Finding hope a year after her deportation
Alejandra Juarez, who self-deported in anger, now says she broke law
Returning from Mexico to visit her father and older sister in Davenport, 10-year-old Estela Juarez needed a moment alone inside her pink princess-themed bedroom to relish being back in the U.S.
A year ago, she was wedged between her sobbing mother and sister at Orlando International Airport. They were surrounded by a horde of media members as Alejandra Juarez self-deported to Mexico.
It was a wrenching scene for a family being ripped apart amid the
heated politics of illegal immigration.
Sitting on her bed underneath a pink, star-patterned canopy last week, Estela talked about her mother’s immigration saga and the impact the separation has had on her family.
“I understand that she had to move to Mexico because she came here without permission,” Estela said. “I understand she’s sad because she misses our family. I see her pain ‘cause she cries almost everyday how she misses my sister and all that, especially my dog.”
Her father, Cuauhtemoc “Temo” Juarez, a 42-year-old Marine veteran, works long hours and travels for his contracting business, so Estela has been living with her mom in the Yucatán Peninsula.
Her sister Pamela, 17, remained behind in the U.S. with their father — who was born in Mexico and became a U.S. citizen just before an Iraq deployment — to finish high school.
When she arrived in July for a month-long visit, Estela immediately asked her sister for a “nice, quiet moment” so she could “take everything in.”
She missed her pit bull Spot. She missed her childhood friends. She missed Chipotle.
The rose pink walls with accents of ballerina and Parisian themes are in stark contrast to the white walls of the rented home she shares with her mother in Mexico.
“I slept like a baby,” Estela said of her first night back in Davenport. “It was nice to wake up in my room. But my perfect place is where my mom, my sister and my dad are complete.”
Every action has consequences
Her family’s separation — 700 miles across the Gulf of Mexico — has been a nightmare, Alejandra said, and she has cycled through the various stages of grief during the last year.
At the airport Aug. 3, 2018, before boarding a flight to Mexico, Alejandra heatedly blamed President Donald Trump’s strict immigration policies for her predicament, asserting that her deportation was a punishment for her veteran husband and American children.
But the time away from Central Florida has caused the 40-year-old to reflect on her life choices.
“My anger is gone. I’m here because I went there illegally,” she said. “I broke the law. I understand that. Every action has consequences.”
At 18, she made the dangerous trek in 1998 from Mexico City to the Texas border, fleeing death threats and a life of poverty. She followed the advice of a coyote — an American human smuggler — and lied to a Customs and Border Patrol agent that she was a U.S. citizen.
During an interrogation, Juarez — who only spoke Spanish at the time — admitted she is Mexican and said she signed paperwork in English to avoid federal detention. That would turn out to be a critical decision.
She briefly returned to Mexico but soon crossed over into the U.S. undetected, married Temo in 2000 and settled down in Central Florida.
Years later, as the couple spent thousands of dollars on more than two dozen lawyers to fix Alejandra’s immigration status, they realized the documents she signed as a teenager ban her future rights to a permanent resident card, visa or a path to naturalized citizenship.
A traffic stop in 2013 brought her to the attention of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. She was released on an order of supervision with the requirement to check in with the local ICE office twice a year.
Without a criminal record, she was previously considered “low priority” by ICE for removal. But under orders from the Trump administration, the federal agency no longer exempts any undocumented immigrant from potential enforcement.
After a temporary reprieve that granted a few more weeks with her family, Alejandra was ordered to leave the U.S. on August 3, 2018.
Temo said he remained stoic throughout the fight to keep Alejandra here, but the impact of his wife’s deportation eventually became too much to hide.
“Throughout the [removal] process, I thought, ‘I’m going to keep my cool.’ But when the reality hit … I couldn’t keep my cool,” he said. “When she was going to get on the plane, I broke down.”
A family divided
The absence of her mother will be prominent during Pamela’s senior year when she’s not there to go prom-dress shopping or watch her cross the graduation stage.
“I just feel like a lot of people think we should have gotten used to it by now or adjusted, but it’s still very hard without her even though it’s been a year,” Pamela said. “I can’t really go back to normal until my mom comes back.”
Many of Alejandra’s clothes are still in the closet of her Davenport home. Her favorite pots and pans she used to cook meals for her family are still in the kitchen.
“Not hearing her voice, talking about how our day went face to face, the interaction — that’s what I miss most,” Temo said.
Since Alejandra’s deportation, Temo and Pamela have visited Mexico several times. However, the financial strain has begun to wear on the family’s bank account, they said, so future visits may be limited to twice a year.
To make the most of their time together, Alejandra said she insists they don’t discuss politics.
Temo, a staunch Republican, voted for Trump in the 2016 presidential election and said he will vote again to keep the billionaire in office.
“Obviously, my wife doesn’t like it,” Temo said, adding that Alejandra’s removal was in motion before Trump became president.
“He’s done a lot of good things but he needs more support,” Temo said of Trump. “I think if he gets support from Congress, he will do something for veteran families that are in my situation if he hears about it.”
One of those legislative efforts is led by U.S. Rep. Darren Soto, D-Kissimmee, who vowed to keep fighting to reunite the Juarez family as long as he’s in office.
Her best bet is the Protect Patriot Spouses Act, which would temporarily shield spouses of active-duty military and veterans from deportation during their quest for permanent resident status.
In Alejandra’s case, Soto said it would also give an immigration judge more discretion regarding her lifetime ban.
Soto is optimistic that the House Judiciary Committee will set a hearing in September to consider the bill.
Despite knowing it was “a longshot,” Soto also filed a private immigration bill to allow Alejandra’s return with a green card until broader immigration legislation may pass that would create a path for citizenship.
“There hasn’t been a private bill approved in many years, so we’re hopeful this Congress will start taking these up again, especially in light of the aggressive, overthe-top enforcement of immigration laws and beyond by the Trump administration,” Soto said. “These are desperate times and they call for desperate measures.”
Finding hope after deportation
The trauma of Alejandra’s deportation has irrevocably changed the Juarez family but they’re doing their best to move forward.
Estela is enrolled in private school, has improved her Spanish-speaking skills and enjoys gymnastics class.
Although Temo acknowledges that his family’s biggest legislative support comes from Democrats such as Soto, he’s determined to gain support from the GOP by writing letters to Republican U.S. Sens. Marco Rubio and Rick Scott.
Pamela is eagerly awaiting her 18th birthday in October so she can register to vote in the 2020 election.
“I want to vote for the person who could potentially bring my mom back,” she said.
Alejandra said she isn’t giving up on her fight but her family has helped her see that she needs to accept her circumstances for now and try to make a happy life in Mexico.
She is applying for educational scholarships and considering going to school to become a physical therapist because it’s a skill she could transfer back to the U.S. if she is allowed to return. Through a blog, she has gained support from other deportees whose families are in similar circumstances.
“I still believe in miracles,” Alejandra said. “As long as I’m alive, there is hope.”