrorist organization due to its association with drugs, human trafficking, and violence. Despite claims of careful vetting and verification as gang members, García’s mother firmly believes in her son’s innocence. In the televised images, she points to a man, convinced it's him. "It's him. It's him," she insisted, recognizing his tattoos and physical features.
US immigration officials asserted that they utilized surveillance and testimonies to vet deportees. However, numerous reports indicate that many detainees—including those like García—possess no criminal records, raising alarms among the Venezuelan community in the US. Immigration laws, citing a 1798 statute, permitted these deportations without criminal charges, igniting debates over the legal standards being applied.
Myrelis’s plea for help reflects a larger narrative among families fearing wrongful identification. Other Venezuelan parents have expressed similar sentiments, including the mother of Mervin Yamarte, who also denies any gang affiliations for her son. Like García, Yamarte embarked on a perilous journey from Venezuela seeking refuge in the US but found himself ensnared in the same unfortunate fate of deportation.
The chilling effect of these policies extends beyond the immediate families affected, breeding fear within the Venezuelan expatriate community. Individuals are anxious about their safety and status as the Trump administration terminates the Temporary Protected Status for Venezuelans, which had previously offered refuge.
Many Venezuelans in the US, including those who staunchly support Trump due to his hardline stance against the Maduro regime, are now expressing unease about the administration's immigration enforcement tactics. Advocates are lobbying for clearer criteria to differentiate victims from actual perpetrators among the deportees, fearing that innocent lives might be inconsistently caught in the dragnet.
As Myrelis sits in her home, the weight of an accused criminal label unjustly imposed on her son bears heavily upon her heart. “What he’s been is a barber,” she lamented, yearning for clarity and justice amid rapidly shifting immigration policies fraught with implications for families like hers.
