Seeking refuge: A gay immigrant’s traumatic journey for acceptance

The gang members took Marco by surprise, attacked him, and dragged him to a cemetery in Copán, Honduras.

They beat him repeatedly over the head with beer bottles. Then, they yanked his hair, pulling at it by the roots. When he tried to shield himself from the blows, shards of glass from the broken bottles cut his eye. Blood ran down his face.

Then they told him why they were beating him.

“This is what we do to gay people,” one of the men said. “You are disgusting and a bad influence.”

They gave him 24 hours to leave Honduras because of his sexual orientation. He decided to seek asylum in the U.S.

Far from being welcomed in the United States, however, Marco, 35, sat behind bars at Stewart Detention Center in Lumpkin, Georgia, where he was still bullied for being gay. While awaiting his request for parole to be granted, he hung his head, frustrated, and cried at the thought of returning to Honduras. Marco’s name has been changed in this story to protect his identity.

“It’s my country, but sadly, I am not welcome there,” he said. “I’m scared – extremely scared – of going back.”

Marco was charged with crossing the border without documentation – a civil offense. Many detained immigrants like Marco don’t have an attorney because, unlike people facing criminal charges, they are not guaranteed one at government expense. Their charges are civil in nature, which means they are allowed an attorney – but they must fork over the cost. This often puts legal representation out of reach. 

But the Southeast Immigrant Freedom Initiative (SIFI) – a project of the SPLC that provides pro bono legal counsel to those facing deportation proceedings in the Southeast – took on Marco’s case for parole when he arrived at Stewart.

A life of hardships

Before coming out as gay in Honduras, Marco had a girlfriend. The two of them had a son. Living in a country where the gay community is shunned, Marco’s son, 13, also faced intense harassment because of his father’s sexual orientation.

Marco’s family has also been subject to extreme violence from gang members in Honduras for almost two decades.

When his niece refused to marry one of Copán’s gang members, she was murdered. His brother left a Honduran political party controlled by drug traffickers; three days later, he was found dead.

Marco and his father were afraid to report the crimes to police. The Honduran police collaborate with the gangs, Marco said, and if he and his father had reported the activity, they would have been killed. Marco’s father disappeared soon afterward. No one knows if he is dead or alive. 

After years of being persecuted for his sexuality, Marco first attempted to flee Honduras by escaping to Mexico. He crossed through Guatemala on foot, searching for safety.

But when he reached Mexico, he was approached by members of Los Zetas – one of Mexico’s most notoriously vicious gangs. They tried to recruit him to work as a “hawkeye,” someone who spots people traveling from Central America who have relatives in the United States. Los Zetas kidnaps them and uses them for ransom.

Marco refused the work, and members of Los Zetas threatened to kill him.

Reluctantly, he returned to Honduras, where the gang members then beat him and gave him the 24-hour deadline to leave the country. Petrified, Marco left behind his son and his mother as he fled to the U.S. once more. 

After a long journey, Marco arrived at the Eagle Pass, Texas, port of entry in August 2018, where he broke down sobbing and voluntarily surrendered to U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) officers. The hurt, the hate – everything he had fled – had reached its breaking point. He was mentally and physically exhausted.

After he surrendered to CBP, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) told Marco he could qualify for parole. He was transported to a detention center in Pilsen, Texas, before ultimately winding up at Stewart, where he was for over four months.

“I didn’t come here for money,” Marco said in December from inside Stewart. “I just wanted a life without discrimination. I just want to walk on the street and be who I am. I don’t want to be scared, and I’m scared of being killed anywhere I go.”

‘I’m not welcome anywhere’

On Sept. 23, Marco had his master calendar hearing, the preliminary hearing that initiates removal proceedings against detained immigrants. He waited among approximately 20 other detained men, who sat together on the crowded bench and put their heads in their hands. Their faces were tired and anxious, their eyes sad. Some men prayed the Catholic Rosary prayer; others simply looked ahead with vacant expressions.

As the judge called upon the men to argue their cases, he spoke quickly, spitting out complex legal jargon with only a few seconds for the interpreter to “ensure” that the men understood what was happening.

This was the first of many hearings for Marco. In October, SIFI attorney Eleanor Wedum, who worked pro bono on behalf of Marco, filed his request for parole.

As he waited for his next hearing, Marco cleaned the immigrant prison for less than a dollar a day. The practice of forcing detained immigrants to work for pennies is not unusual with private prison operators.

In early 2018, the SPLC filed a lawsuit against CoreCivic, Inc. – the company that owns Stewart – for threatening detained immigrants who refused to work with solitary confinement and the loss of access to basic necessities, a situation that violates federal anti-trafficking laws.

But Marco had to work, and he used the small amount of money he earned to buy food from the facility’s commissary. He only ate the regular prison food served at Stewart if he was desperately hungry or out of money.

Among the other difficulties Marco faced at Stewart was the guards’ mistreatment of him. He said they would make fun of him for knowing only Spanish. When he tried to speak English, they picked on his accent.

But the mistreatment came to a peak when – for 15 days in a row – Marco suffered from the flu. He was only given aspirin and received no proper medical treatment for the virus, he said. 

He felt trapped and alone at Stewart. On top of everything else, he was still being persecuted there for being gay.

“I’m not welcome anywhere,” he said. “People say vulgar things to me in here, and it hurts. It hurts a lot. People bully me just for my sexual preference.”

As for his son, Marco prayed that he was no longer facing the harassment he endured before Marco fled. He hoped that his departure granted his son some relief. But he didn’t know. He hadn’t been able to speak with his son in over four months.

Marco admits that life had disappointed him. 

“Imagine leaving your country with a suitcase full of dreams,” he said. “Then you realize it is all an illusion. The world doesn’t give a fair chance to everyone. My suitcase is empty.”

Fighting for what’s right

As Marco waited in what is essentially an immigrant prison, he ate, prayed and slept. There was nothing else to do. He has a pristine record and says he would never hurt a fly. Yet at Stewart, he felt treated like a criminal.

As Marco waited for his request for parole to be granted, Wedum said that the situation was nothing short of cruel.

“I think Marco’s continued detention was absolutely inhumane,” Wedum said. “Marco fled persecution as a gay man, and resisted Mexican gangs at great peril to himself when they tried to recruit him. All he wants is to live in a country where he is free to be himself, and where his son can thrive without being discriminated against for his father's sexual orientation.”

Research shows that detained immigrants like Marco who have access to an attorney are 10-and-a-half times more likely to succeed in their cases. But there are never any guarantees.

Unfortunately, on Nov. 30, Marco lost his individual hearing and was ordered deported.

His heart sank. He felt helpless and more desolate than ever.

“Why won’t the judge grant me parole?” he said through tears. “Why me? I came fleeing my country – fleeing. I’ve suffered a lot in my life. I just want a life – a nice life – and I want to provide for my family.”

But Marco is determined not to give up. Although he will be removed from the U.S., he is confident he will find another country that will grant him asylum. 

“I lost the battle, but not the war,” he said. “I have to fight for my son and my mother. They’re all I have left. I’m going to fight until the very end.”

Should that dream finally be realized, Marco has big plans. 

“I want to work,” he said. “I want to work and fight for people like me, people who are gay.”

However, for now Marco is being forced back to Honduras, where he is scared that his attackers will find and kill him. 

“They know me,” he said. “What will happen when they see me? I’m terrified.”

Marco’s life as an immigrant – and as a gay man – hasn’t been easy. He simply wants to find a place where he’ll be accepted – and safe – from the hardships he’s endured. 

“We come from such poverty, and we just want a little bit of life,” he said. “Everyone thinks we’re delinquents, but we’re not. We have rights, too. With or without papers, gay or straight, man or woman, we all deserve respect.”