A REPRIEVE IS GRANTED, WITH A CONDITION
Dad won’t be deported for now, but he must wear an ankle monitor
After the call came last Friday, David Medina and Juan Vasquez raced from their downtown law office to the federal courthouse in Houston.
They had been granted an emergency hearing, a chance to argue for why Juan Rodríguez shouldn’t be deported as planned on June 29.
Medina, Vasquez and David Calvillo, partners in the firm of Chamberlain Hrdlicka, had previously filed a lawsuit against the government, defending the family’s rights under the Religious Freedom Restoration Act. They needed time for the process to unfold and wanted a stay of the deportation, so the family could remain together in the meantime.
So they gathered, along with a government attorney, in Chief U.S. District Judge Lee H. Rosenthal’s empty, wood-paneled courtroom.
But they never had to make their case.
Assistant U.S. Attorney Rick Bennett made a motion to dismiss the lawsuit.
Five months after his client, Immigration and Customs Enforcement, had told Juan that he would be deported this week, Bennett now explained that ICE would allow Juan to remain in the country for another 60 days, so he could proceed with his claim for asylum.
Calmly, Rosenthal flicked through pages of legal documents.
The judge stopped occasionally to ask questions, speaking softly with the lawyers, wondering if there was still any point to the hearing, since the extension accomplished what the family was asking for.
Rosenthal said there were two options, as she
saw it. One, she said as she looked toward Medina, was to dismiss the case with prejudice.
A better option, she thought, was to dismiss it without prejudice, which meant he could refile at some point, if needed. She then turned to Bennett. She asked that ICE “be flexible” and extend the period if necessary. Immigration courts are typically overloaded, she said, and two months may not be enough time for Juan to have his case heard. The attorney nodded slightly. “The case is dismissed,” she said. “I hope that you can work together.”
Medina left the courtroom elated and whispered to his partner, “This is a great victory for the family.”
“We have to go tell them,” he said as they walked toward the elevator. “And we have to pick up a watermelon.”
The fruit has special meaning for each of the lawyers, as their fathers would bring them home in the hot Texas summers. And they shared a melon with the Rodríguezes the first time they met, earlier this month, when they offered to represent them after reading about Juan’s pending deportation in the Chronicle.
No one was there when the lawyers arrived at the Rodríguez home in southeast Houston.
Minutes later, when Juan’s wife, Celia, and their three daughters — Karen, Rebecca and Kimberly — pulled up in the family’s minivan, the lawyers explained what had happened. In the driveway, they shared hugs. The girls laughed and bounced up and down, and Kimberly, just 10, high-fived Medina, a former justice of the Texas Supreme Court.
But they didn’t call Juan, who was still working, fixing a car at a client’s house. They wanted to surprise him.
When he came home and walked through the kitchen door, he looked somber as he noticed the lawyers. He hadn’t expected them. Something must have happened, he thought. The girls broke the tension. “Papi, you’re finally here!” After sharing the news, Medina asked to pray. He called Calvillo, who was driving back from the Rio Grande Valley. Calvillo is the most fluent Spanish speaker among the lawyers, and he led the devotions by speakerphone. Juan speaks almost no English.
They thanked Judge Rosenthal. They thanked “the Lord for opening the hearts of the ICE officers” who granted the extension. And they asked God to help other families like theirs.
But the lawyers also shared some bad news, because the reprieve came with a condition. Three days later, early Monday morning, Juan reported to the ICE office in Houston.
Raed Gonzalez, the immigration lawyer representing him but not his family, told reporters that he was still fearful. He wanted assurances directly from ICE that Juan would be allowed to stay.
Last week, Gonzalez had introduced a request in an immigration court to reopen Juan’s asylum case.
Juan had entered the country about 15 years ago, desperate to follow Celia and their older daughter, Karen. Celia had been sponsored by her parents, who are American citizens, but Juan paid a coyote $7,000 to come north from El Salvador. He was caught as he made his way to Texas from California. He tried — unsuccessfully — to win temporary protected status. His request for asylum was denied more than a decade ago, but Gonzalez said Juan didn’t have strong legal representation then.
For more than a decade, through the Bush and Obama administrations, Juan qualified for prosecutorial discretion, as he raised his family and paid taxes and avoided legal trouble. He could stay in the country as long as he checked in with ICE, and he did — a total of 26 times.
But in February, he was told by ICE officials that under the Trump administration, he wasn’t a priority anymore.
The government now has until July 10 to accept or oppose his request to reopen his case for asylum. A judge will decide whether to proceed.
El Salvador was a violent country when Juan left, Gonzalez said, but it’s even worse today.
If Juan is deported, his wife and daughters would go with him, he said, because they are Adventist Christians who believe that the family must stay together. That is also the essence of the Religious Freedom Restoration Act suit brought by Medina and his fellow lawyers in federal court — deporting the father means deporting the entire family.
Back in El Salvador, the family would be preyed upon, Gonzalez said.
“He and his daughters, precisely for being Americans, will be targeted by gangs trying to extort them,” he said.
At the meeting with ICE, Juan stood out from the other 69 people waiting for appointments.
He came with a delegation, which included his lawyer, Medina and Vasquez, and two congressional representatives. His case, now widely publicized and the subject of an ongoing Chronicle series, has drawn national attention.
They came out with good news.
ICE officials confirmed that Juan would get his 60 days, and also that they would honor the judge’s request. If necessary, the period would be extended.
But there was also this — Juan would be subject to monitoring, to wearing an ankle bracelet like those accused of crimes.
Ivan Sanchez, field representative for U.S. Congresswoman Sheila Jackson Lee, wasn’t happy with that. He and Rachael Rodriguez, director of constituent services for U.S. Congressman Al Green, said the legislators plan to intercede on his behalf. They will ask that Juan be removed from that program.
Sanchez said the government doesn’t need to spend taxpayer money on a man who has a proven track record of working with authorities.
“It’s an unnecessary humiliation,” he said.
After his meeting with ICE, Juan drove straight to the offices of BI Inc. BI keeps tabs on immigrants in the country illegally with a program that ICE says is a cost-effective alternative to detention centers.
He sat in a waiting room with 22 women, listening for his name to be called.
The women, each with a monitor attached to one of her ankles, were repeat visitors.
A poster on the wall asks, “How are you feeling today?”
Smiley emoticons provide 16 options to consider as an answer, but none of the yellow figures resembled Juan’s mood.
The necessary paperwork took more than an hour to fill out, and all the while, he grew more anxious. He felt palpitations.
He wasn’t completely sure what to expect.
He prayed in silence, while his family prayed outside, in the parking lot. Medina and Vasquez sat with him.
Many of the women in the lobby, most recently arrived from Central America, went in and out quickly. They were coming to comply with mandatory checkins.
One of them, Griselda Zelaya, had arrived in January from El Salvador. Her son, Flavio, is a talented soccer player and had enjoyed notoriety in the newspapers back home, but local gangs had pressed the family to make him a “mule,” Zelaya said. They wanted him to carry drugs during his sports trips around the country. The family refused, inspiring death threats.
Zelaya cried as she recounted the story. She said the ankle monitor makes her feel like a criminal, when all she was trying to do was protect her child.
Once he was called back, Juan was given instructions.
He must stay, at all times, within 75 miles from his home. On Mondays, he can’t go anywhere, because an agent could make a surprise visit. And every Wednesday, he must go to the office to check in.
He has to regularly recharge the batteries on his monitor, because they last for only about four hours.
“I don’t understand why they needed to put this shackle on my ankle,” he said later. “I have always followed what they told me to do. They know I am not going to escape!”
Juan could not stop thinking about his children, about how all that mattered was to be with his family. He forced a smile after leaving the office, as he walked toward them.
“Does it hurt, Papi?” his oldest daughter asked immediately.
“No, hija. It doesn’t hurt,” he said, moving toward her for a hug. His smile melted into sobs. “Don’t worry, Papi,” said Karen, as he dipped his face into her shoulder and she tightened her grip around him. “We know you are not a criminal. We love you. This doesn’t change anything; you are the same for us.”
The monitor, for a moment, disappeared from Juan’s mind.
olivia.tallet@chron.com twitter.com/oliviaptallet