After being wrongfully deported, a South Texas man and his family navigate realities of shifting immigration policies

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MERCEDES — For most of her life, Geovanna Galvan didn’t worry that her parents, both undocumented farm workers in the Rio Grande Valley, would be deported. After President Donald Trump entered his second term in office, that changed. With a new pit in her stomach, she downloaded an app to track the location of her immediate family.

It didn’t take long for the app to prove useful. One afternoon in January — less than two weeks after Trump was inaugurated for his second term. Geovanna, 29, got a panicked call from her mother.

Geovanna’s father Jaime Galvan Sanchez, a 48-year-old farmhand, had been working, driving a tractor down a road in the small town of Primera when a police officer pulled him over for obstructing the street. When Jaime couldn't produce identification, the officer called U.S. Border Patrol.

Because of the location-tracking app, Geovanna knew exactly where her father was. She rushed to the Border Patrol station in Harlingen with utility bills, property tax documents and copies of his children’s birth certificates — evidence that her father had been living in the country for decades. It was what her dad needed to prove he couldn’t be deported through a process called expedited removal, which bypasses a court hearing before an immigration judge. People who have been in the U.S. for more than two years are not subject to expedited removal unless they sign a document waiving their right to go to court.

She was sent away and told her father could call her later.

Geovanna waited all night for that call. Finally, the next morning at around 8:45 a.m., Jaime called to from the Mexican border city of Reynosa. After living in the U.S. for more than 20 years, it took less than 24 hours for immigration officials to deport him to Mexico.

Two days later, in a surprising reversal, Border Patrol admitted they had made a mistake. Geovanna received a call from the Border Patrol chief in McAllen who apologized for the error of removing Jaime from the country without the due process he should have been entitled to. He told Geovanna to have Jaime report to the port of entry where he would be allowed back in.

“I never thought they’d let me back in right away like that,” Jaime said. “I thought I would never go back.”

Jaime re-entered the country on Jan. 31, but there would be no relief for him or the family.

He returned with an ankle monitor affixed to his left leg and paperwork in hand that told him to meet with immigration officials over the next few months to make his case to stay in the country. He would be unable to work, creating financial stress for his family, while continuing to navigate the process to secure a legal residency status in fear that he could be detained and deported again at his next check in.

Geovanna said she knew more responsibility would fall on her and her brother but was relieved to have her father safely at home for now.

“I have to be fighting for my dad, I have to keep on going,” Geovanna said.

A family isolates

After Jaime was allowed to return, the entire family entered a period of self-imposed house arrest out of fear that Jaime might be detained again or that Geovanna's mother might be next.

Their house sat at the end of a street marked with potholes. Jaime and his wife built it themselves 11 years ago and it is now home to their four children — Geovanna; Jaime Jr. 21; Samantha, 20; and Oscar, 10. Jaime Jr.'s wife, and their two children — Jaime III and Lillian also live in the home, in addition to Geovanna’s husband.

Their regular weekend outings to the mall were put on hold. They stayed away from the annual livestock show in Mercedes, a popular event among locals, that includes a carnival and other fun activities for families.

The family also didn’t dare leave the house for Jaime’s birthday. In previous years, Geovanna liked to take her dad out to dinner in early March to celebrate. But this year, she threw a party for him at home, telling everyone to wear green to match the party’s theme — John Deere. It’s her father’s favorite brand, she said.

At home, Jaime’s mobility was limited. The ankle monitor made it uncomfortable for him to do yard work. It was too awkward to wear anything other than sweatpants and Crocs, though not for lack of trying. One afternoon in early March, Jaime decided to wear jeans and sneakers for the first time since he'd had the ankle monitor.

Soon after he got himself dressed, Jaime got a call from an immigration officer.

"Are you having any issues with the bracelet," the agent asked in Spanish over the phone.

Jaime assured him he wasn't and that he was charging the device every night.

"Everything's working fine," Jaime said, and asked if something had happened to prompt the call.

"If there are any problems, contact the immigration office," was all the agent said before hanging up.

Jaime changed back into Crocs after that.

Geovanna’s role

As the oldest of four children, Geovanna has always taken on a leadership role within the family, but the situation thrust more responsibility onto her. She was already familiar with a local immigration law firm which helped her become a permanent resident last year so she’s been the primary contact between her father and his attorney.

While Jamie’s younger three kids are U.S. citizens., Geovanna was undocumented like her parents. Then in 2012, she obtained protection from deportation by enrolling into the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program under the Obama administration.

She had hoped to pursue a career in nursing but college financial aid was limited for people like her. Instead she decided to continue working in the fields with her parents. After she became a permanent resident last year, she applied for a job at a pizza restaurant.

Geovanna sees her dad as her hero and likes to believe that she’s following in his footsteps as someone who puts family first.

“He came here with me to give me everything, and I did have everything," she said. “He worked hard for his home, and now we have a home.”

With Jaime’s movements limited, and without a permit allowing Jaime to legally return to work, the family had to do without his salary of about $27,000, annually. Geovanna became the main breadwinner for her parents and two youngest siblings, though her husband and her brother also pitched in to help with the bills. She also does the majority of the shopping for the family, picks up her brother from school and takes him to his doctor's appointments.

“I’m the one that moves everybody around,” she said.

Geovanna has also driven Jaime to all of his appointments with immigration officials. He had his first one on March 12.

She was nervous that morning as she drove Jaime, and Samantha who tagged along, the 30 minutes to Harlingen.

None of them knew what to expect but she and her father hoped officials would remove the ankle monitor. She prayed at church on the two days leading up to it, hoping it would go well.

Across the country, news of people being detained at their check-in appointments with immigration officials and at their scheduled court hearings was on the rise as the Trump administration continued to pressure ICE officers to meet daily arrest quotas.

Outside the building of the U.S. Department of Homeland Security in Harlingen, Geovanna hunched over her phone, eyes glued to the screen as a small bubble moved around, indicating her father's location in the building in front of her.

Looking down at the app helped pass the time while Samantha scrolled through TikTok as Jaime occasionally moved around inside the building. Around 2 p.m., he finally emerged. The ankle monitor was gone. Instead, officials installed an app on his phone to remotely check in once a week.

Though it granted some relief, the appointment also brought a new fear. Jaime was instructed to return to the DHS building in just a few weeks, on March 26, and an officer warned he could be detained again that day, then and there.

“I think they’re just trying to scare him,” Geovanna said, though she couldn’t be sure.

Because of an increase in ICE arrests at immigration offices across the country, Carlos M. Garcia, an immigration attorney based in McAllen, said he warns his clients of the possibility that they could be detained every time they have an appointment with immigration officials or have a hearing in immigration court.

Garcia, who is not representing the Galvan family in this case, said that regardless of how he or his clients feel about how the law is being enforced, people need to show up for their appointments.

Jaime’s March 26 appointment came and went without incident. This time, Geovanna and Samantha waited less than two hours outside the building before their father came back out.

Convinced more than ever that the threat of detainment was just a scare tactic, she decided to submit an application for a work permit for her father and bring back a sense of normalcy for the family.

The persisting uncertainty around Jaime’s future created a heavy emotional and mental toll. Oscar, the youngest son, started seeing a counselor to help him process the ordeal while the others try to maintain a stable home for him.

Paradoxically, it’s Oscar who Geovanna draws strength from. Hung up in her room is a drawing the Oscar made for her that says “Never give up.”

Jaime’s story

Jaime is one of six children and grew up in the Mexican city of San Luis Potosí, located roughly 400 miles southwest of the Texas-Mexico border. When he was 12, he started going to Nuevo Progreso with two of his sisters and their husbands for seasonal agriculture work.

Around 18, he met his wife in San Luis Potosi. They eventually married and had Geovanna there. When their daughter was about 5 or 6 years old, they decided to cross the border to give Geovanna an American education.

"I remember talking to my dad and I wanted to learn English," Geovanna said. "My dad was like, 'OK, we'll take you.'" Their family became one of the millions who entered the country legally on a temporary visa but never left. Her siblings were all born in the U.S.

Jaime and his wife started working in the fields, waking up before dawn to harvest sugarcane and other vegetables, working through rain and freezing temperatures. He was elevated to a managerial position and Geovanna, at age 8, became his helper by counting the buckets of vegetables that the field workers brought in to ensure they were paid accurately. He did that for 10 years but has spent the last 13 years working on the ranch in Primera.

Eventually, Jaime saved up enough to buy the plot of land where the family lives now and then took what he earned in a month to buy the materials to build the home he always wanted.

“I always dreamt of a house,” he said.

Jaime lives in fear now, but it wasn’t always this way. When he used to work in the fields, he and the others with him would work at the edge of the river without concern about immigration officials. One day, over a decade ago, while picking cucumbers, they ended up stranded by the river when their van broke down. Border Patrol agents came over and asked if they needed water. They declined, saying they had plenty and the agents left them alone.

Now, he’s too scared to leave the house unless it’s for his check-ins with immigration officials and his wife, who was diagnosed with diabetes, only leaves to occasionally visit a health clinic.

“Now, it’s a lot trickier,” he said.

A financial struggle

One morning in June, Geovanna, Samantha and Jaime sat in the family truck, in line to pick up food from a local church which runs a food pantry. When they pulled up to the front of the line, staff loaded up a crate filled with vegetables, bread, a bag of lettuce and a package of pastries.

After her dad had to stop working, Geovanna searched places where they could receive assistance. She signed up to receive food from the church where they can pick up a crate once a week, and from the regional food bank where they can pick up food once a month.

They needed all the help they could get because of the added costs of paying for Jaime's legal fees. The work permit and the application for a green card cost hundreds of dollars each.

To raise funds, Geovanna began raffling off gift baskets that she made on holidays — Valentine's Day, Easter, Mother's Day and Father's Day. She made between $200 and $300 for each.

Geovanna’s frustration had been heightened for a few months. Jaime's court date to stay in the country was pushed back to September — and it is still tentative. A judge assigned to the case had looked over Jaime’s records and asked for clarification. It turned out, immigration officials had classified Jaime's case as an illegal reentry without noting he was currently paroled into the country because of the illegal deportation.

Because Jaime had technically re-entered the country legally, the attorney’s office said he could apply for legal permanent residency. Jaime had not previously applied for legal status because his children weren’t old enough to qualify as sponsors and because he was told he’d have to have to travel to Ciudad Juarez in Mexico. It’s there where applicants for U.S. visas report for an interview and a medical exam.

But Juarez comes with risks. If an applicant is denied, they would be stuck in Mexico. Through his pending application, Jaime hopes to adjust his legal status without leaving the country.

Garcia, the immigration attorney, said lately he is less inclined to advise people to begin the process of obtaining legal status.

"That person is submitting their information to the government, and if the government is using any kind of information that comes in to go and detain people who are in the country unlawfully, it really makes a person think twice about starting that process," Garcia said.

But there was a light at the end of the tunnel — Jaime's work authorization and Social Security card arrived in the mail, placing him closer to being able to return to work. Non-citizens who are authorized by DHS to work can obtain a Social Security number.

On the morning of June 18, Geovanna and Samantha found themselves outside the immigration office in Harlingen once again waiting for their dad. As they waited, a woman approached them. Her husband was also inside, and she was scared because of reports that people were being detained when they showed up for their ICE appointments.

"Let's pray," the woman suggested to Geovanna and Samantha. And they did.

Afterward, two officers came out and told the woman that her husband was being detained. She cried then got in her car and drove away.

Nearly two hours later, Jaime came out and rejoined his daughters except officials had once again placed an ankle monitor on him. He was told it was a new regulation. Of the 10 people who were inside with him, six were detained while the rest had the device attached to them, keeping them where they ultimately wanted to live but also serving as a reminder that they could be found and taken away.

Reporting in the Rio Grande Valley is supported in part by the Methodist Healthcare Ministries of South Texas, Inc.

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