Photos courtesy of the Guzman family
Happier times: At left, Emily and Pedro Guzman pose for a picture with their son Logan in 2007. Right, Pedro Guzman and his son Logan enjoy a day at the playground in 2008. A Guatemalan citizen, Pedro was detained on Sept. 28, 2009 by Immigration and Customs Enforcement outside the family’s home in Durham, N.C. He is currently at Stewart Detention Center in Lumpkin, Ga.
WASHINGTON – Logan Guzman likes to pretend he’s a super hero.
One week he’s Spiderman. The next he’s Batman.
Whatever hero he embodies, the 4-year-old’s goal is always the same: He wants to save his father.
Logan’s dad Pedro Guzman, 30, was detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement in front of the family’s Durham, N.C. home on Sept. 28, 2009. Logan and his mother, Emily, could only look on.
“I was scared, but in the back of my mind I just felt like everything would eventually be okay because I was a citizen and he was married to me,” said Emily Guzman, 33, a mental health therapist who was born and raised in the U.S.
Nearly 19 months later, Pedro Guzman is still in immigration custody after multiple requests for release on bond were denied. He has two misdemeanor marijuana possession charges from 1998 on his record – and because of that he’s considered a risk. So he waits.
Immigration and Customs Enforcement detained 383,524 immigrants in 2009 according to its most recent annual report. Detention facilities consist largely of county jails and privately contracted detention centers designed to house criminals, not immigration offenders.
Pedro Guzman sits in a cell at the large-scale Stewart Detention Center in Lumpkin, Ga., more than nine hours from his family in Durham, and two hours from the Atlanta office of his attorney, Glen Fogle.
Reforms to the system announced in 2009 aimed to give more federal oversight to detention facilities, but critics say the changes are not moving fast enough.
The fractured network of detention facilities, often located in remote, rural towns, means many detainees never speak to a lawyer.
“Unlike in the criminal system, where if someone can’t afford a lawyer they’re appointed one, in the immigration system, you have a right to a lawyer but you have to find and pay for one yourself,” said Tara Tidwell-Cullen of the National Immigrant Justice Center, which provides legal services and advocates for immigration policy reform.
Even if detainees have the resources to find a lawyer, the isolated location of many detention facilities puts attorneys financially out of reach, Tidwell-Cullen said.
Plans to house detainees in critical areas like Chicago, Texas and Florida, are in the works, said Nicole Navas, an ICE spokeswoman. The agency’s objective is to realign detention resources, keep detainees closer to their families and lawyers.
Emily Guzman can afford a lawyer because of her strong support system. Many detainees cannot.
Emily Guzman’s mother and grandmother pay all of her husband Pedro’s legal fees. She estimated the cost at $14,000 so far, but said it could higher.
Add in travel expenses, application fees for immigration forms, and the cost of counseling for Emily Guzman and her son and the costs soar.
“If it wasn’t for them we would probably be out of the country by now,” Emily Guzman said.
A Guatemalan citizen, Pedro Guzman entered the U.S. illegally with his mother when he was 8, but was later granted a work permit.
Since Pedro Guzman entered the U.S. as a minor, his immigration status depended on his mother’s. When she was denied permanent residency in 2008, his immigration status was invalidated. Immigration services sent Pedro a notice to appear in court, but to the wrong address – a mistake the immigration office later took the blame for.
When Pedro failed to appear they ordered his deportation.
Pedro learned of his deportation order a year later when immigration services denied his work visa renewal.
“If we would have sent a lawyer with his mother, she would have been granted permanent residency,” said Guzman. “Then we wouldn’t be in this mess, I know we wouldn’t.”
The price for the government to hold Pedro is also steep.
Detaining an immigrant costs $122 per detainee, per day, according to a statement John Morton, director of ICE, made to the House Appropriations Committee last year.
That is $72,712 to detain Pedro from his arrest to a hearing on May 16, when a judge will decide if he can stay in the country.
Plans to implement alternatives to detention programs have seen little progress since early 2010, even though the programs cost significantly less than detention. The most-expensive program has an estimated price tag of $14 per detainee, per day, according to a statement released by Morton and Department of Homeland Security Secretary Janet Napolitano.
The cost of per detainee increases each time they are transferred, Navas said.
Stewart is the fourth detention facility Pedro has been in since his arrest.
Guzman and Pedro’s original attorney were never notified of the transfers.
“I’ve never heard of anybody getting advance notice before,” Guzman said.
Agency policy is to notify attorneys within 24 hours of a transfer. Family members are not contacted, but Navas said detainees have access to phones to call their families.
Phone policies vary by facility, and numbers often need to be preregistered to receive collect calls. Detainees can purchase phone cards from each detention center, but they may not work when they are transferred to a new facility. Many facilities only allow contact via mail or in person, but face-to-face visits can be too expensive when immigrants are held hours away from their attorney.
“It’s ridiculously difficult to communicate with them,” Fogle said. “You can’t call there. He’s called here sometimes, but it’s very expensive.
Plans to implement alternative to detention programs and other aspects of detention reform continue to be delayed.
Emily Guzman waits.
She waits for May 16. She waits for the day when the guards at the detention center go back to being strangers.
“One of the officers said this past time that we visited, she said, ‘It seems like we’re watching your little boy grow up,’” Emily Guzman said with a sigh. “I was like, you pretty much are.”