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Posted on Tue, Dec. 09, 2008

Undocumented migrants expelled from the land of their dreams
BY ALFONSO CHARDY

ABOARD ICE MISSION 9058 -- As the Boeing 727 taxied in darkness toward the runway, the flight attendant went through her pre-takeoff routine: Fasten seat belts. Locate emergency exits. No smoking.

Once airborne, most of the 110 passengers sat quietly, stared out the window or slept during the 2 ½-hour flight to Honduras.

MarÃ*a Santos Deras could barely contain her excitement.

''I've never been on an airplane,'' she said. ``It's my first time.''

But this was no ordinary flight. Deras and her fellow passengers were undocumented immigrants being deported to their home country, one of about six daily expulsion flights operated by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. An average of 600 illegal immigrants are removed every day.

''There has been an increase in the number of aliens taken into custody,'' said Michael Pitts, chief of ICE's flight operations unit. ``As a result of having more aliens within U.S. custody, there are more flights that are now needed to remove those aliens from the United States.''

The stepped-up immigration enforcement is reflected in the latest ICE statistics. From Sept. 30, 2007, to Oct. 1, at least 349,041 foreign nationals were expelled -- a 20 percent increase over the previous 12-month period. Of the total, at least 12,753 were removed from Florida -- 3,648 more than during the previous 12-month period.

The ICE-leased plane carrying 94 men and 16 women Oct. 20 was one of the daily flights to Honduras and other Latin American countries operated by Pitts' unit in Kansas City, Mo. -- a veritable ''airline'' in which passengers get a one-way ticket home.

Hondurans aboard ICE Mission 9058, consisted of a mixture of immigrants caught either by the Border Patrol, immigration officers in search of deportation-order fugitives or police officers during routine traffic stops in cities and towns far from the border.

Deportees boarded the flight before sunrise, after arriving at San Antonio International Airport aboard buses driven by guards. Before boarding, as the plane sat on the tarmac, federal officers patted down passengers and carefully checked their shoes for weapons.

Aboard the plane, deportees resembled regular passengers. All wore civilian clothes and none was handcuffed or shackled.

But the aisle was full of standing officers ready to prevent any disruptions.

The aircraft was airborne at 6:29 a.m. At cruising altitude, the crew served bologna sandwiches. The deportees ate, largely in silence. There was no in-flight movie.

Among the passengers: 32-year-old Paulino Castro, who was detained on a road in Wisconsin when a police officer pulled him over for a faulty taillight.

When the officer ran Castro's name through a database, he discovered that ICE considered Castro a fugitive. ICE records show that Castro failed to show up in immigration court, was ordered deported by an immigration judge and then evaded the removal order.

Castro told of his journey through the American legal system and how he was expelled from the country of his dreams. He said that soon after sneaking into the United States through Eagle Pass, Texas, Border Patrol agents caught him. But Castro was released after promising to appear in court.

He never did.

Castro headed to North Carolina, staying for a few months in Charlotte. Then he went to Kansas City to spend Christmas with a relative and to Vancouver to build boats.

He also visited Jacksonville before arriving in Wisconsin, where he was arrested and turned over to ICE.

''I was afraid I would be deported immediately if I revealed I was gay,'' he said, explaining his decision to flee.

Had he disclosed his sexual orientation then, the immigration judge might have given him the option of applying for asylum, said Ira Kurzban, a Miami attorney widely recognized as a national authority on immigration law.

''Homosexuality has been recognized as a possible basis for asylum under one of the designated categories, membership in a particular social group,'' he said.

Because Castro did not appeal the judge's deportation order, it became final -- meaning he could be put on a plane home without further proceedings when found.

And that's what happened.

Like most of his fellow passengers, Castro was largely quiet during the flight home.

Over Honduras, the flight began to get bumpy as the plane encountered bad weather. Plans to land in the capital of Tegucigalpa were suddenly scrapped. The plane would divert to San Pedro Sula, Honduras' second-largest city. Descending through a thick layer of clouds, few passengers appeared nervous. They would later learn that the country was in the throes of a major storm, the worst since Hurricane Mitch killed thousands in 1998.

The flight landed smoothly just before 9 a.m.

Women were allowed off first, some running and screaming or pumping their closed fists in the air. The men were more subdued. All were ordered by airport police to form a line to have their papers checked.

Then police told the deportees they were free to go.

Many huddled in groups beneath the terminal awning, looking for a way to get home.

For his part, Castro caught a cab to La Misión, the village where he was born some 55 miles south of San Pedro Sula.

His mother, Adelina, waited at the door of her small cinder-block home surrounded by tropical fruit trees and flowers.

''My son, my son, I'm so happy you are all right,'' Adelina told Castro as she held him in a tight embrace and tearfully kissed his face multiple times.

A 6-month-old dog, Ranger, barked as he entered the house.

Then Castro sat on a chair and sighed deeply as the small TV in the living room blared storm bulletins.

''I'm happy, but not happy,'' he said about being back home. ``I'm happy to see my family again, but not happy about being back in a place where I can't have a life.''