Rodrigo’s Revelations In Detention
Growing up, Rodrigo’s* mother called him “chiclet,” like the Mexican chewing gum, because he stuck to his father and couldn’t be pulled away. Father-son bonds run deep in their family, and Rodrigo has his own “chiclet” now who begs to join him on every errand. His home looks like a child’s arts and crafts workshop. They’re inseparable—apart from the two years Rodrigo spent in immigration detention. There, he overcame great personal challenges and realized the value of health, family, and freedom when life seems cruel and unfair.
Rodrigo grew up in central Phoenix. His family lived in a poor neighborhood and Rodrigo was often bullied. It wasn’t until he became the biggest boy on the block that some kids who grew up to be neighborhood gang members left him alone. Rodrigo went on to play high school football and excelled as a defensive lineman. Standing 6’3”, 350 lbs., he would break through opposing teams’ offensive lines and disrupt their entire game plans.
During those years, Rodrigo set a school record for quarterback sacks, and college scouts from elite Division 1 football programs took notice. He practiced hard, believing he had potential to someday play in the NFL. Football inspired his focus and discipline like nothing ever had before.
However, after a coach visited his family to discuss a college scholarship for Rodrigo, his mother told him, “You’re not from here…You don’t have papers.”
Rodrigo had no idea he was undocumented. His parents had migrated with him from Mexico when he was three years old. His high school coach reached out to the college football programs to see if they could still offer scholarships to Rodrigo. The answer was no.
“That messed up a lot of my dreams,” Rodrigo says.
Shortly after his high school graduation, Rodrigo’s father died of cancer. This devastated him even more. “I was really close with my dad, so when he passed away, I just felt alone,” he says. Every time he left the house, he saw reminders of things they used to do together. The dual loss of his father and his football dreams led to a depression that lasted for years.
Rodrigo struggled to find steady employment because of his legal status. He got married and had a child, and in and out of temporary jobs, he served as their son’s primary caretaker while his wife worked. The family struggled to make ends meet, which also hurt Rodrigo’s self-esteem. Desperate to provide, he took work as a bouncer at a nightclub where drug use was pervasive. A friend there introduced him to painkillers. Rodrigo began self-medicating to cope with his loneliness, anxiety, and grief. He became addicted to pain medication. “It was a living hell,” he says. “I was at rock bottom. I wasn’t paying attention to my wife and son. I was just wondering what I was going to do to get money to get another fix.”
Rodrigo committed a crime—shoplifting with intentions to sell the merchandise—and was arrested and charged with a misdemeanor. He spent a night in jail and at court the next morning, a judge ordered him released on time served. However, as soon as police processed Rodrigo to leave, ICE agents approached him. At the exit to the building, he was handcuffed, shackled, and sent on a bus to Eloy Detention Center.
People held for nonviolent crimes and cited for offenses such as traffic violations are frequently placed in deportation proceedings. Rodrigo faced long-term detention and separation from his family, in addition to the threat of being removed from the United States to a country that he didn’t know.
He says he did a lot of soul searching. “You have nothing but time in there, so you reflect on everything; what you’ve done with your life; what you want to do with your life; the people you hurt, your family, your parents; the reason why you’re there. Sometimes, something harsh has to happen for you to understand everything you’ve done wrong.”
In detention, Rodrigo joined a Twelve Step recovery program. He confronted buried emotions from his past and enrolled in behavioral health classes on issues such as anger management and mindfulness. He wanted both to improve himself and to prove to the government that he was changing, so he could avoid being permanently separated from his family. And he did change.
During his time in the prison-like facility, Rodrigo also worked in the kitchen as a cook and washed and buffed floors earning mere pennies per hour, for up to $1.25 a day. He witnessed hostility and injustice from the guards towards immigrants who didn’t speak English, which disturbed him. He started spending time in the detention center library reading about the law and learning how the immigration system worked. With this research, he started helping others better understand their legal options.
One of Rodrigo’s friends almost signed a Voluntary Departure order, believing guards who said he had no chance of being released, until Rodrigo listened to his story and alerted him that he should be eligible for bond. “You have nothing to lose,” Rodrigo insisted. “Go to court and ask for it.” The man returned later with tears in his eyes. Rodrigo was right. He would soon reunify with his family in California. The friend offered to help Rodrigo if he ever needed money to cover fees for his own release.
Rodrigo’s case was unique. Having lived in the U.S. for decades, and with a wife and child who were American citizens, he was eligible to become a Legal Permanent Resident. However, the process would be very complicated now that he was detained and in deportation proceedings. A judge encouraged Rodrigo to contact the Florence Project, knowing he needed free legal assistance.
When Florence Project advocates Camilo Rodriguez, Maite Garcia and Anisa Villareal looked into Rodrigo’s family history, they found that his father’s brother had petitioned the government for legal status in the past. The application remained incomplete, so Florence Project advocates worked to help Rodrigo’s family finish the paperwork. There were expensive fines required. But if Rodrigo could cover them, he had a pathway to avoid deportation and to become a legal permanent resident through his family and his American citizen wife.
Meanwhile, the pandemic hit, and Rodrigo was among the many in ICE custody who fell ill with COVID-19. He nearly died while sick with fever, shivering in a cold hard bunk, struggling to breathe. There were days and weeks of 23-hour lockdowns. It was a nightmare, Rodrigo says, but he continued to work on himself, reading self-help books and filling out worksheets reflecting on his actions and emotions before the government separated him from his wife and son.
“Being in [detention] opened everything up. I realized what my life was like without my family. That’s when I broke down crying. That’s when I started joining the church groups. The Bible actually helped me a lot.”
With financial support from his friend who was released on bond, Rodrigo arranged to pay the fine for the residency application. A judge had expressed interest in granting Rodrigo’s freedom, but he needed to review the case once more. At that final hearing inside Eloy Detention Center, Rodrigo and his Florence Project advocates waited with bated breath as the judge considered whether to approve Rodrigo’s Adjustment of Status or deport him.
“When he took a few seconds to decide, it felt like forever,” Rodrigo says. “So many things were going through my head. Those three seconds to me seemed like an eternity. My heart was beating like in a cartoon, coming out of my chest.”
The judge granted his freedom. Rodrigo recalls the judge saying he would welcome him to the United States, but he’d already been here for his entire life. He encouraged him to become a citizen as soon as possible because this was his home. No one would blame Rodrigo if he were angry about being sent to immigration detention in the first place, and for such a long time. It lasted nearly two years due to a backlog in cases caused by a surge in enforcement, and due to court closures attributed to COVID-19. But Rodrigo seems at peace with his experience. After being dropped off by ICE agents at a bus station in downtown Phoenix, he walked home to enjoy being outside in his community.
“Those two years were the worst of my life,” Rodrigo says. “That’s two years of my son’s life that I didn’t get to stay with him. But if I would have never gone there, if I would’ve died out here, that’s the rest of my son’s life I would never see. So, I’d rather not be in my son’s life for those two years, knowing that I got out here and I’m good. Now I can spend the rest of my life with him growing up and doing a lot more. I came out being a better man.”
*Pseudonym used to protect privacy.