Clashes between Colombian military and guerrilla dissidents leave a soldier dead and another wounded
BOGOTA, Colombia — One Colombian soldier was killed and another injured Thursday in clashes with guerrilla dissidents in a coca-growing region where their turf war with a rebel group has left dozens of people dead this year.
A statement from an anti-narcotics branch of Colombia's National Army said the soldiers were carrying out 'military stability operations' when they 'engaged in combat against' holdouts from the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, or FARC, the group's Spanish acronym.
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Chicago Tribune
2 hours ago
- Chicago Tribune
Today in Chicago History: Great apes enjoy new habitat — with no bars — at Lincoln Park Zoo
Here's a look back at what happened in the Chicago area on June 7, according to the Tribune's archives. Is an important event missing from this date? Email us. Weather records (from the National Weather Service, Chicago) 1917: Lions International was founded at the LaSalle Hotel. Members of 42 business clubs assembled there at the invitation of Melvin Jones, a 38-year-old Chicago salesman. Jones sought to create an international association dedicated to service — beyond what the individual organizations were doing locally in their communities. The new group took the name of one of the invited groups, the Association of Lions Clubs. Jones approved of the name since it stood for 'fidelity through the ages; he has only one mate.' Within three years, Lions became an international organization. 1942: Stanley Johnston was an Australian American journalist who, as a correspondent during World War II, wrote a story for the Tribune that inadvertently revealed the extent of American code-breaking activities against the Imperial Japanese Navy, or IJN. The story resulted in efforts by the United States government to prosecute Johnston and other Tribune journalists, an effort what remains the only time the Espionage Act was used against journalists in the United States. 1976: Five people were injured — two seriously — after bombs planted by the FALN (a Spanish acronym for the Armed Forces of National Liberation) went off about 11 p.m. at Chicago police headquarters at 11th and State streets, the First National Bank at Dearborn and Madison streets, the John Hancock Center and a bank across from City Hall. The victims had just emerged from 'Sherlock Holmes' at the Shubert Theater. Further injuries were avoided during a shift change at the police station, the Tribune reported, through the actions of an officer who noticed a suspicious package after hearing reports of the other blasts and helped clear the area. A history of bomb attacksOver the next four years, the FALN carried out 16 more bombings, including at a Holiday Inn, the Merchandise Mart, two armed forces recruiting offices, the County Building and the Great Lakes Naval training base outside North Chicago. Nobody was injured in any of those overnight attacks. Also in 1976: The Great Ape House, which included six indoor habitats and a nursery plus an outdoor habitat, opened at Lincoln Park Zoo. The biggest improvement: no bars between animals and people. Just large, glass windows. And, it 'rained' at 11:30 a.m. and 2 p.m. to replicate the apes' natural environment and keep foliage in the habitat watered. The moving of animals from the old Primate House to the new Great Ape House was recorded by filmmaker Dugan Rosalini, who compiled the footage into the one-hour documentary 'Otto: Zoo Gorilla'. This project and the zoo's hospital were part of the zoo's $20 million building project, which was completed in 1982. Subscribe to the free Vintage Chicago Tribune newsletter, join our Chicagoland history Facebook group, stay current with Today in Chicago History and follow us on Instagram for more from Chicago's past.
Miami Herald
3 hours ago
- Miami Herald
A daughter with DACA, a mother without papers, and a goodbye they can't bear
Michelle Valdes' mom thinks she sees immigration agents everywhere: in the lobby of the building where she cares for elderly clients, at the local outlet mall, on downtown corners. The fear is constant. Driving to work, going to the store —just leaving the house feels too risky for her. At work, while she cooks and cleans in her clients' homes, she listens as stories of immigration detentions, deportations and constantly changing laws and policies play loudly in English from the TV. The 67-year-old undocumented Colombian national who has lived in the United States for more than a third of her life has stopped driving completely, opting for Uber, and ducking down in the backseat when she sees police officers. As a Jehovah's Witness, she has chosen not to do her door-to-door ministry and only attends church on Zoom. But what keeps her up at night these days is that she will soon go without seeing her daughter, likely for close to a decade. She is preparing to leave the United States after 23 years, leaving behind her 31-year-old daughter, a DACA recipient or 'Dreamer' who came to the United States when she was 8 and is still in the process of gaining her green card. Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, is a federal program that protects undocumented people who came to the U.S. as children from deportation. 'I don't want to feel like I'm going to be spending two months in some detention center in the middle of God knows where, where none of my family members see me,' she said in Spanish during an interview with the Herald. She asked not to use her name for this story because she fears she could be targeted. 'I'm done,' she said. Her daughter's immigration situation is also precarious, even though she is married to a U.S. citizen. His family, from Cuba, got lucky when they won the visa lottery. But her family did not have such luck. Valdes' family did what immigrants often do: They fled danger, asked for political asylum, hired lawyers and filed paperwork. And they lost. Last year, only 19.3% of Colombian asylum cases were approved, according to researchers at Syracuse University. Even in 2006, when violence was at a very high point in Colombia, only 32% of asylum cases were approved. Their family's story reveals the toll a constantly changing and exceedingly complicated immigration system has on families who tried to 'do the right thing' and legalize their status. Now, under President Trump's administration, which has ramped up enforcement and the optics around it, being undocumented has become even more hazardous. People who have been living and working in the shadows in the United States are now being forced to decide if the reward of seeking a better life is still worth the risk. And those who are following the rules are afraid the rules will keep changing. The mother has already started packing boxes. Denied asylum Valdes' mom had never heard of the American Dream. She said she had never even heard the phrase 'el sueño americano' before coming to the United States. The family fled Colombia in 2002, leaving behind comfort and status. Valdes' mother had been an architect in Cartagena, a city on the South American nation's Caribbean coast. The family had a driver, a cook and a nanny. But violence by the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia, the rebel group known as FARC, was encroaching on their lives: armed robbery at their home, threatening calls and the kidnapping of her cousin, a wealthy businessperson. The family was forced to pay a ransom for his release. The early 2000s in Colombia, under President Andrés Pastrana, were years of intense violence by guerrilla gangs such as the FARC, who targeted wealthier Colombians. 'They would just pick up anybody who they believed they could get money from,' said Valdes. Her aunt would often call Valdes' mom from Florida, telling her their family would be safer here. The family arrived on a tourist visa in 2002, found a lawyer and applied for asylum. It was denied in 2004. Under U.S. immigration policy, people who have suffered persecution due to factors such as race, religion, nationality, membership to a social group, or political opinion can apply for asylum. It must be filed within a year of arrival in the United States. Valdes' family's interview did not go well and they were placed in removal proceedings. They appealed and in 2006 took the case to the U.S. Board of Immigration Appeals. The family's asylum application claimed that Valdes' mom would be killed by the FARC guerilla gang if she returned to Colombia, in connection with her cousin's kidnapping. But the court ultimately found holes in her case, and said her fear is not well founded and that she failed to prove that she would be in danger if she returned to Colombia. Their final motion was denied in part because it was filed 45 days late, according to the court filing. Valdes was just 11 years old when the courts denied her family's final plea to stay in the United States. The family was issued removal orders. 'I feel like I made a mistake asking for asylum,' said Valdes' mother. 'I wasn't guided well because I was scared and didn't know what to do.' She says predatory lawyers charged her close to $40,000 but never told her the truth about her odds of winning the case. 'It's pure show,' she said in Spanish. 'I believed they would help, but they did nothing.' By then, Valdes and her brothers were attending public schools in West Palm Beach, a right undocumented children have because of a supreme court ruling which passed narrowly in the early '80s. 'I just kind of poured my whole life into school, just to kind of distract myself from other things going on in life, specifically with immigration,' she said. In fifth grade, she won the science fair. At Roosevelt Middle School she was in the pre-med program and the national junior honor society. She always had A's and B's in school. But when her middle school national honor society was invited to Australia, she had to stay behind, unable to travel because she was undocumented. At Suncoast Community High School, she was invited to sing in a choir concert in Europe, but again, she could not go. In 2007, ICE detained Valdes' parents and her eldest brother. Her other brother and Valdes were picked up from school and reunited with their parents at the ICE office. Valdes' mom said the officer told her that since the family had a removal order, they needed to deport at least one person to prove they completed their quota for the day. But to this day, Valdes and her mother can't fully explain why the father was deported but they were released. Was it luck? Did the ICE officers sympathize with their family? Then 13, Valdes remembers standing in the Miami immigration office as agents took her father away. 'He was wearing jeans, a tan coat and a gray-blue fisherman's hat,' she said. 'What I remember the most is that there was, like, some sort of feeling that I got, that I knew that I was never gonna see him again.' He was deported in January of 2007, when Valdes was in seventh grade. It was the only semester she ever failed in school, she said. Her father died at 69 in Colombia in 2022. A petition for him to get legal status and return to the U.S., filed on his behalf of his son from a previous marriage, was approved a year after his death, said Valdes. '17 years too late,' she said, in tears. DACA as a lifeline In 2012, Valdes and her mother were preparing to leave the United States for good. Flights were booked. Boxes mailed. Then, just 14 days before departure, President Obama announced the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. The program was meant to protect children like Valdes, who came to the U.S. at a young age. Valdes was 18. Her phone lit up with messages from people in her community who knew she was undocumented. She applied that October. As a 'Dreamer,' or DACA recipient, she's protected from deportation and able to work legally — but can't travel outside the country. Her two older brothers, Ricardo and Jean Paul, had already left the country by then. After attending public schools and graduating from high school, the brothers could not attend college or find work. So in 2011, they returned to Colombia, and their mother sent them money to attend university. They both still live there and haven't seen their mom in 14 years. Valdes' situation was slightly better, but without legal permanent residency, she didn't qualify for most scholarships. The one scholarship she did get was a $4,000 scholarship from the Global Education Center at Palm Beach State, but $1,500 was deducted in taxes because she was considered a foreign student. Starting in 2014, Florida universities provided in-state tuition waivers for undocumented students under certain conditions. But because Valdes didn't enroll in college within a year of graduating from high school, she lost access to the waiver. That waiver was recently canceled in Florida for undocumented students, and starting July 1, at least 6,500 DACA recipients in Florida enrolled in public universities will have to pay the out-of-state tuition rate. 'When people asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I would ask for money to pay my tuition,' she said. Throughout those years, people would come to Valdes asking for help filling out their work permit applications, DACA applications and other legal forms, and they would say, 'Wow, you are so good at it.' Although she never wanted to do anything law or immigration related, she kept getting pulled in that direction, and decided to get her paralegal certificate, Valdes said. She now works at an immigration law office. Her plan is to go to law school after getting hands on training. 'I always thought: When I turn 18, I'm an adult — 'why am I still tied to my mom's case?' ' she said. 'But nobody explained it.' At her job in the law office, she finally learned the full truth of her case. Her name is still listed on her mother's asylum application — the case that was denied in 2006. So she still had a final removal order connected to her name. That case, and its order of removal, still haunts her. Although she's married to a U.S. citizen, it will take her years to adjust her status to get a green card and permanent residency status. The process will involve her husband filing petitions and waivers explaining that it would be an extreme hardship for him if she were deported. Valdes will have to leave the country and re-enter. In all, the process could take around eight years. Former president Joe Biden had a program to help people like Valdes, whose family is of 'mixed-status' but the program was shut down by Republicans. Immigration attorneys say there are fewer and fewer pathways for people married to U.S. citizens to legalize their status. The roadblocks and complications frustrate Valdes to tears. Valdes said that it is not fair that 'under our immigration system, a child, at such a young age, has to suffer the consequences of the parents' mistakes.' 'No es justo, no es justo,' she said, crying. It's not fair. But immigration laws, enforcement and policies are changing every day. 'People say 'get in line, get in line, get in line,' and then you get in line, and it's like, 'Oh, too bad, you don't apply with that anymore, or we're just going to change the laws. Or, you know, you aged out, or you didn't submit by this day,' said Valdes. In the past weeks, ICE agents across the nation have even begun detaining people as they exit immigration courthouses. Some are individuals with final orders of deportation like Valdes and her mom. Just this week, the Supreme Court ruled that President Trump can revoke humanitarian parole for over 500,000 migrants from Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua and Venezuela. President Trump has spoken favorably of DACA recipients, but nonetheless, 'Dreamers' still have to reapply every two years, and there is no guarantee their right to legally be in the U.S. will not be revoked. Immigration attorneys say DACA could be the next program to be shut down by the Supreme Court. 'How shaky is DACA? How solid is it?' Valdes asked. Same fear, different country Valdes' mom says she now feels the same fear in the United States as she did in Colombia — maybe worse. 'I'm scared. Terrified,' she said. 'I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, always on alert.' For years, she tried to hold on. But after 23 years, she's tired of living in limbo. Valdes and her mom try not to think much about the fact that they are leaving each other, focusing more on the present and getting through each day. Valdes' mom says her ultimate goal was always for her daughter to get an education in the United States, and now that her daughter has a job, a husband, and is planting roots, she feels like she can go and let her daughter live her life. She left Colombia because she was 'tired of being followed. I was tired of being paranoid. I was tired of never being able to have my freedom, to just live, because I was always so scared. And fast forward, 23 years later, I'm just in the same boat in a different country,' she said. The hardest part for Valdes is imagining being pregnant and then giving birth without her mom by her side. But, she says, 'Now I tell her, I totally understand. It's your turn to finish living your life, Mom. I want her to be at peace, and I want her to rest.' As her mother prepares to leave, Michelle is left with the frustration of knowing that there's nothing she can do. 'I am still helpless. I still can't help her. I still can't help myself. It's a looming darkness you carry every day,' said Valdes.
11 hours ago
Kilmar Abrego Garcia, newly returned to US, appears in court on charges of trafficking migrants
Mistakenly deported Salvadoran native Kilmar Abrego Garcia appeared in a Tennessee courtroom Friday, hours after he was brought back to the United States to face criminal charges for allegedly transporting undocumented migrants within the U.S. More than two months after the Trump administration admitted it mistakenly deported Abrego Garcia from Maryland to his native El Salvador, a federal grand jury has indicted him for allegedly transporting undocumented migrants within the United States. A two-count indictment, which was filed under seal in federal court in Tennessee last month and unsealed Friday, alleges Abrego Garcia, 29, participated in a yearslong conspiracy to haul undocumented migrants from Texas to the interior of the country. The return of Abrego Garcia from his native El Salvador follows a series of court battles in which the Trump administration repeatedly said it was unable to bring him back, drawing the country toward the brink of a constitutional crisis when the administration failed to heed the Supreme Court's order to facilitate his return. He made his initial court appearance Friday evening in the Middle District of Tennessee, answering "Yes, I understand" in Spanish when U.S. Magistrate Judge Barbara Holmes asked him if he understood the charges against him. Judge Homes set a hearing for June 13, where Abrego Garcia will be arraigned on charges and the judge will take up the government's motion to hold him in pre-trial detention on the grounds that he "poses a danger to the community and a serious risk of flight" He will remain in federal custody in Tennessee pending next week's hearing. "If convicted at trial, the defendant faces a maximum punishment of 10 years' imprisonment for 'each alien' he transported," said the government's motion for detention, which also contained an allegation -- not included in the indictment -- that one of Abrego Garcia's co-conspirators told authorities that Abrego Garcia participated in the murder of a rival gang member's mother in El Salvador. Abrego Garcia's attorney, in an online press briefing, called the charges against his client "an abuse of power." "They'll stop at nothing at all -- even some of the most preposterous charges imaginable -- just to avoid admitting that they made a mistake, which is what everyone knows happened in this case," said attorney Simon Sandoval-Moshenberg. "Mr. Garcia is going to be vigorously defending the charges against him," the attorney said. The decision to pursue the indictment against Abrego Garcia led to the abrupt departure of Ben Schrader, a high-ranking federal prosecutor in Tennessee, sources briefed on Schrader's decision told ABC News. Schrader's resignation was prompted by concerns that the case was being pursued for political reasons, the sources said. Schrader, who spent 15 years in the U.S. Attorney's Office in Nashville and was most recently the chief of the criminal division, declined to comment when contacted by ABC News. The alleged conspiracy spanned nearly a decade and involved the domestic transport of thousands of noncitizens from Mexico and Central America, including some children, in exchange for thousands of dollars, according to the indictment. Abrego Garcia is alleged to have participated in more than 100 such trips, according to the indictment. Among those allegedly transported were members of the Salvadoran gang MS-13, sources familiar with the investigation said. Abrego Garcia is the only member of the alleged conspiracy charged in the indictment. Attorney General Pam Bondi, at a Friday afternoon press conference, thanked Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele for "agreeing to return Abrego Garcia to the United States." "Our government presented El Salvador with an arrest warrant and they agreed to return him to our country," Bondi said. Bondi said that if Abrego Garcia is convicted of the charges, upon the completion of his sentence he will be deported back to his home country of El Salvador. "The grand jury found that over the past nine years, Abrego Garcia has played a significant role in an alien smuggling ring," Bondi said. "They found this was his full time job, not a contractor. He was a smuggler of humans and children and women. He made over 100 trips, the grand jury found, smuggling people throughout our country." In a statement to ABC News, Abrego Garcia's attorney said that he's going to keep fighting to ensure Abrego Garcia receives a fair trial. "From the beginning, this case has made one thing painfully clear: The government had the power to bring him back at any time. Instead, they chose to play games with the court and with a man's life," Sandoval-Moshenberg said. "We're not just fighting for Kilmar -- we're fighting to ensure due process rights are protected for everyone. Because tomorrow, this could be any one of us -- if we let power go unchecked, if we ignore our Constitution." Abrego Garcia, a Salvadoran native who had been living with his wife and children in Maryland, was deported in March to El Salvador's CECOT mega-prison -- despite a 2019 court order barring his deportation to that country due to fear of persecution -- after the Trump administration claimed he was a member of the criminal gang MS-13. His wife and attorneys deny that he is an MS-13 member. The Trump administration has acknowledged in court filings that Abrego Garcia's removal to El Salvador in March was in error, because it violated a U.S. immigration court order in 2019 that shielded Abrego Garcia from deportation to his native country, according to immigration court records. An immigration judge had determined that Abrego Garcia would likely face persecution there by local gangs that had allegedly terrorized him and his family. The administration argued, however, that Abrego Garcia should not be returned to the U.S. because he is a member of the transnational Salvadoran gang MS-13, a claim his family and attorneys have denied. In recent weeks, Trump administration officials have been publicizing Abrego Garcia's interactions with police over the years, despite a lack of corresponding criminal charges. After Abrego Garcia's family filed a lawsuit over his deportation, U.S. District Judge Paula Xinis in Maryland ordered the Trump administration to facilitate his return to the United States. The U.S. Supreme Court affirmed that ruling on April 10. Abrego Garcia was initially sent to El Salvador's notorious CECOT prison but was believed to have later been transferred to a different facility in the country. The criminal investigation that led to the charges was launched in April as federal authorities began scrutinizing the circumstances of a 2022 traffic stop of Abrego Garcia by the Tennessee Highway Patrol, according to the sources. Abrego Garcia was pulled over for speeding in a vehicle with eight passengers and told police they had been working construction in Missouri. According to body camera footage of the 2022 traffic stop, the Tennessee troopers -- after questioning Abrego Garcia -- discussed among themselves their suspicions that Abrego Garcia might be transporting people for money because nine people were traveling without luggage, but Abrego Garcia was not ticketed or charged. The officers ultimately allowed Abrego Garcia to drive on with just a warning about an expired driver's license, according to a report about the stop released last month by the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. Asked what circumstances have changed since Abrego Garcia was not taken in custody during that traffic stop in Tennessee, Bondi replied, "What has changed is Donald Trump is now president of the United States, and our borders are again secure, and thanks to the bright light that has been shined on Abrego Garcia -- this investigation continued with actually amazing police work, and we were able to track this case and stop this international smuggling ring from continuing." Asked by ABC News' Pierre Thomas asked whether this should be seen as resolving the separate civil case in Maryland in which a federal judge ordered the government to facilitate Abrego Garcia's return, Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche said, "There's a big difference between what the state of play was before the indictment and after the indictment. And so the reason why he is back and was returned was because an arrest warrant which was presented to the government and in El Salvador. So there's, there's a big difference there as far as whether it makes the ongoing litigation in Maryland moot. I would think so, but we don't know about this. He just landed today." As ABC News first reported last month, the Justice Department had been quietly investigating the Tenessee traffic stop. As part of the probe, federal agents in late April visited a federal prison in Talladega, Alabama to question Jose Ramon Hernandez-Reyes, a convicted felon who was the registered owner of the vehicle Abrego Garcia was driving when stopped on Interstate 40 east of Nashville, sources previously told ABC News. Hernandez-Reyes was not present at the traffic stop. Hernandez-Reyes, 38, is currently serving a 30-month sentence for illegally re-entering the U.S. after a prior felony conviction for illegal transportation of aliens. After being granted limited immunity, Hernandez-Reyes allegedly told investigators that he previously operated a "taxi service" based in Baltimore. He claimed to have met Abrego Garcia around 2015 and claimed to have hired him on multiple occasions to transport undocumented migrants from Texas to various locations in the United States, sources told ABC News. When details of the Tennessee traffic stop were first publicized, Abrego Garcia's wife said her husband sometimes transported groups of fellow construction workers between job sites. "Unfortunately, Kilmar is currently imprisoned without contact with the outside world, which means he cannot respond to the claims," Jennifer Vasquez Sura said in mid-April. Sen. Chris Van Hollen of Maryland, who flew to El Salvador and met with Abrego Garcia shortly after his deportation, said Friday that the Trump administration had "relented" regarding his return. "After months of ignoring our Constitution, it seems the Trump Admin has relented to our demands for compliance with court orders and due process for Kilmar Abrego Garcia," Van Hollen posted on X. "This has never been about the man -- it's about his constitutional rights & the rights of all." Abrego Garcia entered the U.S. illegally as a teenager in 2012, according to court records. He had been living in Maryland for the past 13 years, and married Vasquez Sura, a U.S. citizen, in 2019. The couple has one child together.
