Tijuana hub helps deported U.S. vets

Many wrongly thought they were citizens by serving

TIJUANA, Mexico — They call it the bunker.

From the street in this working-class neighborhood, people passing by the two-story house can look through the window and glimpse a peace sign and various iterations of the Stars and Stripes.

The formal name is emblazoned in English on a banner above the entrance: “Deported Veterans Support House.”

It’s a meeting venue, crash pad, information hub and hangout for a distinct group: U.S. military veterans expelled from the very country they served.

Most came to the United States as children and became permanent legal residents before joining the military. But after returning to civilian life they committed crimes that led to deportation.

Advocates for immigrants say there may be thousands of deported veterans now scattered across the globe.

Hector Barajas, who founded the support house four years ago, has identified 350 deported U.S. veterans born in more than 30 countries, including India, Italy, Mexico and the nations of Central America. Scores have passed through the support house.

The veterans there speak English like Americans, reminisce about school days back in the United States, watch U.S. sports on television and share war stories.

All have families in the United States. Many veterans carry wallet-sized snapshots of sons, daughters, siblings and grandchildren from whom they are now separated.

Still, the vibe at the house is not self-pity or regret, but Hector Barajas, who founded the Deported Veterans Support House in Tijuana, Mexico, hopes to win U.S. citizenship. The Deported Veterans Support House in Tijuana serves as a hub for U.S. veterans who have been deported to Mexico. repentance for missteps and a quest for redemption.

The veterans argue that they have done their time, paid their debts to society and are now serving what amounts to life sentences — permanent banishment from the country they regard as home.

“Everyone makes mistakes, some bigger than others,” said Barajas, 40, a former paratrooper in the Army’s 82nd Airborne Division. “But some people can’t get past that you did something wrong.”

Convicted of a felony in 2002 for shooting at a vehicle with people inside — nobody was hurt — he served 13 months in prison and was paroled.

He was deported in 2010, one of tens of thousands of immigrants with criminal records expelled by the U.S. government in recent years in a trend that has continued with the arrival of the Trump administration.

Foreign nationals have long been part of the nation’s military. Although service can streamline the citizenship process, it does not guarantee it.

Many of the veterans assumed that they had become citizens upon joining.

“I always felt like I was a citizen, it didn’t seem to make any difference,” said Barajas, who was 7 when his family brought him to live in Gardena, Calif., and later Compton.

Immigrant advocates have criticized the U.S. military for not being more proactive in facilitating the paperwork for naturalization. The Pentagon has improved the process since the Iraq War, encouraging applications during basic training and setting up citizenship ceremonies overseas.

Many deported veterans are still eligible for pensions, though they can be difficult to claim from abroad. One veteran who uses the support house, 73-year-old Andres De Leon, once went homeless in Tijuana. He now receives a $1,000-a-month check from Veterans Affairs.

Other benefits, including medical care and counseling, are even more difficult to access or simply not available outside the United States.

The support house, just across the border in Tijuana, tries to fill some of the gaps. Its mission statement is “to support deported veterans ... on their path to self-sufficiency by providing assistance in the realms of food, clothing, and shelter as they adjust to life in their new country of residence.” Donations cover a budget of about $1,000 a month, Barajas said.

The ground floor is a cluttered office and reception area that looks like an offbeat VFW post. There are two bedrooms, where newly deported veterans can stay for a few days or longer, sharing chores as they track down birth certificates and acquire Mexican IDs, find places to live and make the wrenching transition to a country few of them recognize.

“I considered myself American,” said Alejandro Gomez, 50, who was born in Mexico and taken to Oakland, Calif., when he was 6 months old. He said he had long been a U.S. legal resident — holder of a green card — but never felt the need to obtain U.S. citizenship, which would have been relatively easy.

Gomez said he joined the Marines out of high school because he liked John Wayne war movies and two of his uncles had served in the Corps. “Nobody messed with them,” he said. “And I wanted to be like that.”

A Marine recruiter told him not to worry about citizenship because joining would resolve the issue, Gomez said. “I thought I was becoming a citizen,” he recalled. “I took the same oath . ... Never once when I was in the Marine Corps was I approached about becoming a citizen.”

Gomez never went to war, but after leaving the Marines, he found it hard to acclimate to civilian life. He settled in San Diego, where he acknowledges making some “bad decisions.”

He was convicted in 1996 on a drug charge. That led to his deportation in 2010. Left behind, he said, were a wife and two U.S.-born children.

In April, California Gov. Jerry Brown pardoned Barajas, citing his military service and work with the veterans in Tijuana. Barajas is hopeful the pardon will help him win U.S. citizenship.

The house in Tijuana has become a focal point for a fledgling movement. Several veterans gather on weekends in a park near the border fence, publicizing their plight while hawking T-shirts with the motto: “Bring Deported Veterans Home.”