An immigrant child plays in a gymnasium as U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement hosts a media tour at the South Texas Family Residential Center on Aug. 23 in Dilley, Texas. Photo by Jabin Botsford/The Washington Post via Getty Images.

Since the COVID-19 pandemic began, more than 900 unaccompanied children have been deported abruptly, often without notification to families back home, The New York Times reports. 

For decades, children who arrive at the U.S. border alone have been placed in government shelters, where they are provided education and medical care until their release to a family member or other sponsor. But since the start of the pandemic, “that process appears to have been abruptly thrown out,” The Times reports. “Some young migrants have been deported within hours of setting foot on American soil. Others have been rousted from their beds in the middle of the night in U.S. government shelters.”

The Trump administration is justifying the deportations under a 1944 law that allows the president to block immigrants from the U.S. in order to prevent the threat of disease. Some children were flown back to their home countries in Central America, while others were sent to migrant encampments on the Mexican side of the border. In March and April alone, 915 unaccompanied youth were removed shortly after reaching the border, and 60 were deported from the interior of the U.S.

Meanwhile, the number of migrant children in U.S. custody has dropped to historically low numbers. About 1,450 migrant children were in custody as of May 15. In May 2019, by comparison, about 13,000 children were in custody. Fueling the drastic decline is the fact that fewer children are being referred to the Office of Refugee Resettlement, the federal agency that oversees the custody of migrant children. In April, 58 children were referred to the agency, ProPublica reports.

And the refugee agency is refusing to release many children from its custody. Last week, my colleague Aura Bogado published a story about the U.S. government’s refusal to release detained migrant children who have families willing to give them homes. Her story chronicles the case of a 17-year-old from Guatemala, who is being held at a shelter run by BCFS Health and Human Services in Fairfield, California.

The teen has a family in Minnesota that’s eager to sponsor him, but the refugee agency won’t consider the application. Now, the teen is suing to compel the government to acknowledge that application and consider him for release.


CONFIRMED COVID-19 CASES IN ICE DETENTION SURPASS 1,000

Two months ago, two people in U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention had tested positive for COVID-19. But as of Thursday, that number was 1,181, with at least two detainees dying from the virus. An additional 44 detention staff have also tested positive. In light of the rising numbers, several Democratic senators sent a letter to the Department of Homeland Security’s inspector general, urging a review of ICE’s COVID-19 policies.

“As the numbers of detainees and detention facility staff infected with COVID-19 continue to climb, we share the unease that public health experts have expressed about the spread of the coronavirus pandemic in congregate settings, like detention facilities,” they wrote.

Testing also has been limited, The Philadelphia Inquirer reports. Of those tested, about half were positive. “The fact that 50% of those tested (are) positive for COVID-19 demonstrates that the virus is rampant in ICE facilities, that testing is woefully underdone, that the facilities remain overcrowded with nonviolent, civil detainees,” Bridget Cambria, director of ALDEA – the People’s Justice Center, told The Inquirer.

Even before the outbreak hit ICE detention facilities, medical experts and others had been urgently warning ICE officials to release low-risk detainees, worried the detention conditions would easily spread the virus and lead to deaths, as I reported last month. One projection says that between 90 and 100% of all ICE detainees eventually will contract COVID-19.

This week, we launched a new weekly series in partnership with The Nib called In/Vulnerable. The series of illustrations “capture both the shared experience of the pandemic and the ways it has laid bare the stark disparities that shape our lives.” Illustrations are by cartoonist Thi Bui.

The first features Manuel Rodriguez Ruiz, an asylum seeker from Cuba who spoke to me last month while he was detained at the Pine Prairie ICE Processing Center in Louisiana. The drawings show Rodriguez in the pod he shared with a dozen other men and serving food to other detainees in the kitchen. 

Rodriguez told me how conditions inside had left him sleepless, staring up at the bunk bed mattress above him. “This isn’t about liberty anymore. This is about our health and our lives,” he told me. Rodriguez’s story was also featured on our Reveal episode “Detained and Exposed.” Earlier this month, he was released from Pine Prairie and is now living with his girlfriend.


NEWS BREAK: MEMORIES OF AN EXILED GENERATION

My grandmother turned 97 earlier this month. She’s among the thousands of Cubans who fled to the U.S. in the early 1960s as Fidel Castro’s communist regime gripped the island nation. Many have died, and those who remain are in their 80s and 90s. But their memories of that time, of leaving behind homes, careers and families, remain vivid. While I worked at the Tampa Bay Times, I wrote a profile of Isela Perez, a then-85-year-old in Tampa who fled Cuba with her family in 1965.

From the story:

Isela parks her Ford Focus in front of a two-bedroom home in West Tampa, the clubhouse of a group that calls itself Casa Cuba.

Outside, a banner across a barred window reads: "It is better to live in the exile dying every day than in the motherland licking the boots of the tyrant."

She opens the front door. "Buenos dias," she says to a small group of early arrivals.

This group used to have hundreds of members. Many of them have died, and the roughly 100 that remain cannot regularly attend meetings. One fell and was recovering at the hospital; others stopped driving and have no one to bring them.

They play dominoes together and attend funerals together and, on this morning, they pray, asking God to give them and others the strength to keep fighting for freedom in Cuba.

Isela, the club's vice secretary, jots details of their discussions in cursive.

Around them are books about Cuban history and mementos from the island, and a ceramic plate that reads:

Volveremos.

We will return.

Read the story here.


 

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