Deported for Crossing the Street

It was a hot night in Texas. Edwin and his cousin were on a misión to top off a hard day of work with some Mexican tacos. They parked on the opposite side of the highway from the taco stand and started to cross the street on foot. However, when they were halfway across, the “Do Not Walk” sign started to flash. They quickly ran across the highway, barely escaping being hit by an oncoming car. The two young men, both immigrants from small towns in Honduras, each breathed a sigh of relief.

But they weren´t as safe as they though. After walking just a few more feet down the road, Edwin and his cousin were stopped by a police officer. “You just crossed the road when the light was red,” he reprimanded them in Spanish, “Show me your papers!” Edwin quickly obliged, pulling out his wallet and handing it to the police officer. When the officer saw that he was Honduran, and didn´t carry a green card or some other form of authorization to be in the US, he angrily snapped at Edwin, “You don`t deserve to be in this country. You´re going to be deported!”


From there, the police officer took Edwin to the precinct office and threw him into a room “as cold as a freezer,” where Edwin sat and shivered for two days as his paperwork was processed until Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) came to pick him up and bring him to the detention facility. Edwin didn´t want to stay there any longer than necessary, so he opted to sign his own deportation. He was held there for two months before being sent back to Honduras. This type of police-ICE collaboration has become increasingly common in recent years, as programs such as 287(g) and Secure Communities are promoted by the US Department of Homeland Security. The minimal legal support that Edwin received on the status of his case is also surprisingly common. Even though later on an immigration official told Edwin he shouldn´t have been arrested for such a little transgression in the first place, it was too late to challenge his case because he had already signed his deportation.


At this point, Edwin has been back in Honduras for about 2 years. He´s tried to make the trip back to the US twice, but first was deported at the border and then he was robbed and almost kidnapped by gang members in Mexico. He hasn´t been able to find anything but day jobs in Honduras, and spends most of the day sitting around in the hammock at his mother-in-law´s house. He wonders how he will be able to make enough money to pay back his debts from his trips northward and also be able to cover food for the household, a home for his family, and the education of his two young songs. Edwin often thinks about emigrating again, despite the dangers for migrants in Mexico and the 10 year bar of entry he received from US immigration authorities last time he was deported.

Rocking slowly in the hammock, reflecting on his experiences in the US, Edwin suddenly gets pensive. “Sometimes,” he tells me, “I think it would have been better if I had just stayed in the middle of the street that day when I was crossing, and let one of those cars hit me. I would have probably ended up in some hospital, all beaten up and bruised, but I don´t think that policeman would have worried about me anymore. If I had just let myself get hit by that car, I would still be in the United States, doing something with my life.”