Uriel J. García, The Texas Tribune

'A lot of fear going on': Texas immigrant community on edge during Trump’s first weeks

EL PASO — On a recent windy, cold afternoon in this border city, dozens of people gathered at a park for an immigrant rights demonstration to denounce the Trump administration’s immigration policies. Some held signs reading: “Immigrants Make America Great.”

Alan, a local police officer, and his wife came and held a Mexican flag. He said he joined the demonstration because he worries about his father, an undocumented immigrant who works at a farm in southern New Mexico.

Alan said he voted for Donald Trump because of worries about the economy and because he believes Trump is pro-police and would combat the public’s negative perception of law enforcement. He said he believed Trump’s promises to make everyday items affordable for middle-class families.

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But after two weeks of Trump in the White House, Alan — who declined to give his last name because he fears retaliation against his father — said he now regrets his vote. Partly because he was angered when Trump granted clemency to people involved in the Jan. 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol.

And, he added, “I just don’t agree with how he’s going about the mass deportations.”

In his first week in office, Trump issued nearly a dozen executive orders, many of them targeting the estimated 11 million undocumented immigrants in the U.S. The Trump administration gave federal officers a national quota to arrest at least 1,200 undocumented immigrants every day — double the highest daily average in the past 10 years.

The sudden appearance of immigration officers combing the streets of Texas cities, which set off a flurry of social media posts as people documented their presence, has put undocumented Texans, educators, religious leaders, and business owners, among others, on edge, bracing themselves for the worst.

"There’s definitely a lot of fear going on," said Ramiro Luna of Somos Tejas, a Dallas-based nonprofit focused on Latino civic engagement. "Our community feels threatened, and while we’re doing our best to provide information and peace of mind, it’s incredibly difficult. People are afraid to come to any gathering — even to get basic necessities.”

Undocumented and legal immigrants alike describe feeling anxious, angry, hopeless. Some say they’re changing their daily routines to reduce their chances of being swept up by immigration agents on the prowl.

Some classrooms once filled with the chatter of students now sit eerily quiet. Many undocumented parents, terrified of immigration raids, are keeping their children home. Some families, afraid of even the shortest drive, consolidate trips. Stepping outside feels risky.

Undocumented immigrants who have crossed the border without permission can be prosecuted for illegal entry, which is a misdemeanor. Immigrants who entered the U.S. legally but overstayed their visa have violated administrative immigration rules, which is not considered a crime. Federal courts have also ruled that living in the U.S. without legal status is not a crime.

Still, White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt said the U.S. government now considers undocumented immigrants criminals — whether or not they have been convicted of a crime.

"I know the last administration didn't see it that way, so it's a big culture shift in our nation to view someone who breaks our immigration laws as a criminal, but that's exactly what they are,” she said.

Caitlin Patler, a public policy associate professor at the University of California, Berkeley, said Trump and other Republican leaders dehumanized immigrants during last year’s election cycle and constantly linked them to crime.

“Immigrants were scapegoated throughout the entire presidential campaign,” she said. “They're convinced they are part of the crime problem, even though all evidence points to the contrary.”

Deported in the Rio Grande Valley

Geovanna Galvan is reeling from what she said is the unfair deportation of her father — who was recently cited for impeding traffic by a police officer from Primera, a small town in Cameron County.

On Wednesday, Jaime Galvan Sanchez, 47, was driving a tractor on a road near the farm where he’s worked for more than 10 years when a police officer stopped him. Less than 24 hours later, he was deported to Mexico, Galvan said.

Galvan, 29, said the police officer asked her father if he had any proof of legal residence. When he said he didn't, the officer called federal immigration authorities.

Galvan Sanchez was able to call his daughter to tell her he was being detained by U.S. Border Patrol. She tracked his cellphone to a Border Patrol station in Harlingen and drove there with documents — utility bills, tax documents and property records — to prove he had lived in the U.S. for more than two decades, but she said officers didn’t allow her to see her father.

She was told her father would be allowed to call her, but she didn't hear from him until the next morning when he called from Reynosa, a Mexican border city across the Rio Grande from McAllen.

"They just treated him as if he was nothing," Galvan said.

She said immigration authorities deported him based on a misdemeanor theft conviction from 1991. But she is adamant that he couldn't have committed the crime because he would've been 14 at the time and he arrived in the U.S. from Mexico in his 20s.

"My dad is not that person," she said.

Her biggest worry is her 10-year-old brother, who suffers from epilepsy and hyperinsulinemia –– an excess of insulin in the blood –– and depends on their dad’s income to afford his medication.

"It's not fair they're separating families, especially when you have children or kids that need their parents,” she said. “My little brother needs my dad."

Both her father and mother are undocumented but prior to this week, she had never been worried that her family would be vulnerable to deportation because she believed authorities would only target people with criminal records.

"Now my little brother doesn't want to go to school because he thinks that when he comes home, my mom is not going to be there," she said.

Primera officials did not respond to the Tribune’s request for comment but issued a statement on Facebook stating that its police officers do not participate in deportation efforts.

On Friday, immigration authorities allowed Galvan Sanchez to re-enter the U.S. with an ankle monitor and a notice to appear before a judge in March, according to his attorney, Jaime Diez.

Anxiety in schools

The anxiety reaches deep into schools. Many parents have reached out to ImmSchools, a nonprofit organization that supports educators and immigrant students, for guidance, unsure how to comfort students or reassure parents that school is still safe.

Teachers, too, are struggling. At a recent virtual Know Your Rights session by the nonprofit about 150 parents and educators shared stories of how fear has upended their daily routines — students breaking down in tears, fearful that their parents will be deported while they sit in class.

The Trump administration also has said that immigration agents are allowed to enter public schools, health care facilities and places of worship to arrest undocumented immigrants. Previous administrations had prevented agents from entering those sites.

"A family mentioned that they are eight minutes away from school, but even those eight minutes from and to [school] felt like too much,” said Lorena Tule-Romain, co-founder of ImmSchools. “They were asking if there are online schools or can schools provide virtual zoom classes instead.”

For students, the emotional toll is immediate. Teachers have told the organization that some children are withdrawn, others refuse to participate in class and many are visibly anxious.

"How they show up in the classroom, their mental health, their confidence — it’s all affected by their immigration status," Tule-Romain said.

Brenda Gonzalez, the organization's Texas-based associate director, said teachers are reporting low attendance in classes. She said absences put students at risk of falling behind or even being held back because students have to complete a certain number of hours to be promoted to the next grade level.

Legal advice for immigrants

Dallas-based immigration attorney Daniel Stewart said permanent residents are rushing to apply for citizenship, while immigrants who have been given Temporary Protected Status, especially Venezuelans, are desperate for more permanent protections, fearing the next policy change could strip them of their legal status.

Temporary Protected Status is a program Congress created in 1990 that allows immigrants from countries struck by natural disasters or deemed too dangerous by the government to live and work in the U.S.

“There’s a lot of trepidation," Stewart said. “People are worried about what will happen to their pending cases and whether they’ll still be protected under new policies."

Stewart notes that Trump’s more aggressive executive orders and rhetoric are fueling uncertainty. For undocumented immigrants, he stresses the importance of staying out of legal trouble because even minor offenses could lead to detention and deportation.

“Unfortunately, many undocumented individuals have no path to protection. It’s tough," he said. "My advice is obey the law, stay informed, and seek legal counsel when needed."

Mexican government offers app for emergencies

At the Mexican Consulate in Dallas, the phone keeps ringing — worried voices asking urgent questions: What should I do if immigration officers stop me? Who do I call if I’m detained? Is it safe to go to work?

In response, the consulate has ramped up its efforts to support Mexican nationals living in the U.S., expanding legal services and launching new tools to ensure immigrants have access to help when they need it most.

Consul General Francisco de la Torre says he is trying to reassure the community that they are not alone.

“We stand with you, especially during these dark, challenging times,” he said.

One of the Mexican government’s efforts to help its citizens in the U.S. is the ConsulApp Contigo, a mobile application available on Android and iOS that lets users store family contact information, and if they are detained, a single press of a button alerts their relatives and the nearest Mexican consulate.

"It’s not a panic button,” de la Torre said, “but it ensures that your loved ones and the Mexican government know something is happening.”

The consulate has a network of more than 300 law firms across the U.S. to provide legal assistance, particularly in immigration, criminal, and family law cases. In Dallas-Fort Worth alone, hundreds of lawyers are available to offer guidance — no appointment necessary.

As fear spreads, so does misinformation, especially on social media, said de la Torre. Rumors of massive workplace raids have fueled panic, with some immigrants afraid to leave their homes.

De la Torre urges the community to rely on verified sources for information. He said they maintain regular communications with the local Immigration and Customs Enforcement field office, which sits just across the freeway from the consulate.

“Our role is not to cut off dialogue — it’s to improve it,” he said. “Clear communication allows us to better protect the human rights of our community.”

The consulate provides a 24-hour emergency services for cases involving detention, deportation, repatriation, and rights violations. Mexican citizens in Texas can call 520-623-7874 for immediate assistance.

Texas National Guard is shooting pepper balls to deter migrants at the border

CIUDAD JUÁREZ — National Guard members on the Texas-Mexico border have added pepper ball guns to their arsenal, firing at migrants who are gathering on the U.S. side of the Rio Grande or trying to break through the tangle of concertina wire strung along the border. Migrants interviewed in Mexico say they’ve been shot by the rounds, which leave welts and bruises. It’s the latest escalation by Texas at the southern border through Gov. Greg Abbott’s multibillion-dollar initiative, Operation Lone Star.

The state has deployed thousands of National Guard members to patrol the border since the initiative began in March 2021. The pepper ball launchers, which shoot munitions containing a chemical that causes irritation to the eyes, nose and throat, are a new addition

The weapons resemble paintball guns. They’re powered by a carbon dioxide cartridge and can hold about 180 rounds, according to a video recently posted on the official Operation Lone Star YouTube page and later shared by the governor’s office. The goal is to get all National Guard members certified in using the weapon.

"We've had some instances where we have caught migrants or members of the cartel cutting the c-wire and trying to send people through," Spc. Aiden Hogan says in the video, referring to the concertina wire the state has deployed along parts of the border. He doesn’t say how they identify the targets as members of cartels. "We've been able to send them back with deploying the pepper ball launcher."

The Texas National Guard is using pepper balls at the border in El Paso to deter migrants from trying to cross the border and request asylum.

Having trouble viewing? Watch this video on texastribune.org.

The balls are to be shot in the general direction of migrants, not directly at them, to break up groups and deter them, according to the video. But migrants interviewed by The Texas Tribune said some people have been hit. And people who help migrants at the border say they are worried about the continued escalation of tactics by state forces.

On an early weekday morning in May, a few hundred migrants said they were sleeping on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande when National Guard soldiers on the American side fired pepper balls.

The migrants, some of whom had been camping for several days waiting to cross through concertina wire, said they fled from the riverbank, attempting not to breathe in the irritant.

A migrant woman, who declined to be identified out of fear that soldiers would retaliate against her, shared a video of the aftermath that showed her coughing while her daughter held onto her, while a boy standing nearby has red streaks on his face. The woman said one of the projectiles hit her daughter in the head.

“Look how they left the boy, with tears,” a man is heard saying. “Look how they left the little girl too, they also got her mom.”

Nicolas Gonzalez, a 46-year-old Colombian migrant in the group, pointed to small bruises near his elbow and hand, which he said were caused by the pepper balls.

“They have no respect for us, they don’t care that there’s pregnant women or children here” he said. “They treat us worse than animals, like they are hunting us down.”

Gil Kerlikowske, former commissioner of U.S. Customs and Border Protection who oversaw the implementation of the same technology at the agency amid scrutiny over agents’ use of force, said the pepper balls can do serious damage to people.

In one high-profile incident, a young woman in Boston died when she was shot in the eye with a pepper ball by police trying to control a crowd gathered around Fenway Park to celebrate a Red Sox playoff victory.

“They’re not really non-lethal,” Kerlikowske said. “No one should just write this off as well, you know, an irritant. They can be very dangerous.”

Using the pepper ball launchers requires a lot of training and an understanding of the dangers the weapon can pose, Kerlikowske said.

Kerlikowske, who has also led police departments in Seattle, Buffalo and Florida, said police officers are “not going to use tear gas without having emergency medical personnel standing by available to help someone” if they are injured.

Asked for comment for this story, a spokesperson for Abbott defended the border mission without directly addressing the use of pepper balls.

Migrants wait to cross concertina wire guarded by Texas National Guard soldiers along the U.S.-Mexico border in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico on May 27, 2024. Some experts are concerned that the National Guard is preventing people from legally seeking asylum. Credit: Paul Ratje for the Texas Tribune

“Texas is utilizing every tool and strategy to respond to this ongoing border crisis, as President Biden's reckless open border policies invite record high levels of illegal immigrants, criminals, and deadly drugs like fentanyl into our country,” said Andrew Mahaleris, the spokesperson.

Last week, Major General Thomas M. Suelzer, leader of the Guard, told a Texas Senate committee that soldiers are trained to “hit an inanimate object” so the pepper ball ruptures.

“We specifically train them: Do not shoot directly at an individual because if hit in the wrong place, it can cause serious bodily injury,” Suelzer testified.

The addition of the launchers comes as troops have experienced an increase in aggression from migrants, Suelzer said, including a soldier who was recently bitten and another who was elbowed repeatedly.

National Guard soldiers can use force to defend themselves or others, Suelzer told lawmakers. As a situation unfolds, troops are trained to first announce themselves or clearly show there is an authority present. Following that, they are to try persuading someone with words — “saying, please stop,” Suelzer said. If the situation escalates, force enters the equation, he said.

“It is primarily used to stop a breaching of the barrier so there’s already been an illegal crossing, people are now crawling through the concertina wire field and we are saying go back and they are not doing it,” Suelzer said. “Now there’s non-compliance.”

But among advocates and people who work with migrants along the border, the use of force is alarming.

Alan Lizarraga of the Border Network for Human Rights, an El Paso-based immigrant rights group, said that Abbott’s Operation Lone Star is “putting families at risk.”

“We’ve been really concerned with how this is escalating and how this is playing out on the ground,” he said.

Brian Elmore is an emergency medicine doctor in El Paso who helps coordinate medical help for migrants. In recent weeks, he said he’s treated migrants with injuries — bruises, fractures, muscle strains — that migrants said were caused by Texas National Guard members and in some instances Mexican authorities.

Elmore said he had not witnessed Guard members shooting at migrants or pushing them into the dry riverbank, as migrants have claimed over the last two months, but that the injuries he’s helped treat were consistent with those that would be caused by such use of force.

“I’ve never seen so much desperation in my life,” he said.

Dr. Brian Elmore of Clinica Hope, which gives medical care, food and water to migrants who are waiting to cross the border along the U.S.-Mexico border, speaks to migrants requesting medical attention in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico on June 1, 2024. Elmore is an emergency medical physician at University Medical Center Hospital in El Paso and said he often sees migrants who have been injured on the border. Credit: Paul Ratje for The Texas Tribune

Adam Isacson, a regional security expert at the Washington Office on Latin America, said he is concerned the National Guard is keeping out people who are seeking safety and violating the due process for asylum seekers. Under federal law, anyone who entered the country — even those who crossed the border illegally — have a right to request asylum.

“Turning away someone who is asking for refuge is called refoulment and international law regards it to be a serious human rights violation,” he said.

The new strategy is being implemented amid tensions between Texas and the federal government as Texas state troopers and National Guard have flooded areas of the border under Operation Lone Star, launched in March 2021. A new law that would let Texas police arrest people suspected of having entered the country illegally, historically the jurisdiction of federal authorities, remains tied up in courts after the Department of Justice sued Texas to stop it from going into effect.

The Justice Department also sued Texas last year over the implementation of a floating barrier on the Rio Grande near Eagle Pass.

Rodolfo Rubio Salas, an immigration professor at El Colegio de Chihuahua in Ciudad Juárez, said the Mexican government needs to investigate the Texas National Guard’s tactics. He added that Mexican journalists and advocacy groups have reported cases of migrants being injured but the Mexican government hasn’t done anything about it.

“I find the tactics used by the Texas National Guard reprehensible,” he said. “I believe that the main focus should be on reporting and raising our voice diplomatically about abuses of power, improper use of force, and violation of the rights of migrants.”

Eduardo Rojas, coordinator de Litigio Estratégico de Fundación para la Justicia, a human rights advocacy group in Mexico City, said Mexico’s government needs to step up and protect migrants from any force the Texas National Guard is using to deter migrants — especially If the projectiles fired by soldiers are crossing the border.

“If the [pepper ball] bullets cross into Mexican territory, it can be considered a violation of Mexico's national sovereignty,” he said.

After a Guard member shot and wounded a man who was exercising across the border last year, Mexican authorities said they contacted senior officials from the Texas Department of Public Safety and the Texas Rangers to condemn the Guard member’s action.

That shooting followed another of a migrant last year, on the Texas side near McAllen, the first reported shooting by a Guard member posted at the border through Operation Lone Star. The migrant was shot in the shoulder and taken to a hospital for evaluation and treatment.

This story is part of an ongoing collaboration with FRONTLINE (PBS). It is supported through FRONTLINE’s Local Journalism Initiative, which is funded by the John S. and James L. Knight Foundation.

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A Houston woman applied for a green card. She was banned from the U.S. for a decade.

This article originally appeared in The Texas Tribune. The Texas Tribune is a member-supported, nonpartisan newsroom informing and engaging Texans on state politics and policy.

TAMAULIPAS, Mexico — Claudia González was living a quiet, comfortable life in Houston with her husband and their son. She worked as a data entry clerk at an elementary school and went to church every Sunday with her son.

But something always nagged at her — her immigration status.

After crossing the border illegally as a teenager to rejoin her mother, she had lived undocumented in the U.S. for 15 years until she applied for a work permit through an Obama-era program known as Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals in 2018. Even though the program gives recipients temporary protection from deportation, it is not a permanent solution for immigrants who want to live in the U.S. long term.

Because her husband is a U.S. citizen — citizens can sponsor a spouse for a green card — she hired an immigration attorney and paid about $6,000 in fees to apply for permanent legal residency in 2018. For González, it meant freedom from her greatest fear, being deported and separated from her family. And it meant “being legal in a country I call home,” González said.

In June, she traveled from Houston to Ciudad Juárez, where an American consulate officer interviewed her — she had to do this in Mexico because she didn’t have a legal entry into the U.S. But in August, five years after initially applying for her green card, she was hit with a 10-year ban from reentering the U.S.

“It was really hard to receive that message; I was heartbroken,” she said. “I thought about my son. He just started high school, so my thought was that he’ll be 24 by the time I can return and he probably already will have graduated college.”

González, 36, returned to the village where she grew up to live with her mother, Guadalupe González, 50 miles from the Texas border and near the Gulf of Mexico.

Like many undocumented people trying to legalize their immigration status — an estimated 11 million people live in the U.S. without legal status — González had to navigate a bureaucratic and expensive immigration system.

In her mind, it was a chance to correct the mistakes of the past, when her mother asked her to get in a car with strangers who drove her across the Rio Grande and helped her talk her way past U.S. immigration agents. She was 15 at the time.

But the current system can be fickle and unforgiving even for those who want to do it the right way. And unlike the criminal justice system, there is no way to appeal the 10-year ban, and immigration officials don’t have to provide the evidence they have to support their decision.

“It’s not fair and it’s not logical. it's not something that anyone should go through if they want to get legal status in the U.S.,” said Naimeh Salem, an immigration attorney in Houston who recently took González’s case. “If they have never committed a crime in the U.S., they pay their taxes, they're good citizens. Why can’t we make it possible for them to become permanent residents?”

Guadalupe González, her 66-year-old mother, said it weighs on her now, the situation she put her daughter in. She said she did it because she hoped her daughter would get a better education and have a chance at a more successful life in the U.S.

“I try to tell her positive things, and that everything has a solution, even though I too feel bad,” Guadalupe González said. “I try not to show the same emotions as her, because then we both end up crying.”

In January, Guadalupe González requested U.S. asylum after suspected drug cartel members began breaking into people’s homes; four years earlier her oldest son was kidnapped from the ranch where he worked by men the family believes were cartel members, in front of his wife and children. He hasn’t been heard from since.

Guadalupe González was allowed into the U.S. while her asylum case is pending and she moved to Bay City, 80 miles southwest of Houston.

Back in Houston, 15-year-old Gerardo Garza, Jr. is about to complete his freshman year of high school. He was born in Houston and he said he wonders why the immigration system has separated him from his mother. And if he’ll one day get to live with her again in Texas.

“I was just having a hard time accepting that she’s not with me,” he said. “I was in my head like: ‘Why? Why is the government like this? Why can’t it be simpler than it is now?’

Top: Claudia González left her 15-year-old son with his father in Houston while she lives in Mexico and tries to find a legal way to return to her family. Bottom left: González plays lotería with family after church in Tamaulipas. Bottom right: Bottle caps on lotería cards.

In October, Salem filed a request for humanitarian parole, which would allow Claudia González to reenter the U.S. and resubmit her green card application. The request remains pending with the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services.

Salem said there were better options for González, who as a DACA recipient could have applied for permission to travel to Mexico, then legally reenter the U.S. That would have allowed her to stay in the U.S. as she applied for her green card without having to go to Juárez.

González said she didn’t take that route because her previous lawyer advised against it. She said she trusted him. But now she regrets not pushing for that option.

“I feel so ignorant now. I should have done more research,” González said.

Now, three generations of the González family are separated as Claudia tries to find a way to reunite with her son in Houston and her mother awaits a decision on her asylum petition.

Life in Tamaulipas

For the past nine months, Claudia González has lived in a remote village where she grew up before leaving for Texas. She lives with her godmother, whose house is next door to her mother’s house.

It’s secluded, surrounded by undeveloped land, some farms and a few ranches — including the one where her missing brother worked. There is a convenience store, a taco restaurant and an evangelical church within a few minutes’ walk of the house. There’s a nearby school and a small plaza that stays mostly empty unless there’s a major celebration.

There's' very little work; many locals depend on money sent home by relatives working on the other side of the border.

The area is also a hot spot for drug cartel activity. Neighbors and González said at night, unmarked vehicles patrol the area — they suspect cartel members keeping an eye out for rival cartel members. It’s common to hear gunfire in the middle of the night, González said.

For a few months, starting in December, she worked at a local stationery store, but quit after receiving a phone call from a man who González said was threatening to shut down the store if it didn’t pay certain “fees.”

“That scared me and gave me a panic attack,” González said.

Claudia González visits a store near her home in Tamaulipas, roughly 50 miles south of the Texas-Mexico border.

Claudia González visits a store near her home in Tamaulipas, roughly 50 miles south of the Texas-Mexico border. Credit: Verónica Gabriela Cárdenas for The Texas Tribune

Claudia González visits with her neighbors in her Tamaulipas village. Her older brother was kidnapped from a nearby ranch in 2020 and is presumed dead. González and her neighbors say it’s common to hear gunfire at night. Credit: Verónica Gabriela Cárdenas for The Texas Tribune

Before being forced to move to Mexico, she had some money saved. She recently filed her U.S. taxes and received a refund. Once that money dries up, she doesn’t know what she will do, she said.

She spends most of her time researching ways to return legally. She’s contacted the office of a member of Congress in Houston asking for help. She also goes to church and plays lotería, a board game similar to bingo, with an aunt who lives in the same village.

On a Sunday afternoon in September, González wore a green dress and carried a Bible with a black leather cover as she walked the dirt road to the local evangelical church.

The pastor, Estela Prieto Covarrubias, 71, invited congregants to the podium to share a Bible verse or sing. González went to the front to read from Psalm 139. She told the congregation – about 40 people — that the verse helped her fight through her depression, especially after she was hit with the decade-long ban from the U.S.

“Sometimes I feel like I lost a lot of things,” she said through tears. “I lost my job, I am far from my son, but God is the one who has sustained me by his grace and with his mercy."

The congregation applauded. Some shouted: Amen!

Covarrubias said she was impressed by González’s perseverance.

“I believe her testimony is impactful. She doesn’t look devastated,” Covarrubias said after her sermon. “Instead, you see her with an infectious smile, because she has faith in God who is going to open the door for her and put the right people in place to be able to fix her situation and return home with her son.”

Crossing the border

In 1998, Guadalupe González, then a single mom after separating from her ex-husband, who she said was physically abusive, got a tourist visa and began crossing the border to work in McAllen. She would leave Claudia with her sister and her brother-in-law, who had two children of their own. Her ex-husband took Claudia’s older sister and brother to Dallas.

On the weekends Guadalupe González would return to the village to visit Claudia, then relatives would drop her at the border on Sunday afternoons so she could return to work in Texas.

“I needed to pay for [Claudia’s] education and to feed her, that’s why I left,” she said.

When work slowed in McAllen, she said she headed north to Bay City and picked cotton for a few weeks before moving to Houston, where she worked at different restaurants before she started to clean houses in 1999. She would work two months at a time, then return to Mexico for a week at a time.

But the trips were tiring and time-consuming. So in 2003, she sent for Claudia. Her two older children, then 20 and 23 years old, had returned to Mexico and decided to stay.

An aunt dropped off Claudia González at the Texas-Mexico border where a coyote — a human smuggler — put her in a vehicle with a couple who drove her across the border. González said she remembers being in the car with the couple and two other children. She didn’t speak to the U.S. agent at the bridge and doesn’t remember what the adults told the agent about her, but she remembers the agent waving them through.

Guadalupe González, who remarried in 2005, said she didn’t know at the time how that car trip would affect her daughter’s future. She just wanted to be with Claudia in the U.S. and give her a shot at a good education.

“I thought as long as she didn’t cross the desert or get detained, everything would be fine,” she said.

Pastor Estela Prieto Covarrubias leads the worship at her church in Tamaulipas on Sept. 17, 2023. Credit: Verónica Gabriela Cárdenas for The Texas Tribune

Claudia González sings at the church.

Claudia González sings at the church. Credit: Verónica Gabriela Cárdenas for The Texas Tribune

Building a life in Houston

At Ross Sterling High School in 2005, Claudia González met the boy she would marry. They sat at the same table in the cafeteria with mutual friends. She remembers him “acting like a clown to make me laugh.”

They began to date. Then she started attending an evangelical church with his family, she said. At first, it was just to spend more time with him, but eventually, she became a born-again Christian, leaving behind the Catholic traditions she grew up with.

When she was 17, Claudia González moved in with her boyfriend’s family. Her stepfather was physically and emotionally abusive toward her mother and she wanted to leave that environment, she said. She dropped out of high school, but earned her general educational development degree.

In 2009, the couple had a son, Gerardo Garza. Jr.

Meanwhile, Guadalupe González had separated from her second husband, and in 2011 she returned to Tamaulipas to take care of her father, who was battling pancreatic cancer. Her visa had expired, and there was no guarantee that U.S. officials would renew it, so she went back knowing she would likely not be able to return to Houston.

She took care of her father for 11 months before he died.

“I’m happy I was able to take care of him in his last days,” she said.

Interview in Ciudad Juárez

Claudia González stayed in Houston and built a life. She and her partner got married in 2013. She successfully applied for DACA in 2018, which allowed her to work legally in the U.S.

DACA also allowed her to get a Social Security number, pay taxes and get a Texas driver’s license.

She delivered food for DoorDash. She worked as a cashier at a Subway. Then she found a job she loved at an elementary school, as a data entry clerk. Her coworkers and the teachers soon came to depend on her to act as an interpreter for the Spanish-speaking parents of some of the students.

“I always wanted to make a difference and help people that don't speak English,” she said. “My English is not perfect, you know, but I always tried to help them.”

Every Sunday morning, González and her son would go to church, then head to Olive Garden and share a plate of chicken fettuccine alfredo before ending the afternoon shopping for clothes at Goodwill.

“Those were our mommy-son dates,” she said.

Top: Claudia González speaks with church members after Sunday service. Bottom left: González and her mother, Guadalupe González, prepare breakfast at their home. Bottom right: González holds her chick, Mushito.

She was able to renew her work permit four times, paying $495 in fees each time. But she knew that if she wanted to be secure, she needed a green card. Her husband, who was born in Mexico and became a naturalized citizen, sponsored her.

She began the application process in 2019.

Back in Mexico, tragedy struck in April 2020. Claudia’s older brother, José Fabian, was kidnapped by suspected drug cartel members from the ranch where he lived with his wife and two children. He is presumed dead, but Guadalupe González clings to the hope that he is still alive. The family said they don’t know why he was targeted, but the rumor around town is that he was friends with someone who was involved with the local drug cartel.

“Sometimes I tell my daughter that she at least has a chance to see her son,” Guadalupe González said. “But what about mine? I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.”

After her brother disappeared, Claudia González wanted to return to Mexico to stay with her mother for a while. She asked her lawyer to apply for what’s known as advance parole, which would have allowed her to leave the U.S. temporarily and return legally as a DACA recipient. Her lawyer told her it was too risky, she said, so she dropped the idea.

As the COVID-19 pandemic struck, her application seemed to be stalled in the immigration system bureaucracy. Finally last year, she received an appointment with an American consulate official in Ciudad Juárez.

Her lawyer at the time assured her everything would be fine and advised her to answer the questions honestly, without elaborating too much, she said.

In June, she traveled to Juárez with her son and met her mother and older sister there. They lived in a hotel for two weeks while she did two interviews with the same officer.

She told the officer how she entered the U.S. — by crossing an international bridge with a couple. She said the officer insisted on knowing who brought her into the country and how. González said she didn’t know the people who drove her across the bridge or what documents they presented on her behalf.

After the interviews were done she went to her mother’s home in Tamaulipas to wait for the decision.

On Aug. 28, 2023, González received an email from the U.S. State Department.

She said her heart dropped and tears started to roll down her cheeks when she read it: She was denied a visa and banned from entering the U.S. for a decade because she had lived in the U.S. for more than a year without legal status. They also accused her of lying to the consulate officer and claiming to be a U.S. citizen when she wasn’t.

Her aunt dropped the towels she had just folded and immediately embraced González.

González called her lawyer.

The lawyer told her that he wrote in her paperwork that she immigrated alone, González said. But she told the officer she crossed the border with strangers. She said she believes this discrepancy is what led to her being accused of lying. She insists that she never told U.S. officials that she was a citizen.

“God knows I never said that,” she said. Then her lawyer dropped her.

“He told me that this was out of his expertise and he couldn’t help me and wished me well,” she said.

Top left: Claudia González shares her story on a live stream with members of the Dreamers 2gether group. Top right: Guadalupe González holds a photo of her son, who hasn’t been heard from since he was kidnapped in 2020. Bottom: From left: Claudia González, her mother Guadalupe González, and her sister Ma Guadalupe González at their home in Tamaulipas.

Longing for his mother

Gerardo Garza, Jr. is a high school freshman now, living with his father in the south part of Houston. He plays viola in the school orchestra. Since he was separated from his mother, he texts and calls her often, sharing details about his day, his troubles with his now ex-girlfriend and how he has emotionally broken down at school.

The last time he saw his mother was in April, to celebrate his 15th birthday. His father drove him to the Texas-Mexico border, where Claudia picked him up and took him to the village. She had decorated an event hall with black, gold and red balloons and a neon sign that read, “mis quince” — my 15th.

Dressed in a brown button-down shirt, blue denim jeans and brown boots, Garza posed for a photo next to his mother in front of the balloons as music blared through the room.

They ate carne asada tacos.

“I felt at home, I knew everyone there loved me,” Garza said. “I knew it wasn’t much, but I knew my mom still tried to make it big.”

But when it was time to go home, he felt a punch in his gut, he said. His father picked him up at the bridge on the Mexican side. Garza said his father said something silly that made his mother smile.

Garza and his mother hugged, he said, as both held back tears. On the drive to Houston, he said he thought about his mother’s smile and his eyes started to water.

He put his sunglasses on, he said, so his dad wouldn’t notice he was crying.

He said he misses her a lot and reminisces often about the days they would spend together, especially those Sunday mornings when they would go to church and eat fettuccine alfredo at Olive Garden.

“I always smile and laugh when I remember those good times,” Garza said.

He’s had to learn how to take care of himself most of the time because his father works long hours as a welder.

He said he didn’t realize how much the household depended on his mother. She paid all the bills. She took him to school in the mornings. When his father can’t give him a ride to school he orders an Uber. Or a neighbor takes him.

There was a day recently when he missed his mother so much that he went into her closet and cried.

“My mom is really a good person and I don't think that she deserves any of this, or that we deserve any of this,” he said.

Disclosure: DoorDash has been a financial supporter of The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan news organization that is funded in part by donations from members, foundations and corporate sponsors. Financial supporters play no role in the Tribune's journalism. Find a complete list of them here.

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El Paso judge blocks Ken Paxton’s efforts to subpoena Annunciation House

"El Paso judge blocks Ken Paxton’s efforts to subpoena Annunciation House" was first published by The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan media organization that informs Texans — and engages with them — about public policy, politics, government and statewide issues.

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Ken Paxton’s new investigation is latest attack on religious organizations

EL PASO — Before Annunciation House Director Ruben Garcia received a demand from the Texas Attorney General’s office to hand over sensitive documents about the migrants who have stayed at his shelter, the state had been monitoring Garcia’s and other staffers’ activity.

In court documents, Anthony Carter, a criminal investigator with Attorney General Ken Paxton’s office, described Garcia dropping off groceries in a white Toyota truck and noted “several Hispanic individuals from adults to small children seen entering and leaving” one of the El Paso shelter network’s facilities. Carter noted that only three people had keys to the shelter, while everyone else had to ring a doorbell.

Rob Farquharson, an assistant attorney general in Paxton’s office, said in the same court documents that what Carter observed showed that the shelter had an “unusually covert way” of operating. He said Annunciation House appears “to be engaged in the business of human smuggling,” operating an “illegal stash house” and encouraging immigrants to enter the country illegally because it provides education on legal services. (Garcia’s lawyer said that’s just how migrant shelters operate, for the safety of guests and staff).

“When we first read it, we thought it was creepy,” said Jerome Wesevich, a lawyer with Texas RioGrande Legal Aid who is representing Annunciation House in its legal fight with Paxton. “I don’t know if I would call it spying, but if they would have just asked us, we would have talked to them.”

Earlier this month, Paxton’s office sent lawyers to Annunciation House, seeking records about the shelter’s clients and gave Garcia a day to turn over the documents. When Wesevich said that wasn’t enough time and asked a judge to determine which documents shelter officials are legally allowed to release, the AG’s office interpreted the delay as noncompliance and filed a countersuit to shut down the shelter network.

For the past few years, right-wing advocacy groups and Republican lawmakers have targeted non-governmental organizations that shelter migrants, many of them asylum seekers, blaming them for incentivizing illegal immigration with taxpayer money.

Those efforts come as religious figures, emboldened by the rise of Christian nationalism, continue to demonize migrants and those who aid them as part of a broader scheme to dilute the American electorate. On Sunday, Ed Young, a former president of the Southern Baptist Convention and the longtime pastor of Houston's massive Second Baptist Church, gave a lengthy sermon in which he reportedly called migrants "garbage" and "undesirables" who are being brought in to support a "progressive, Godless" dictatorship.

"We will not be able to stand under all the garbage and raff in which we're now inviting to come into our shores," said Young, whose church has been attended for years by prominent state Republicans. "And they're already here."

Far-right Catholics have also mobilized against organizations such as Catholic Charities, calling it the "enemy of the people" and blasting it for assisting migrants — many of whom are also Catholic, but conflict with the ethno-nationalism that experts say is highly correlated with white Christian nationalist beliefs.

Last year, right-wing Catholics launched a campaign to defund bishops who aid migrants at the border; and in an interview with the group Church Militant, self-professed Christian nationalist and U.S. Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, R-Georgia, said Catholic Charities’ work was proof of “Satan controlling the church.”

And some Texas politicians have targeted faith-based groups like Annunciation House — which has been in operation for nearly 50 years — with accusations that such shelters encourage, and profit from, illegal immigration.

Paxton’s move comes as immigration has become one of the main issues in this year’s presidential elections and Texas has dramatically ramped up its efforts to deter people crossing the Rio Grande.

Last year, Garcia expressed concern that Gov. Greg Abbott’s escalating efforts to halt illegal immigration could impact the work of Good Samaritans.

“The church is at risk because the volunteers are asking themselves, ‘If I feed someone who’s unprocessed, if I give someone a blanket who’s unprocessed, if I help them get off the street, am I liable to be prosecuted for that?’” Garcia said during a public meeting with U.S. senators visiting El Paso. “Shame on us, that on this day, this is even being brought up in the United States.”

On Friday, Garcia said Paxton’s move is the first time a state official has actually taken action to stop the work he and his staff have done to help migrants. He said that he is “concerned about the language that is used” by some politicians to describe the work his organization and others are doing with migrants because it can “encourage people to do terrible things to organizations and to people who are trying to provide basic human services to individuals.”

A 2017 court ruling reinforced the idea that migrant shelters can’t be charged with crimes related to helping migrants. The Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund sued Texas in 2016 over House Bill 11, a state law with a provision that says people commit a crime if they “encourage or induce a person to enter or remain in this country in violation of federal law by concealing, harboring, or shielding that person from detection.”

The following year the 5th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals ruled in the state’s favor but said organizations that provide services to immigrants aren’t at risk of prosecution under the law, “Because there is no reasonable interpretation by which merely renting housing or providing social services to an illegal alien constitutes harboring . . . that person from detection.”

Steve McCraw, director of the Texas Department of Public Safety, said in court documents at the time that his agency “would not investigate, file criminal charges, or otherwise engage in enforcement activity” under this state law against non-governmental organizations that provide aid to migrants.

U.S. Rep. Veronica Escobar, D-El Paso, said Paxton’s move is “absolutely terrifying and should send a chill down the back” of people who care about immigrants’ rights and the groups that help them. She said that “extreme far-right members” in Congress have worked to defund organizations that help migrants.

“This is a wake up call for the country that this far-right extremism knows no bounds. And I assure you that what has happened to Annunciation House will be a pattern that will be executed on every nonprofit, every local government, every organization that offers care to anyone who might be undocumented, or someone who is an immigrant and an asylum seeker in this country.”

Two years ago, U.S. Rep. Lance Gooden, R-Terrell, sent Catholic Charities of the Rio Grande Valley and two similar faith-based organizations a lengthy demand for information about migrants and the services they provide to them — not unlike the demand Paxton’s office sent to Annunciation House.

He threatened the organizations with congressional subpoenas if they didn’t comply, but two years later, Gooden said Catholic Charities has not responded to his demand.

“They know that what they're doing is so politically disgusting to the average American that the outrage would really increase if they cooperated with any oversight investigation by Congress,” Gooden said of Catholic Charities.

Sister Norma Pimentel, executive director of Catholic Charities of the Rio Grande Valley in McAllen, said the alarmist rhetoric Gooden and others are spreading about the border and her work is politically motivated.

“I wish they would come and actually see what we're doing so they can understand what is actually happening at the border,” Pimentel said. “We respond to what our own faith calls us to do, to take care of our brothers and sisters who are hurting, who are suffering.”

In a May 2023 letter to DHS Secretary Mayorkas, Gooden wrote that NGOs receive hundreds of millions of taxpayer dollars through federal grants to provide lodging and transportation for migrants “to be released anywhere they want in the United States.” Gooden added that groups like Catholic Charities stood to financially benefit from more illegal crossings because then the federal government would provide more money to fund their facilities and services.

Pimentel disputed this characterization. She said in addition to helping house and feed migrants, Catholic Charities also serves families in four counties in the Rio Grande Valley.

Gooden’s scrutiny of Catholic Charities came at the same time as right-wing groups, like the Deposit of Faith Coalition and Alliance for a Safe Texas, were also targeting the faith-based group. The Deposit of Faith Coalition, a group of conservative Catholic organizations critical of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops’ stance on a number of issues from immigration to climate change, has labeled Catholic Charities an “enemy of the people,” and accused the organization of profiting off the federal assistance they use to provide shelter and food to those in need.

Pimentel said those are false accusations “based on just political rhetoric … to create a problem or a crisis so that the [Biden] administration looks bad.”

Last week, after Paxton’s investigation into Annunciation House became public, the Texas Catholic Conference of Bishops released a statement “expressing solidarity with ministry volunteers and people of faith who seek only to serve vulnerable migrants as our nation and state continue to pursue failed migration and border security policies.”

On Monday, the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops issued a statement of support for Texas Catholics and other people of faith helping to “meet migrants’ basic human needs.”

Garcia said that he wants people to recognize that what’s at stake is the well-being of human beings.

“That should cause all of us to pause, take a step back and to ask ourselves, ‘How do we behave?” he said. “How do we respond when human beings are involved?”

Robert Downen contributed to this story.

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El Paso leaders rally around migrant shelters after Attorney General Ken Paxton’s threat

"El Paso leaders rally around migrant shelters after Attorney General Ken Paxton’s threat to shut them down" was first published by The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan media organization that informs Texans — and engages with them — about public policy, politics, government and statewide issues.

Sign up for The Brief, The Texas Tribune’s daily newsletter that keeps readers up to speed on the most essential Texas news.

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Uriel J. García, The Texas Tribune

'A lot of fear going on': Texas immigrant community on edge during Trump’s first weeks

Deported in the Rio Grande Valley

Anxiety in schools

Legal advice for immigrants

Mexican government offers app for emergencies

Texas governor orders state police to help federal agents with immigration enforcement

Migrants at Texas border in shock after Trump canceled their asylum appointments

U.S. House approves legislation to deport undocumented immigrants charged with minor crime

Texas National Guard is shooting pepper balls to deter migrants at the border

A Houston woman applied for a green card. She was banned from the U.S. for a decade.

Life in Tamaulipas

Crossing the border

Building a life in Houston

Interview in Ciudad Juárez

Longing for his mother

El Paso judge blocks Ken Paxton’s efforts to subpoena Annunciation House

Ken Paxton’s new investigation is latest attack on religious organizations

El Paso leaders rally around migrant shelters after Attorney General Ken Paxton’s threat

FBI foils 2022 plot by militiamen to 'start a war' at the Texas-Mexico border

“Basically start a war”

“We are being invaded”

In Eagle Pass, a tense border standoff between Texas and the federal government grows

Dispute over drowning response

Residents torn about state presence

Annual festival could be canceled

“This is not something that we wanted”

Abbott’s immigration rhetoric criticized after interview response about shooting migrants

Texas strings concertina wire along New Mexico border to deter migrants

Biden administration settles lawsuit over Trump-era migrant family separation policy

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“Every challenge has its reward”

Council reverses decision that allows DPS to arrest migrants in Shelby Park