Alone and scared: An immigrant's struggle at Stewart Detention Center
Margarito Velázquez Galicia had called Phoenix, Arizona, home for 14 years when his life was turned upside down.
It began on a January night in 2018 as he pedaled home on his bicycle after a long shift as a chef at a restaurant two blocks from his home. It was after midnight when a siren cut through the silence and the lights of a police car illuminated the street.
As two officers approached him, Margarito stayed calm, certain they had made a mistake. Since coming to the United States from Mexico, he had only sought a safe and peaceful life in this country. The officers said they were giving him a ticket for not having a back light on his bicycle. Margarito shook his head in disbelief as they wrote the citation.
But that wasn’t all.
What happened next marked the beginning of an ordeal that would put Margarito behind bars at an immigrant detention center – essentially a prison – for six months and still threatens to permanently fracture Margarito’s family. His plight demonstrates the need for the SPLC’s Southeast Immigrant Freedom Initiative (SIFI), a project launched in 2017 to provide pro bono counsel to detained immigrants and protect their due process rights.
The officers demanded to see Margarito’s identification, which he had left at home. He offered to lead them to his home to prove it. Instead, they aggressively questioned him about his immigration status for 20 minutes. Margarito decided not to say anything further. He knew he had the right to remain silent.
After another 20 minutes, the officers, angry and frustrated that Margarito was exercising his right to remain silent, handcuffed him in the middle of the empty street. Their reason? They had to take him to the station “to make sure he was not a murderer or a criminal.”
Margarito was stunned.
“I’m nothing like that,” he told them. The only offenses on his record were a couple of unpaid traffic tickets.
Locked up 1,800 miles away
At the police station, he waited alone for 30 minutes until Immigration and Customs Enforcement officials arrived. They didn’t question him. They just handcuffed his wrists and shackled his feet.
He began to cry – fearful for himself and his family. Years earlier, Margarito had married Stacey, a U.S. citizen with whom he has two children – Sophia, now 6, and Gabriel, 4. The couple had separated, but they still lived nearby in California. Now, Margarito didn’t know when he would see them again.
He was taken to Florence, Arizona, where he waited four days in the Florence Correctional Center. From there, he was transported almost 1,800 miles to the Stewart Detention Center in Lumpkin, Georgia.
Margarito had no idea how long he would be at Stewart. The days were a blur, and little about his case was made known to him. He missed his family.
Despite immigration violations being civil in nature, Margarito was treated as if he were a prisoner. Immigration prison officials would warn him and the other detainees that if they wanted to avoid solitary confinement, they had to work in the kitchen or laundry room. The work provided CoreCivic, the private, for-profit company running the immigration prison, with labor that could help boost its profits. Margarito felt alone and abused.
As the weeks passed, he endured sleepless nights. The beds at Stewart were uncomfortable, and the detention center was crowded and loud. Some of the detainees cried during the night, keeping Margarito awake. Other times, he was the one crying.
Margarito spiraled into worse despair after a detainee committed suicide – a shock he wrestled with for months.
Going home
It was during Margarito’s detention that he encountered the Southeast Immigrant Freedom Initiative. Matt Boles, a SIFI attorney, and his colleagues took on Margarito’s case and won his release.
It wasn’t easy, however.
The judge denied his motion for bond – twice. After a third hearing, he was finally released on bond on Aug. 31 – 185 days after he was stopped on his bike.
I’m going home, he thought as tears of joy streamed down his face.
Despite spending half a year at an immigration prison, Margarito is lucky. Unlike far too many detained immigrants, he had counsel, which, according to research, meant he was seven times more likely to win his release on bond, and 10-and-a-half times more likely to succeed in his case.
The reason many detained immigrants don’t have an attorney is because their right to counsel is not the same as a person charged with or convicted of crimes. Detained and nondetained immigrants facing immigration court are not guaranteed an attorney at government expense. They are facing charges that are civil in nature, which means they are allowed an attorney – but at their own expense.
“We are thrilled that Margarito is now with this wife and their two young children,” Boles, the SIFI attorney, said. “He was detained at Stewart Detention Center for too long, and he finally was able to walk out of Stewart with his freedom after months of being detained for allegedly riding a bicycle without a back light. No one deserves to be in detention for such a minimal infraction.”
An uncertain future
Margarito may no longer be locked away in an immigration prison, but his troubles aren’t over. He is awaiting a hearing that will determine if he has to return to Mexico. He doesn’t know what his life would be like in Mexico, not after all these years. For Margarito, Mexico is not home. Home is the United States. Home is where he can be with his family – where he can play with his children, help them with their homework and cook for them.
The trauma of his detention also lingers. Shortly after his release, he would wake up in the night, not knowing where he was at. His mind replayed the suicide of his friend at Stewart, a memory that wouldn’t go away.
Margarito, however, is doing his best to build a life in Blythe, California, the town of 20,000 people where his wife and children live. He’s grateful to be able to do the little things for his family, such as dropping off his kids at school. He hopes to find a job, but knows it may be difficult in a town the size of Blythe.
If he’s allowed to stay in the United States, Margarito has big plans. He wants to become a U.S. citizen, buy a house and resume his work as a chef preparing hamburgers, baked salmon and fresh, green salads for happy customers.
“Ultimately, we hope that Margarito is able to obtain a green card, so that he can permanently reside in U.S. with his wife and two children,” Boles said. “We’ll have to see how that plays out, but we’re hopeful.”
Despite a future that’s still uncertain, Margarito – at least for now – feels free.
