NEWS

After hard journey, Guatemalan child refugees here win asylum

Hannah Sparling
hsparling@enquirer.com
Modesta Escalante and her children, from left, Yury, 8, Yeser, 15, and Marialinda,12, walk through Sharon Woods. The three children have received their Social Security cards, opening the path to citizenship.

She was standing in the yard with chickens, tiny chickens, when a huge snake came and swallowed one whole.

Behold, Yury Escalante’s strongest memory of Guatemala. The now 8-year-old stretches her arms to match the length of the snake, grinning as she recounts what once was a terrifying tale.

This, before the rest.

Before Yury talks about her mother leaving for America when Yury was just 5. Before she talks about being hungry; about her teachers being drunk or asleep or both; about her uncle scolding her and hitting her brother.

“My uncle didn’t like me,” Yury says, her grin disappearing. But the frown is short-lived, because Yury, her brother and sister just got good news: They can stay in the U.S.

The Enquirer first told the Escalantes’ story in 2014, when Yury, Marialinda and Yeser were facing deportation for crossing the border in 2012 as unaccompanied minors. In July, though, the siblings were granted asylum after a hearing officer determined they have a “well-founded fear of persecution” in Guatemala.

The threshold for asylum is high, said Daniel Natalie, the Cleveland-based attorney who handled the case. But the Escalantes were fleeing severe abuse and are part of a protected social group in Guatemala, the indigenous Mams. Mams have a history of persecution, Natalie said, and in the Escalantes’ case, they lived in a neighborhood largely ignored by the government, so there was no hope for relief.

“It was a hard case,” Natalie said. “... I’m very, very happy that they are where they are, and I’m glad they’re part of our community.”

After one year, the children can apply for green cards, Natalie said, and after five, U.S. citizenship.

“I was so happy,” said Yeser, 15, Yury’s older brother. “Now I’m free. I’m not afraid anymore.”

‘Why did you leave us?’

Lindy Reynoso, 12, and her brother Yifry, 10, are photographed on their West Price Hill porch. Lindy and Yifry crossed the border in 2014, and their immigration cases were closed this year. Although they were not deported, they did not gain a path to residency or citizenship.

In a house on the West Side, Ever Reynoso proudly introduces two of his seven children, Lindy, 12, and Yifry, 10. Lindy and Yifry are the oldest of the bunch, but until recently, they were in Guatemala, separated from their parents.

They would talk on the phone, and Lindy and Yifry always had the same question: Why did you leave us?

Ever tried to explain poverty, about not wanting to leave but being unable to stay, but it wasn’t enough: Why did you go?

The Escalantes, the other Guatemalan family, have a resolution to their case – asylum and a shot at citizenship. But there are hundreds of others in Southwest Ohio, children like Lindy and Yifry, still waiting on a decision.

In fiscal year 2014, Ohio took in 635 unaccompanied minors, according to the U.S. Office of Refugee Resettlement. From October through May of this year, Hamilton County alone took in 110 unaccompanied minors, the most in the state. Franklin County, in the No. 2 slot, took in 65, data show.

Cincinnati is a city of immigrants, said Ted Bergh, Catholic Charities Southwest Ohio chief executive officer. Moms and dads are already here, and their children are coming to meet them.

“From our faith, we welcome the stranger,” Bergh said. “The immigrant family is seeking a way to survive and get out of poverty and be able to feed its children. Or, children are escaping violence. It’s a good thing that we’ve given them a safe place.”

Ever fled Guatemala because there was little food and less work. He fought it for years, he said, but with Lindy a toddler and Yifry in the womb, he knew if he wanted his family to survive, he had to come to America, find a job and send money back.

He crossed the border about a decade ago, he said. His wife, Margarita, came soon after, and in 2014, after Ever’s mother got sick and could no longer care for the children, Lindy and Yifry followed.

The Catholic Charities try to match children with legal counsel, as they did with the Escalantes and will now do with Lindy and Yifry. They get them to and from Cleveland and Chicago for court dates and get them enrolled in school. They try to offer counseling.

A Syracuse University study shows that of children with an attorney, about half, 47 percent, get a legal status to stay in the U.S. Of those without legal representation, nine out of 10 are ordered back to their home country.

‘That’s no way to run a railroad’

Lindy Reynoso, 12, and her brother Yifry, 10, center, are photographed with their parents, Ever Reynoso and Margarita Vasquez, and their siblings Mercy, 5, Carisma, 3, and Angel, 8. Lindy and Yifry, who crossed the border in April 2014, found out that their immigration cases were closed in the beginning of this year. They are in limbo. Although they were not deported, they did not gain a path to residency or citizenship.Their siblings, all of whom are younger and were born in the U.S., are U.S. citizens.

The Catholic Charities tally cases like this: They are working with about 120 undocumented children, offering food, clothing, transportation and support. Of those, 57 got referrals to attorneys. Fifty one have cases pending, and six had “favorable outcomes.”

Everything hinges on that word “favorable,” though, because to the charities, “favorable” means the child gets to stay – asylum, a green card, eventual citizenship. To others, such as Butler County Sheriff Richard K. Jones, “favorable” means deportation. The U.S. has enough trouble taking care of its own citizens, Jones has repeatedly said; why stretch support even further?

On Tuesday, Jones announced he assigned a detective to aggressively investigate employers who hire people living in the country illegally.

“I am just tired, frankly. This is not rocket science,” he said in a prepared statement. “I am going to continue to take a strong stance on this issue, someone eventually has to listen.”

Immigration law is just that: law, said Washington, D.C-based Center for Immigration Studies executive director Mark Krikorian. He wishes the rules were more stringent, but until Congress takes a tougher stance, the U.S. must at the very least enforce what it has.

Every illegal immigrant who crosses the border should be sent back, Krikorian said. If it’s a child whose parents are already in the U.S. illegally, they should be reunited and sent back together.

“When people sneak in, we just let them stay,” he said. “That’s no way to run a railroad.”

Cuán grande es Dios

Yury Escalante, 8, stops to check out the ducks during a family walk through Sharon Woods. The Escalantes like spending time together at nearby parks, especially since the children were not allowed to go outside when they were staying with an abusive uncle in Guatemala.

The Escalantes huddle on a couch in their West Chester Township apartment. Yeser, the oldest, helps occasionally with translation. Yury, the baby of the family, clings to her mother’s arm. In a whisper, so quiet it’s difficult to hear above the whirring air conditioner, Modesta Escalante tells her story.

In Spanish, she tells how her husband abandoned the family in 2012, leaving her to beg for money in Guatemala. The kids were hungry, she said, and she was desperate. Unemployed. Out of hope. So in August 2012, she left the children with her brother and sister-in-law and got on a bus for America.

Modesta Escalante recounts her children's treacherous journey to the United States and the abuse that they endured while they were separated from her in Guatemala.

Yeser, Marialinda and Yury tell stories of being abused and neglected after Modesta left. Their uncle was a drunk, they said, and he would scream at them, beat them and kick them out of the house. Their aunt would try to defend them, but that meant she got hit instead. So, guided by their 17-year-old cousin and a hired smuggler, they set out to find their mother in America.

In the desert, they were lost. Their guide was gone – scared off by their screams when he tried to molest their cousin. He dropped his phone when he ran, so the children picked it up and called their mother.

Modesta cries openly when she describes that phone call. She had been there, and she knew what it was like. She knew her children were freezing at night. She knew they were scared and alone. She was terrified for them.

But now, they are safe, she said. Cuán grande es Dios, she repeats over and over, smiling. How great is God.

Nada

Yeser and Marialinda are quiet, uneasy with their English, but Yury chatters freely, telling stories of life then versus now. She loves pizza and macaroni and cheese. She wants to be a math teacher when she grows up, and sometimes, she and her older cousin play pretend school.

Is there anything she misses about Guatemala?

Nada.

Yury was 6 when they left. She doesn’t remember everything, but she remembers running through the desert. She remembers snakes and cold, being lost, hungry and afraid.

“We were running because somebody was going to get us if we weren’t running,” she said. “My cousin said, ‘Run. Run.’”

But now, they run no more.

The children go to Lakota Local Schools, and they say they are happy. Yeser, like his sister, dreams of becoming a teacher. Marialinda wants to be a doctor or a nurse. Modesta cleans offices for a living, and she makes and sells tamales on the weekends. She brings in about $350 a week, she said, and it’s enough.

Modesta’s eyes brim with anguish when she talks about the past. She looks down. She cries. But then, she reaches into her purse and pulls out three Social Security cards, one for Yeser, one for Marialinda and one for Yury. Even when the lawyer told her they would come, Modesta didn’t believe it until she held them in her hands.

Before, she would wake up screaming. She would go to sleep and dream the children were with her only to wake up to the terror of being alone. Now, there is joy.

Aquí están, she said. They are here. Agradezco. I am grateful.