Latest news with #Casique
Newsweek
5 days ago
- Politics
- Newsweek
Exclusive: Trump's CECOT Prisoners Went on 'Blood Strike' to Protest Daily Torture: Ex-Inmate
Based on facts, either observed and verified firsthand by the reporter, or reported and verified from knowledgeable sources. Newsweek AI is in beta. Translations may contain inaccuracies—please refer to the original content. When Francisco Javier Casique boarded a deportation flight in March, U.S. immigration officers assured him repeatedly that he was being sent home. "Don't worry," they told him. "You're going to Venezuela." Instead, the plane landed in El Salvador — and Casique, still shackled, found himself inside one of the world's most notorious prisons. "We were labeled as terrorists without evidence," Casique told Newsweek in an exclusive interview after his release from El Salvador's Center for Terrorism Confinement, known as CECOT. "We had no rights, no charges, no lawyers." Casique is one of 252 Venezuelan nationals who were deported by the United States and secretly transferred to CECOT — only to be later released as part of a July prisoner exchange between Washington and Caracas. Only seven of the migrants had serious criminal records. Many, like Casique, had none in either Venezuela or the U.S. Soldiers stand guard as unseen US Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem tours the Terrorist Confinement Center (CECOT) in Tecoluca, El Salvador, on March 26, 2025. Soldiers stand guard as unseen US Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem tours the Terrorist Confinement Center (CECOT) in Tecoluca, El Salvador, on March 26, 2025. Photo by Alex Brandon / POOL / AFP) (Photo by ALEX BRANDON/POOL/AFP via Getty Images The notorious supermax prison, built by Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele to house violent gang leaders, held the Venezuelan migrants for four months in what Casique and others describe as conditions akin to torture. 'I Was Never Hiding' Casique had crossed the border into the United States in December 2023, entering at the Piedras Negras point-of-entry and turning himself in to U.S. authorities. He was released days later, wearing an ankle monitor, and began working as a barber in Texas. Though he had a standing deportation order, he said he planned to comply with it and return to Venezuela once he had earned enough to support his family. "I was never hiding," Casique said. "I just wanted to work and go back home." Instead, he was arrested again on February 6 of this year. Held in a Texas detention center through mid-March, he said officers gave every indication that he would be returned to his home country. "They told us Venezuela. Every time I asked, they confirmed. It made me feel calmer," he said. Prisoners look out of their cell as Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem tours the Terrorist Confinement Center in Tecoluca, El Salvador, Wednesday, March 26, 2025. Prisoners look out of their cell as Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem tours the Terrorist Confinement Center in Tecoluca, El Salvador, Wednesday, March 26, 2025. AP Photo/Alex Brandon But once the plane landed, the deception became clear. They later discovered the flight was part of a secretive U.S. transfer program, authorized by the Trump administration under the 1798 Alien Enemies Act, which allows the president to deport individuals from "enemy nations" without standard legal procedures. "We looked out the window and the sign said: 'El Salvador International,'" Casique said. "On the plane, they told us it was a 'surprise.' Some guards wouldn't say anything. Some said, 'Don't worry.' But we were confused and anxious." His mother, Mirelys Casique, learned of the transfer through a video posted online by the Salvadoran government. "It's him. It's him!" she told Newsweek in March, recognizing Francisco by his tattoos. "They shaved his head, beat him, and forced him to bow," she said. "They treated him like a criminal, like a dog." Hunger and Blood Strikes, Beatings Once off the plane, Casique said he was shackled and thrown into a bus. "One guard grabbed me by the hair, slammed my head to the bus floor, and threw me into a seat," he said. "Then they added more restraints — wrists, ankles, and a chain to the seat." Inside the prison, he was beaten, stripped, and forced to change into a white uniform. "They kept hitting us while yelling at us to hurry," he said. "We could hear others screaming." There were no mattresses, no showers without threat of beatings, and only a bucket for a toilet. "It was cold, and we were sore all over," he said. "You showered at 4 a.m. or got hit." Casique had entered the United States in December 2023, crossing at Piedras Negras and turning himself in to U.S. authorities. He was released days later, wearing an ankle monitor, and began working as a barber... Casique had entered the United States in December 2023, crossing at Piedras Negras and turning himself in to U.S. authorities. He was released days later, wearing an ankle monitor, and began working as a barber in Texas. More Courtesy of Mirelys Casique Similar accounts have emerged from multiple ex-detainees, including Rafael Martínez and José Mora, who told CNN they were shot with rubber bullets, denied medical care, and subjected to daily beatings while incarcerated inside CECOT. "It was a nightmare. I heard many brothers asking for help, shouting, 'Mom, help!'" Martínez told CNN. Casique said he and others launched a protest after witnessing a fellow inmate beaten while shackled. "Some of us cut our legs, others went on hunger strikes. We made signs using toothpaste that said 'We are not terrorists, we are migrants.'" But their protest was met with more violence. "They beat us more," he said. Julio González Jr., another deportee, told The Washington Post that guards fired rubber bullets at the men after a hunger strike. "They played with our minds," González said. "They tortured us mentally and physically." 'Staged' U.S. Visits Inside CECOT Casique confirmed what he called "a show" put on during visits by U.S. officials. "They gave us good food, cold juice, and staged religious services — all for photos," he said. "The Americans never spoke to us. We screamed for help, but they just took pictures and left." US Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem speaks during a tour of the Terrorist Confinement Center (CECOT) as prisoners stand, looking out from a cell, in Tecoluca, El Salvador, on March 26, 2025. US Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem speaks during a tour of the Terrorist Confinement Center (CECOT) as prisoners stand, looking out from a cell, in Tecoluca, El Salvador, on March 26, 2025. ALEX BRANDON/POOL/AFP via Getty Images Among those visitors was U.S. Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem and former Rep. Matt Gaetz, who toured CECOT with Rep. Anna Paulina Luna and a camera crew from the right-wing network One America News. Casique's mother recognized her son again in footage shared from that visit. "My soul hurts," she told Newsweek in May. "He's very thin. But that sign — asking for help — it's been hard to see. But also a relief. Because he's alive." Casique is now back in Venezuela following the prisoner exchange. He bears bruises, but no permanent injuries. Still, he wants justice. "We're discussing legal action," he said. "What they did to us was illegal — the abuse, the transfer, the psychological trauma. It can't go unpunished." Asked by Newsweek to respond to those allegations, the State Department said: "We would refer you to the Government of El Salvador." Full Interview with Francisco Javier Casique Q: Francisco, let's start from the beginning. How did this all begin? I was sleeping, getting rest for work, and the police came without warning. They knocked on the door, and when I saw it was them, I opened. They came in aggressively, knocked me down, started hitting me, and said I was under arrest. Q: When exactly was this? February 6. Q: So you were detained for about a month before being transferred in March? Yes, I was held through February and into mid-March. Q: What were the conditions like in detention? Could you communicate with your family? Yes, we had access to tablets to write to officers and talk to our families. I already had a deportation order, and since Venezuela was receiving deportees, I thought I'd be sent there. So I just waited. Q: They always told you Venezuela was the destination? Yes. I asked, and they confirmed I would be deported to Venezuela. That made me feel a little calmer. Q: What was the deportation day like? I was in a detention center in Laredo, Texas. The officers said, "You're going to Venezuela, don't worry." We were happy. They said the planes were ready. Q: When did you realize it was El Salvador instead? When the plane landed and we looked out the window — the airport sign said "El Salvador International." On the plane, they told us it was a "surprise." Some guards wouldn't say anything, some just said "don't worry," but we were confused and anxious. Q: Were you made to sign anything on the plane? Some people said they were handed documents, but we refused because we didn't understand what they were. One officer said, "If you don't sign, I'll sign it for you." Q: What happened when you got off the plane? It was terrible. As soon as we got off, they started beating us. I had shackles on and couldn't move. One guard grabbed me by the hair, slammed my head to the bus floor, and threw me into a seat. Then they put on more restraints — wrists, ankles, and a chain to the seat. Q: When were those shackles put on? The first set was put on when we left the U.S. detention center. After landing, they added more. Q: How did they change you into the white prison uniforms? We could hear others screaming. They shaved our heads, hit us, stripped us naked, and yelled at us to put on the uniforms quickly. All of this happened while they kept hitting us. Q: What were they hitting you with? Batons — especially on the head, since it was shaved. Q: Did they ever explain what was happening? No. They forced us into a module. I was so weak I couldn't walk or talk. One guard yelled at me to keep going. Eventually, the prison director told us we were in a "center for terrorists" and that we'd spend the rest of our lives there. He said we had no rights and that the only thing we'd have was what we were wearing. Q: What was your first night like? Everyone was crying. I didn't know what was going on. My body hurt, but I was numb. We lay on metal sheets and tried to sleep. Q: How were the living conditions in the cell? No mattresses for a long time. Just a water jug and a bucket. We had to shower early in the morning or get beaten. It was cold, and we were sore all over. Q: How did you use the bathroom? There were two sections in the same bucket — one for urinating and one for defecating. We got used to it. They used the same water to flush it. Q: What were you fed? Usually rice with beans or spaghetti and tortillas. To drink, just water. Q: Did they treat you differently when U.S. officials visited? Absolutely. They'd give us good food, cold juice, and clean everything just for show. It was fake. They did the same with religious services — they were staged for photos. Q: Did the U.S. officials ever speak to you? No. They came in with cameras, stood in the middle of the module, took photos, and left. We screamed for help, but they never responded. Q: When did you learn you were being sent back to Venezuela? One morning they woke us up and said to shower and get ready. That was it. A guard whispered that it would be our last meal. Q: What was it like leaving the prison? We were scared, not knowing where we were going. But then we saw Venezuelan officials at the airport, and that's when we finally cried and felt relieved. Q: Did you have lasting injuries? Just bruises that faded — purple legs, arms, and scratches on my back. Nothing permanent, thankfully. Q: Can you describe your tattoos? I have tattoos for my mom's birthdate, praying hands for my family, a dragon, compass, a Bible verse, and one I got with a girlfriend in the U.S. We both got matching designs. Q: Did you or others ever try to protest or resist the abuse? Yes. We were tired of the beatings. Some of us cut our legs, others went on hunger strikes. We made signs using toothpaste that said things like "We are not terrorists, we are migrants." We taped them to the walls so officials could see them. Q: Did that change anything? At first, no. They beat us more. But eventually, some guards started to speak to us, telling us to calm down and saying things might change. We were given mattresses and sheets for the first time. The abuse eased slightly. Q: Was there a specific incident that pushed you to protest? Yes. One day, they made a detainee kneel while shackled and beat him. That's when we erupted — throwing water, soap, anything we had. We couldn't take it anymore. Q: Did you hear the names of any guards? Yes. Two main ones — "Satan" and "Moto Moto." They gave all the orders. If you looked up or didn't kneel during inspections, they beat you. Q: Do you want to return to the U.S.? No. I'm with my family now. The U.S. offers better work, but life there isn't what people think. I was never hiding. I had a deportation order and just wanted to work and return home. Q: How did you enter the U.S.? I crossed through Piedras Negras on December 18, 2023. I turned myself in. But I lost the address I was supposed to go to and couldn't retrieve it without my phone, which they wouldn't let me use. They asked about tattoos, took photos, and released me days later. Q: Have you thought of taking legal action? That what happened to us was a crime. We were labeled as terrorists without evidence. We had no rights, no charges, no lawyers. People say we're lying or exaggerating — but we lived through hell. And I hope one day, those responsible face justice.
Saudi Gazette
20-03-2025
- Politics
- Saudi Gazette
'It's him, it's him!' — Mother spots son deported from US in mega-prison footage
WASHINGTON — In a poor neighborhood of the Venezuelan city of Maracay, the mother of 24-year-old Francisco José García Casique was waiting for him on Saturday. It had been 18 months since he had migrated to the US to begin a new life but he had told her that he was now being deported back to Caracas, Venezuela's capital, for being in the US illegally. They had spoken that morning, just before he was due to depart. "I thought it was a good sign that he was being deported [to Caracas]," Myrelis Casique López recalled. She wanted him home. But he never arrived. And while watching a television news report on Sunday, Ms Casique was shocked to see her son, not in the US or Venezuela but 1,430 miles (2,300km) away in El Salvador. The footage showed 238 Venezuelans sent by US authorities to the Terrorism Confinement Centre, or Cecot, a notorious mega-jail. She saw men with shaved heads and shackles on their hands and feet, being forcefully escorted by heavily-armed security forces. The Trump administration says all of the deportees are members of the Tren de Aragua gang, which has found itself in the White House's crosshairs. The powerful multi-national crime group, which Trump recently declared a foreign terrorist organization, has been accused of sex trafficking, drug smuggling and murders both at home and in major US cities. Ms Casique told the BBC she was certain her son was among the detainees, even if no official list of names has been released. "It's him. It's him," she said, gesturing at a picture in which a man is seated, with his head bowed, on a prison floor alongside a row of others, a tattoo visible on his arm. "I recognize his features." She also maintains that he is innocent. US immigration officials have said the detainees were "carefully vetted" and verified as gang members before being flown to El Salvador. They said they used evidence collected during surveillance, police encounters or testimonies from victims to vet them. "Our job is to send the terrorists out before anyone else gets raped or murdered," Deputy White House Chief of Staff Stephen Miller said on Wednesday. Many of the deportees do not have US criminal records, however, a US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) official acknowledged in court documents. And they were deported under a law last invoked during wartime that doesn't require them to be charged with a crime. Those who do have criminal records include migrants with arrests on charges ranging from murder, fentanyl trafficking and kidnapping to home invasion and operating a gang-run brothel, according to the Trump administration. In García's case, his mother disputes that her son was involved in criminal activity. He left Venezuela in 2019, first to Peru, seeking new opportunities as overlapping economic, political and social crises engulfed the country, she said. He crossed illegally into the US in September 2023. His mother has not seen him in person in six years. "He doesn't belong to any criminal gang, either in the US or in Venezuela... he's not a criminal," Ms Casique said. "What he's been is a barber." "Unfortunately, he has tattoos," she added, convinced that the roses and names of family members that adorn his body led to his detention and deportation. That is how she, and other family members, recognised him from pictures released of the deportees in El Salvador. A young man with a shaved head and goatee kneels, while a soldier in khakis holds onto his shoulder Image from the video released by President Nayib Bukele showing Mervin Yamarte in the Cecot mega-prison in El Salvador Several other families have said they believe that deportees were mistakenly identified as Tren de Aragua gang members because of their tattoos. "It's him," Ms Casique said tearfully in Maracay, referencing the image from the prison. "I wish it wasn't him... he didn't deserve to be transferred there." The mother of Mervin Yamarte, 29, also identified her son in the video. "I threw myself on the floor, saying that God couldn't do this to my son," she told the BBC from her home in the Los Pescadores neighbourhood of Maracaibo, Venezuela. Like Ms Casique, she denies her son was involved with the brutal gang. He had left his hometown and travelled to the US through the Darién Gap, crossing illegally in 2023 with three of his friends: Edwar Herrera, 23; Andy Javier Perozo, 30; and Ringo Rincón, 39. The BBC spoke with their families and friends, who said they had spotted the four men in the footage from the El Salvador jail. Yamarte's mother said her son had worked in a tortilla factory, sometimes working 12-hour shifts. On Sundays, he played football with his friends, who all shared a home in Dallas, Texas. "He's a good, noble young man. There's a mistake," she said. 'We're terrified' President Trump invoked a centuries-old law, the 1798 Alien Enemies Act, to deport the men without due process in the US, saying they were Tren de Aragua gang members. Despite the US government's assurances that the deportees were carefully vetted, the move has had a chilling effect on many Venezuelans and Venezuelan-Americans in the US, who fear that Trump's use of the law could lead to more Venezuelans being accused and swiftly deported without any charges or convictions. "Of course we're afraid. We're terrified," said Adelys Ferro, the executive-director of the Venezuelan-American Caucus, an advocacy group. "We want every single member of TdA to pay for their crimes. But we don't know what the criteria is." "They [Venezeulans] are living in uncertain times," she said. "They don't know what decisions to make — even people with documents and have been here for years." Ms Ferro's concerns were echoed by Brian de la Vega, a prominent Florida-based, Venezuela-born immigration lawyer and military veteran. Many of his clients are in the Miami area, including Doral — a suburb sometimes given the moniker "Doralzuela" for its large Venezuelan population. "The majority of Venezuelans in the US are trying to do the right thing. They fear going back to their home country," de la Vega told the BBC. "The main concern, for me, is how they're identifying these members. The standard is very low." Many Venezuelan expatriates in the US — particularly South Florida — have been broadly supportive of Trump, who has taken a tough stance on the left-wing government of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro which many of them fled. But in February, the Trump administration terminated Temporary Protected Status — TPS — for Venezuelans, which had shielded many from deportation. The programme officially ends on 7 April and could impact nearly 350,000 Venezuelan nationals living in the US. "Trump's speeches have always been strong about the Venezuelan regime, especially during the campaign," de la Vega said. "I don't think people expected all this." Daniel Campo, a Venezuelan-born naturalized US citizen in Pennsylvania — and ardent Trump supporter — told the BBC that while he remains steadfast in his support of the president, he has some concerns about the deportations to El Salvador and the end of TPS. "I certainly hope that when they are doing raids to deport Tren de Aragua, especially to the prison in El Salvador, they are being extra careful," he said. Among those caught by surprise by the end of TPS and the recent deportations is a 25-year-old Venezuelan man who asked to be identified only as Yilber, who arrived in the US in 2022 after a long, dangerous journey through Central America and Mexico. He's now in the US — but unsure about what comes next. "I left Venezuela because of the repression, and the insecurity. My neighborhood in Caracas had gangs," he said. "Now I don't know what's going to happen here." — BBC
Yahoo
19-03-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
'It's him, it's him!' - Mother spots son deported from US in mega-prison footage
In a poor neighbourhood of the Venezuelan city of Maracay, the mother of 24-year-old Francisco José García Casique was waiting for him on Saturday. It had been 18 months since he had migrated to the US to begin a new life but he had told her that he was now being deported back to Caracas, Venezuela's capital, for being in the US illegally. They had spoken that morning, just before he was due to depart. "I thought it was a good sign that he was being deported [to Caracas]," Myrelis Casique López recalled. She wanted him home. But he never arrived. And while watching a television news report on Sunday, Ms Casique was shocked to see her son, not in the US or Venezuela but 1,430 miles (2,300km) away in El Salvador. The footage showed 238 Venezuelans sent by US authorities to the Terrorism Confinement Centre, or Cecot, a notorious mega-jail. She saw men with shaved heads and shackles on their hands and feet, being forcefully escorted by heavily-armed security forces. The Trump administration says all of the deportees are members of the Tren de Aragua gang, which has found itself in the White House's crosshairs. The powerful multi-national crime group, which Trump recently declared a foreign terrorist organisation, has been accused of sex trafficking, drug smuggling and murders both at home and in major US cities. Ms Casique told the BBC she was certain her son was among the detainees, even if no official list of names has been released. "It's him. It's him," she said, gesturing at a picture in which a man is seated, with his head bowed, on a prison floor alongside a row of others, a tattoo visible on his arm. "I recognize his features." She also maintains that he is innocent. US immigration officials have said the detainees were "carefully vetted" and verified as gang members before being flown to El Salvador. They said they used evidence collected during surveillance, police encounters or testimonies from victims to vet them. "Our job is to send the terrorists out before anyone else gets raped or murdered," Deputy White House Chief of Staff Stephen Miller said on Wednesday. Many of the deportees do not have US criminal records, however, a US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) official acknowledged in court documents. And they were deported under a law last invoked during wartime that doesn't require them to be charged with a crime. Those who do have criminal records include migrants with arrests on charges ranging from murder, fentanyl trafficking and kidnapping to home invasion and operating a gang-run brothel, according to the Trump administration. In Mr García's case, his mother disputes that her son was involved in criminal activity. He left Venezuela in 2019, first to Peru, seeking new opportunities as overlapping economic, political and social crises engulfed the country, she said. He crossed illegally into the US in September 2023. His mother has not seen him in person in six years. "He doesn't belong to any criminal gang, either in the US or in Venezuela… he's not a criminal," Ms Casique said. "What he's been is a barber." "Unfortunately, he has tattoos," she added, convinced that the roses and names of family members that adorn his body led to his detention and deportation. That is how she, and other family members, recognised him from pictures released of the deportees in El Salvador. Several other families have said they believe that deportees were mistakenly identified as Tren de Aragua gang members because of their tattoos. "It's him," Ms Casique said tearfully in Maracay, referencing the image from the prison. "I wish it wasn't him… he didn't deserve to be transferred there." The mother of Mervin Yamarte, 29, also identified her son in the video. "I threw myself on the floor, saying that God couldn't do this to my son," she told the BBC from her home in the Los Pescadores neighbourhood of Maracaibo, Venezuela. Like Ms Casique, she denies her son was involved with the brutal gang. He had left his hometown and travelled to the US through the Darién Gap, crossing illegally in 2023 with three of his friends: Edwar Herrera, 23; Andy Javier Perozo, 30; and Ringo Rincón, 39. The BBC spoke with their families and friends, who said they had spotted the four men in the footage from the El Salvador jail. Mr Yamarte's mother said her son had worked in a tortilla factory, sometimes working 12-hour shifts. On Sundays, he played football with his friends, who all shared a home in Dallas, Texas. "He's a good, noble young man. There's a mistake," she said. President Trump invoked a centuries-old law, the 1798 Alien Enemies Act, to deport the men without due process in the US, saying they were Tren de Aragua gang members. Despite the US government's assurances that the deportees were carefully vetted, the move has had a chilling effect on many Venezuelans and Venezuelan-Americans in the US, who fear that Trump's use of the law could lead to more Venezuelans being accused and swiftly deported without any charges or convictions. "Of course we're afraid. We're terrified," said Adelys Ferro, the executive-director of the Venezuelan-American Caucus, an advocacy group. "We want every single member of TdA to pay for their crimes. But we don't know what the criteria is." "They [Venezeulans] are living in uncertain times," she said. "They don't know what decisions to make - even people with documents and have been here for years." Ms Ferro's concerns were echoed by Brian de la Vega, a prominent Florida-based, Venezuela-born immigration lawyer and military veteran. Many of his clients are in the Miami area, including Doral - a suburb sometimes given the moniker "Doralzuela" for its large Venezuelan population. "The majority of Venezuelans in the US are trying to do the right thing. They fear going back to their home country," Mr de la Vega told the BBC. "The main concern, for me, is how they're identifying these members. The standard is very low." Many Venezuelan expatriates in the US - particularly South Florida - have been broadly supportive of Trump, who has taken a tough stance on the left-wing government of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro which many of them fled. But in February, the Trump administration terminated Temporary Protected Status - TPS - for Venezuelans, which had shielded many from deportation. The programme officially ends on 7 April and could impact nearly 350,000 Venezuelan nationals living in the US. "Trump's speeches have always been strong about the Venezuelan regime, especially during the campaign," Mr de la Vega said. "I don't think people expected all this." Daniel Campo, a Venezuelan-born naturalised US citizen in Pennsylvania - and ardent Trump supporter - told the BBC that while he remains steadfast in his support of the president, he has some concerns about the deportations to El Salvador and the end of TPS. "I certainly hope that when they are doing raids to deport Tren de Aragua, especially to the prison in El Salvador, they are being extra careful," he said. Among those caught by surprise by the end of TPS and the recent deportations is a 25-year-old Venezuelan man who asked to be identified only as Yilber, who arrived in the US in 2022 after a long, dangerous journey through Central America and Mexico. He's now in the US - but unsure about what comes next. "I left Venezuela because of the repression, and the insecurity. My neighbourhood in Caracas had gangs," he said. "Now I don't know what's going to happen here." 'Oopsie, too late' - US courts tested by Trump's latest deportations Trump has vowed to end birthright citizenship. Can he do it? 'Oopsie, too late' - US courts tested by Trump's latest deportations
BBC News
19-03-2025
- BBC News
Venezuelan mother says son sent to El Salvador mega-prison from US
In a poor neighbourhood of the Venezuelan city of Maracay, the mother of 24-year-old Francisco José García Casique was waiting for him on had been 18 months since he had migrated to the US to begin a new life but he had told her that he was now being deported back to Caracas, Venezuela's capital, for being in the US illegally. They had spoken that morning, just before he was due to depart."I thought it was a good sign that he was being deported [to Caracas]," Myrelis Casique López recalled. She had missed her son deeply since he left he never arrived. And while watching a television news report on Sunday, Ms Casique was shocked to see her son, not in the US or Venezuela but 1,430 miles (2,300km) away in El Salvador. The footage showed 238 Venezuelans sent by US authorities to the Terrorism Confinement Centre, or Cecot, a notorious mega-jail. She saw men with shaved heads and shackles on their hands and feet, being forcefully escorted by heavily-armed security forces. Ms Casique told the BBC she was certain her son was among the detainees."It's him. It's him," she said, gesturing at a picture in which he is seated, with his head bowed, on a prison floor, a tattoo visible on his arm. "I recognise his features."While an official list of names is yet to be released, the family is convinced that Mr García was among the Venezuelans deported to the Salvadoran supermax prison, even as a US judge blocked the removals. They also maintain he is Trump administration says all of the deportees are members of the Tren de Aragua gang, which has found itself in the White House's crosshairs. The powerful multi-national crime group, which Trump recently declared a foreign terrorist organisation, has been accused of sex trafficking, drug smuggling and murders both at home and in major US cities. US immigration officials have said the detainees were "carefully vetted" and verified as gang members before being flown to El Salvador. They said they used evidence collected during surveillance, police encounters or testimonies from victims to vet them."Our job is to send the terrorists out before anyone else gets raped or murdered," Deputy White House Chief of Staff Stephen Miller said on of the deportees do not have US criminal records, however, an immigration official acknowledged in court who do have criminal records include migrants with arrests on charges ranging from murder, fentanyl trafficking and kidnapping to home invasion and operating a gang-run brothel, according to the Trump administration. In Mr García's case, his mother disputes that her son was involved in criminal activity. He left Venezuela in 2019, first to Peru, seeking new opportunities as overlapping economic, political and social crises engulfed the country, she said. He crossed illegally into the US in September mother has not seen him in person in six years."He doesn't belong to any criminal gang, either in the US or in Venezuela… he's not a criminal," Ms Casique said. "What he's been is a barber.""Unfortunately, he has tattoos," she added, convinced that the roses and names of family members that adorn his body led to his detention and deportation. That is how she, and other members, recognised him from pictures released of the deportees in El Salvador. Several other families have said they believe that deportees were mistakenly identified as Tren de Aragua gang members because of their tattoos."It's him," Ms Casique said tearfully in Maracay, referencing the image from the prison. "I wish it wasn't him… he didn't deserve to be transferred there."The mother of Mervin Yamarte, 29, also identified her son in the video."I threw myself on the floor, saying that God couldn't do this to my son," she told the BBC from her home in the Los Pescadores neighbourhood of Maracaibo, Venezuela. Like Ms Casique, she denies her son was involved with the gang. He had left his hometown and travelled to the US through the Darién Gap, crossing illegally in 2023 with three of his friends: Edwar Herrera, 23; Andy Javier Perozo, 30; and Ringo Rincón, BBC spoke with their families and friends, who said they had spotted the four men in the footage and they were now all being held in the El Salvador jail. Mr Yamarte's mother said her son had worked in a tortilla factory, sometimes working 12-hour shifts. On Sundays, he played football with his friends."He's a good, noble young man. There's a mistake," she said. 'We're terrified' President Trump invoked a centuries-old law, the 1798 Alien Enemies Act, to deport the men without due process in the US, saying they were Tren de Aragua gang the US government's assurances that the deportees were carefully vetted, the move has had a chilling effect on many Venezuelans and Venezuelan-Americans in the US, who fear that Trump's use of the law could lead to more Venezuelans being accused and swiftly deported without any charges or convictions."Of course we're afraid. We're terrified," said Adelys Ferro, the executive-director of the Venezuelan-American Caucus, an advocacy group. "We want every single member of TdA to pay for their crimes. But we don't know what the criteria is.""They [Venezeulans] are living in uncertain times," she said. "They don't know what decisions to make - even people with documents and have been here for years."Ms Ferro's concerns were echoed by Brian de la Vega, a prominent Florida-based, Venezuela-born immigration lawyer and military of his clients are in the Miami area, including Doral - a suburb sometimes given the moniker "Doralzuela" for its large Venezuelan population."The majority of Venezuelans in the US are trying to do the right thing. They fear going back to their home country," Mr de la Vega told the BBC. "The main concern, for me, is how they're identifying these members. The standard is very low."Many Venezuelan expatriates in the US - particularly South Florida - have been broadly supportive of Trump, who has taken a tough stance on the left-wing government of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro which many of them in February, the Trump administration terminated Temporary Protected Status - TPS - for Venezuelans, which had shielded many from deportation. The programme officially ends on 7 April and could impact nearly 350,000 Venezuelan nationals living in the US."Trump's speeches have always been strong about the Venezuelan regime, especially during the campaign," Mr de la Vega said. "I don't think people expected all this."Daniel Campo, a Venezuelan-born naturalised US citizen in Pennsylvania - and ardent Trump supporter - told the BBC that while he remains steadfast in his support of the president, he has some concerns about the deportations to El Salvador and the end of TPS."I certainly hope that when they are doing raids to deport Tren de Aragua, especially to the prison in El Salvador, they are being extra careful," he those caught by surprise by the end of TPS and the recent deportations is a 25-year-old Venezuelan man who asked to be identified only as Yilber, who arrived in the US in 2022 after a long, dangerous journey through Central America and now in the US - but unsure about what comes next."I left Venezuela because of the repression, and the insecurity. My neighbourhood in Caracas had gangs," he said. "Now I don't know what's going to happen here."Additional reporting by Bernd Debusmann Jr in Washington
Yahoo
18-03-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
The Trump administration accused him of being a gang member and deported him. His family says it's all made up
Francisco Javier Garcia Casique, one of the hundreds of Venezuelans deported by the Donald Trump administration over the weekend, has no criminal record in either the United States or his country of origin, his family has insisted. Casique, 24, was reportedly among the 238 people believed to have connections with the notorious Tren de Aragua criminal gang that were taken to El Salvador as part of an agreement between Trump and the country's president Nayib Bukele on Saturday. The deportees were removed despite U.S. District Court Judge James Boasberg disputing the invocation of the wartime Alien Enemies Act 1798 as the basis for the administration's actions and ordering that the planes delivering them be turned around. On Monday, Judge Boasberg demanded answers as to why the flights had gone ahead in defiance of his order while Trump's allies, including Attorney General Pam Bondi, Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt and his White House advisers Alina Habba and Stephen Miller hit the airwaves to rebuke the justice for overstepping his authority in challenging an executive order from the president. Trump himself angrily lashed out at Boasberg on his Truth Social platform on Tuesday morning, calling him a 'radical left lunatic' and demanding his impeachment. While the legal battle rumbles on, Casique, a barber by trade, finds himself incarcerated in the maximum security CECOT mega-prison in Central America with no record of his case visible on the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) website, according to his distraught mother Mirelis Casique, who says his rights are being violated. Ms Casique, who has taken to TikTok to draw attention to her son's plight, told The New York Times she had recognized him by his tattoos, his ears and his general stature in news photographs of the newly-arrived inmates and said she felt 'broken at the injustice' of what had taken place. She explained that her son had entered the United States in December 2023 seeking asylum, having previously spent six years in Peru cutting hair and shaving customers to support the family – a skill he taught himself by watching YouTube videos, his brother Sebastian told El Estimulo. He had injured himself falling from a train in Mexico before being detained by immigration officers at the U.S. southern border, Ms Casique said, with the officers concerned enough by his tattoos – which actually read 'peace' and listed the names of his grandmother, mother and sisters – to detain him for two months in a detention center in Dallas, Texas, while they investigated possible gang connections. He was subsequently released by a Texas judge last April on the condition that he wore an electronic bracelet to monitor his movements before he could be repatriated to Venezuela, she said, only for ICE to arrest him again on February 6 this year. 'I told him to follow the country's rules, that he wasn't a criminal, and at most, they would deport him,' his mother said. 'But I was very naive – I thought the laws would protect him.' In a subsequent interview with Spanish language news channel NTN24, Ms Casique repeated that her son's only offense was entering the United States without the proper documentation. 'My son isn't a criminal who should have been sent to El Salvador,' she maintained.
