Deportation drama plays out at Broadview facility
About 300 immigrants a week go through Broadview facility on way out of U.S.
Tribune staff report
12:04 AM CDT, June 27, 2008

Summoned by a recent 3 a.m. phone call, Christian Lopez went to a plain brick building in an industrial park off the Eisenhower Expressway for a hurried goodbye before his brother was deported to Mexico.

Lopez's parents, who are illegal immigrants, waited nervously outside the Immigration processing center in Broadview while Lopez, a U.S. citizen, went inside. He handed his brother $250 the family scraped together, a pair of socks, boxer shorts, jeans and—literally—the shirt off his back. They had only a few minutes to talk while a guard stood by.

"He told me to tell my mom he loves her," Lopez, 18, said. "I tried to hug him but they didn't let me. They said he's not allowed to touch me."

Every week roughly 300 immigrant detainees are processed through the Broadview Service Staging Area, a federal facility on a dead end street. Some are newly arrested, others are en route to a county jail or being released on bail pending a hearing. This is also the last stop for illegal immigrants in the Chicago area—and Indiana, Wisconsin and Kentucky—before they are shuttled to airports and deported.

White buses with clouded windows start arriving at the center in this near west suburb before dawn, bringing detainees from rural county jails. Families trickle in soon after, carrying bags of clothing and envelopes with cash.

Fridays are especially busy. That's when about 60 illegal immigrants are processed for deportation on government charter flights to Mexico operated by U.S. marshals.

Some are returning to a country they barely know, others are already planning covert border crossings to return to families here.

Lopez said his brother, Sergio Caballero, 23, hasn't lived in Mexico since he was a toddler. His parents came to the U.S. about 20 years ago on a tourist visa. They never intended to stay, but months turned to years. They put down roots and had two children here. Caballero has a 4-month-old daughter of his own.

"His real family is over here, not over there in Mexico," Lopez said. "His whole life is here."The Bush administration has stepped up border enforcement and netted record numbers of undocumented workers. Deportations in the six Midwestern states overseen by Chicago's regional offices are up 41 percent, from 6,310 in fiscal year 2004 to nearly 9,000 last year, according to Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

Immigration officials say increased enforcement ensures national security, and workplace raids protect U.S. workers as well as illegal immigrants who might be victimized by unscrupulous employers.

"We are mandated to enforce the nation's Immigration laws," said Gail Montenegro, a local ICE spokeswoman. "We carry out that mandate in a fair and humane manner."

Some illegal immigrants are too afraid to come near the Broadview center. They contact Rev. Jose Landaverde, who makes the rounds of county jails in rural Illinois and Wisconsin and drops off letters, money or clothes at Broadview every week.

His congregation at the Our Lady of Guadalupe Anglican Catholic Mission in Chicago collects money to help wives who are left behind.

"In the church I have 14 women who have nowhere to live," Landaverde said. "They owe two or three or four months in rent. I tell the wives, 'Now you are the mother and father to your children.'"

On a recent Friday morning, Cristina, 29, an illegal immigrant who did not want to be identified by her last name, joined religious leaders and Immigration activists at a weekly prayer circle outside the facility.

Her husband, a former forklift operator, was detained after a traffic stop in West Chicago on his way to the grocery store. He is awaiting deportation at a county jail, while she is scrambling to find a full-time job that will keep her from getting evicted and support her two young sons, who were born here.

"This is an injustice; we came here to work and we contribute [taxes] to the government," she said. "If they kick all of us out I don't know what would happen to the economy of this country."

Maria Elena, 40, an illegal immigrant from Mexico's Guanajuato state also declined to be identified by her last name. She joined activists outside the center after her husband, a former construction worker, was detained in February. He is being held in the McHenry County Jail pending deportation. If he is sent back, Maria Elena will stay and wait for him to come back across the border, again.

For now, she said, eking out a living in the shadows is preferable to raising their American-born children in Mexico. "They have a better future here," she said.
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