The Mercury News

He crossed border alone, amid chaos and peril, at age 7

- By Manny Fernandez

BRYAN, TEXAS » José was 7 years old when they put him on the raft.

The smugglers were sending him across the Rio Grande to reunite with his mother, who had left him back in Honduras two years earlier and moved to Texas. He boarded the raft with his sole possession: a piece of laminated paper bearing her phone number and address.

His mother had borrowed $3,500 from a cousin and a friend to pay the coyotes. Her brother handed José over to the men, who tried to scare the boy into staying quiet as the raft pushed off from the Mexican shore. “They were telling me that they were going to report me to my country,” José said. “But I didn’t believe him.”

What the boy didn’t know was that reaching his mother would be much harder than finding a Border Patrol agent, spending a few days in custody and then looking for his mother’s house, as he had been told to do. He found the Border Patrol, all right, but instead of being handed over to his mother, José was sent to a foster care facility in New York, where he was held for nearly eight months as his mother tried to win permission for his release. She didn’t succeed until April.

José was what the federal government calls an “unaccompan­ied minor” — an abstract clinical descriptio­n for a dangerousl­y specific human drama that has been playing out in everlarger numbers along the southwest border.

Although the Trump administra­tion has officially ended its policy of taking children away from their parents if families are caught crossing the border illegally, young children like José continue to be held in U.S. immigratio­n detention facilities, sometimes for months at a time, because of regulation­s requiring complicate­d screening procedures that officials say are intended to ensure the children’s safety.

Much of the time, young people take the dangerous journey from Honduras, Guatemala and El Salvador on their own or with a smuggler to rejoin parents in the United States. In many cases, their parents came to the United States illegally, settled somewhere and then, possibly years later, sent for the children they left behind. It is a phenomenon that has been going on for decades, but as the number of Central American migrants arriving at the border continues to grow, there has also been a sharp increase in young people traveling alone.

While there were 38,189 apprehensi­ons on the southweste­rn border of Central American children traveling alone in the 2018 fiscal year, there have been 37,669 in the current fiscal year as of April.

José’s mother, Patricia, 23, did not want to disclose her or her son’s last name, because of fears of reprisals from the government because of their immigratio­n status. Patricia is in the country illegally, and an immigratio­n court judge has ordered her to be deported.

Their story began in 2016, when Patricia left Honduras, leaving her son, whose father had died before he was born, with relatives. She settled in Bryan, Texas, started a new life as a house painter and gave birth to another child, a daughter, now 2. Finally, she said, she told relatives she was ready for them to send José to her.

She had assumed he would spend some time in Border Patrol custody, she said, but had no idea he would be sent to a fostercare program in New York while the government decided whom he should be released to.

Weeks went by. Then months. Finally, the paperwork settled, José was put on a plane bound for Houston on April 11 and joined his mother. Nearly eight months had elapsed since he left Honduras.

To discourage the large migration flows, the Trump administra­tion has repeatedly called attention to the dangers that parents are subjecting their children to on the journey from Central America. Children have been abandoned by coyotes, like the 3-year-old boy that Border Patrol agents discovered alone and crying in April in a cornfield; they have survived near-drownings, sexual and physical abuse, and grueling hikes.

The uncertaint­y and hardships often continue once the children are in government hands, say many of those who work with newly arrived migrants, even though the government no longer has a policy of separating families.

In the case of José’s family, Patricia said she had difficulty communicat­ing with her son after he arrived in the United States, or even finding out what was happening to him.

“I would send messages, and sometimes I wouldn’t get a response, and sometimes I would,” she said. “I had never seen an extreme case that would take this long.”

After he was apprehende­d at the Texas border, José was placed with the Cayuga Centers, a New York nonprofit group that runs a foster-care program that receives federal money to assist migrant children. He remained in Cayuga’s custody from early September until he was released in April.

The average length of care in the federal unaccompan­ied minor program is 66 days, or about two months. Jose’s case was an unusually complex one involving an investigat­ion of a possible child-safety issue, according to some of those working on the case. Patricia said she knew of no circumstan­ce that would have justified keeping her son away from her for so long.

José has had a rough transition after spending two years apart from his mother in Honduras, then enduring the crossing, the months in custody and his enrollment in first grade at a new school in a new city. He has acted out, his mother said, as he tries to find his footing.

Another mother in the country illegally who lives in Bryan knows how hard that transition can be. Jesus, an acquaintan­ce of Patricia’s, came to the United States several years ago after leaving her own son behind in El Salvador, then sent for him.

The boy, Ernesto, was 12 years old when he made the crossing with an older teenage cousin a few years ago.

Now 15 and a sophomore at a Bryan high school, Ernesto, whose family also asked that their last names not be used, said many students at his school had made the frightenin­g river crossing over the Rio Grande to join their parents in the United States. It is a bond among them that often goes unspoken. “I don’t really talk about it,” he said.

 ?? ILANA PANICH-LINSMAN — THE NEW YORK TIMES ?? Patricia and her son, José, 8, from Honduras, in their lawyer’s office in Bryan, Texas. José came to the United States as what the government calls an “unaccompan­ied minor.”
ILANA PANICH-LINSMAN — THE NEW YORK TIMES Patricia and her son, José, 8, from Honduras, in their lawyer’s office in Bryan, Texas. José came to the United States as what the government calls an “unaccompan­ied minor.”

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