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East Timor to deport an ex-Filipino congressman accused of masterminding a governor's murder

East Timor to deport an ex-Filipino congressman accused of masterminding a governor's murder

DILI, East Timor (AP) — East Timor said Thursday it would deport a former Filipino congressman charged with multiple murders in the Philippines and added that he was a national security threat whose presence could damage the country's image ahead of its entry to the Association of Southeast Asian Nations.
Ex-Rep. Arnolfo Teves Jr. was arrested in East Timor's capital of Dili on Wednesday by immigration authorities and would immediately be deported to the Philippines for staying without a visa and after his passport was cancelled by Manila's Department of Foreign Affairs, the East Timor government said in a statement.
East Timor did not immediately specify a date for the deportation of Teves, who has been staying in Dili for more than two years as he tried to seek asylum, straining relations between the two Southeast Asian democracies. The Philippines has been calling on East Timor to repatriate Teves to face trial.
The Department of Justice in Manila on Thursday welcomed East Timor's decision and said it has designated a team of justice and immigration officials to help repatriate Teves.
East Timor said in a statement that Teves' presence in the country was 'unacceptable' and his stay for more than two years 'poses a disruptive factor in bilateral relations between the two states and establishes a serious precedent with potential implications for internal security.'
'The perception that Timor-Leste might be viewed as a refuge for individuals fleeing international justice undermines the integrity of our borders and our shared efforts to combat transnational crime,' East Timor said, using the country's formal name.
'The imminent full accession of Timor-Leste to ASEAN, scheduled for October this year, further reinforces the responsibility of the Timorese state to actively collaborate with its regional partners in upholding justice, legality, and stability in the region,' according to East Timor.
East Timor President José Ramos-Horta told The Associated Press in an interview in Dili in September that there was 'no possibility, under the law' that Teves would be able to remain in East Timor and that he would likely be sent back to the Philippines after his appeal to gain asylum had been exhausted.
Teves has been sought by the Philippine government in connection with the March 2023 killings of Negros Oriental Gov. Roel Degamo and several other people, including impoverished villagers seeking medical aid from him, by men in military camouflage and body armor who barged into his central Philippine home with assault rifles. At least 17 others were wounded in the brazen attack, which was captured on security cameras.
Teves has denied involvement in the killings, which President Ferdinand Marcos Jr., who was backed by Degamo, then called 'purely political.'
East Timor, Asia's youngest country, is in the process of joining the Philippines and nine other countries in the ASEAN, a regional grouping which espouses the rule of law and good governance. It currently has observer status in the regional bloc.
Teves' initial request to seek asylum in East Timor was rejected, a decision which he appealed. In March 2024, police arrested Teves while he was playing at a golf driving range in Dili and it's not immediately clear how he managed to regain liberty before bring put into custody by immigration authorities on Wednesday.
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Associated Press writers Edna Tarigan in Jakarta, Indonesia, and Jim Gomez in Manila, Philippines, contributed to this report.

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A daughter with DACA, a mother without papers, and a goodbye they can't bear
A daughter with DACA, a mother without papers, and a goodbye they can't bear

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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. 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. 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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.' 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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. 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. 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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.

Trump Admin Surrenders to Judges and Returns Abrego Garcia
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Trump Admin Surrenders to Judges and Returns Abrego Garcia

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Snitch On Password Hackers And Get $10 Million — Here's How
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Snitch On Password Hackers And Get $10 Million — Here's How

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