Trump's New Order Does Nothing To Help Children Now Separated From Their Parents

submissively speaking · Dec 14, 2018

Hey, who woke up the screamer?

stumbler · Dec 15, 2018

submissivelyspeaking said: ↑

Hey, who woke up the screamer?
Click to expand...

I think there is trouble over this one. DHS has already been caught lying and concealing over this.

But at least the poor kid was spared the horrors of the dreaded Foster Care. Just ask shootersa.

stumbler · Dec 31, 2018

BUT FOSTER CARE BUT FOSTER CARE BUT FOSTER CARE!!!!!

CNN Airs Disturbing Footage of Arizona Shelter Workers Shoving and Dragging Undocumented Migrant Kids

On Sunday, CNN aired footage of shelter workers in Arizona shoving small migrant children under their care.

“We should warn our viewers this is absolutely disturbing,” CNN correspondent Nick Valencia said about the videos, first reported by the Arizona Republic.

He added the videos show staffers “pushing, shoving and even dragging these small undocumented migrants.”

One blurred video then aired showing a worker entering the room at the Hacienda Del Sol shelter in Youngtown, Arizona, while shoving and pushing a small child. He then cornered the child against the wall.

In a second video, another staffer is seen dragging a different child.

The incident reportedly happened in mid-September.

According to CNN, the incidents were reported to local law enforcement as well as federal authorities but no charges were initially filed.

“Overnight,” Valencia continued on, “it seemed to have changed.”

Valencia further noted, *“After these incidents were brought to light, two of those staffers were fired. Another was disciplined.”

The shelter where the incident happened is now closed. It was run by Southwest Key, the largest provider of migrant shelters for children.

“[It’s] another dark stain on the story of migrants here in the United States,” Valencia said.

Watch above, via CNN
Click to expand...

*And this is the biggest problem of all. These incidences of child abuse "came to light" but nobody knows what is really going on in these shelters and/or tent cities because they won't allow access to the press or even elected officials to see what is really going on and how these children are being treated. And the Secretary of DHS doesn't even know how many migrants have died in US custody.

https://www.mediaite.com/tv/cnn-air...oving-and-dragging-undocumented-migrant-kids/

shootersa · Dec 31, 2018

Yes, American foster kids first.
Curious you hunt for the most unreliable and unverifiable stories of migrant "abuse" but can't bring yourself to copy and paste even one story about the plight of American foster kids.

Especially since you claimed to be a foster kid yourself and to know first hand what it is really like in the foster care system.

Are you unpatriotic general?

Oh yes, almost forgot.

Cause ..... trump.

The mission comes first.
Sacrifice is necessary.
Fuck ethics.
To hell with truth.
Get trump at all costs, even if it means politicizing migrant and American kids.

Collateral damage.
No matter. Just as long as we get trump.

stumbler · Dec 31, 2018

In Immigrant Children’s Shelters, Sexual Assault Cases Are Open and Shut
Across the country, kids are reporting sexual assaults in immigrant children’s shelters. Alex decided to come forward. He told the shelter two older teens dragged him into a bedroom. There was surveillance video. But Alex's case wasn't investigated. His isn’t the only one.

World Cup soccer match was playing on the shelter’s TV when the two older teenagers tackled Alex on July 1 and dragged him into the empty bedroom. Wrestling him onto his stomach, one of them, a tattoo on his forearm, got on top. As Alex struggled to move, he said he could feel the teen’s penis grinding against his butt.

“Take off his shorts!” he heard the other teen, who’d bragged he’d been a gang member in Honduras, shout. “Let’s get him naked!”

Just 10 days earlier, Alex, 13, had been caught by the Border Patrol after traveling from Honduras with his 17-year-old sister and 5-year-old stepbrother, to flee the country’s gang violence. Now, they were being held at Boystown outside Miami, one of more than 100 youth shelters in the government’s sprawling system meant to provide a temporary haven for migrant children caught crossing the border.

The two teens had been taunting Alex since he’d arrived at the shelter, making crude sexual jokes about his pregnant sister. Now, in the bedroom, Alex said, they yanked down the front of his shorts.

“At least your sister has already tasted a man,” he heard one of them sneer. “But you haven’t even tried a woman.”

Alex said he fought as hard as he could, somehow managing to pull up his shorts and kick until he broke free. As he lay on the floor catching his breath, he said, the boys fled, warning him to keep his mouth shut.

Over the past six months, ProPublica has gathered hundreds of police reports detailing allegations of sexual assaults in immigrant children’s shelters, which have received $4.5 billion for housing and other services since the surge of unaccompanied minors from Central America in 2014. The reports, obtained through public records requests, revealed a largely hidden side of the shelters — one in which both staff and other residents sometimes acted as predators.

Several of the incidents have led to arrests of shelter employees or teenage residents. And in one particularly heinous case, a youth care worker was convicted in September of molesting seven boys over nearly a year at an Arizona shelter. The employee had worked for months without a full background check.

Coverage of such incidents by ProPublica and other media triggered demands for investigations.

Arizona’s governor ordered a statewide inspection of the shelters, leading to the shutdown of two centers run by Southwest Key after the nonprofit failed to provide proof that its employees had completed background checks.

And late last month, federal investigators warned that the Trump administration had waived FBI fingerprint background checks of staffers and had allowed “dangerously” few mental health counselors at a tent camp housing 2,800 migrant children in Tornillo, Texas.

But ProPublica’s review of the hundreds of police reports showed something else about the assaults. Something that went beyond background checks. Kids at shelters across the country were, indeed, reporting sexual attacks in the shelters, often by other kids. But again and again, the reports show, the police were quickly — and with little investigation — closing the cases, often within days, or even hours.

And there are likely even more such cases. ProPublica’s cache of records is missing many police reports from shelters in Texas, where the largest number of immigrant children are held, because state laws there ban child abuse reports from being made public, particularly when the assaults are committed by other minors.

Now, as the immigration system struggles to house and care for 14,600 children — more than ever before — an examination of how federal and state authorities investigated the assault against Alex, one of those children, reveals startling lapses.

For a few days, Alex said, he didn’t report his assault, heeding his attackers’ warning, worried that speaking up would delay his release from Boystown. But as they continued to harass him, he decided to tell his counselor.

The counselor told him that a surveillance tape had captured the teenagers dragging him by his hands and feet into a room, and that there might have been a witness.

But Alex’s report did not trigger a child sexual assault investigation, including a specialized interview designed to help children talk about what happened, as child abuse experts recommend.

Instead, the shelter waited nearly a month to call the police. When it finally did, a police report shows, the shelter’s lead mental health counselor told the officers “the incident was settled, and no sexual crime occurred between the boys like first was thought among the staff.”

And instead of investigating the incident themselves, officers with the Miami-Dade Police Department took the counselor’s word for it and quickly closed the case, never interviewing Alex.

A spokeswoman for the Archdiocese of Miami, which received $6 million last year to care for about 80 children at Boystown, said it handled Alex’s case correctly, blaming him for any delays. In response to questions, a Miami-Dade police spokesman said the department was reopening the case.

An examination of Alex’s case shows that almost every agency charged with helping Alex — with finding out the full extent of what happened in that room — had instead failed him.

The police closed Alex’s case 72 minutes after responding to the call.

Alex’s mother, Yojana, had just gotten off work on July 27, bone-tired after another hot day installing swimming pools in southwest Missouri, when the call came from Boystown. She’d been expecting her regular chat with her children, so when her cellphone showed a Florida number, she answered excitedly.

Yojana had left them behind in Honduras four years earlier to seek a better life in the United States. Now after a month in the shelter, they’d soon be reunited.

But instead of her children, she heard the unfamiliar voice of a shelter staff member. Something had happened to Alex.

There was surveillance video, the woman said, showing two older teenagers grabbing Alex, throwing him to the floor and dragging him into a bedroom.

“But there are no cameras in the room,” she said, “so we couldn’t see the rest.”

The woman passed the phone to Alex, who sobbed as he told his mother what happened in the bedroom.

When she hung up, Yojana was furious. The attack had happened more than three weeks ago. Why was she only finding out about it now? Where was the staff? Why wasn’t anyone watching them? And what if the attack had been worse than Alex said?

As a mother, Yojana said her instincts were to go to the police — to break down any door she had to — to make sure the shelter and the teens were held accountable. But she knew that in the United States, she wasn’t just any mother. She and her husband, Jairo, had separately crossed the border illegally several years earlier and had been living in the country without permission ever since. The family agreed to let us tell their story as long as we didn’t use their last names.

Yojana had reason to worry. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents have been arresting parents and family members, or members of their households, who are in the country illegally when they come forward to claim their children. This month, ICE said it had arrested 170 such sponsors, or people connected to them, between July and November; 109 of those people had no criminal record.

If Yojana and Jairo went to the authorities, or pressed too hard, they could risk everything they’d worked for.

A World Cup soccer match was playing on the shelter’s TV when the two older teenagers tackled Alex on July 1 and dragged him into the empty bedroom. Wrestling him onto his stomach, one of them, a tattoo on his forearm, got on top. As Alex struggled to move, he said he could feel the teen’s penis grinding against his butt.

“Take off his shorts!” he heard the other teen, who’d bragged he’d been a gang member in Honduras, shout. “Let’s get him naked!”

Just 10 days earlier, Alex, 13, had been caught by the Border Patrol after traveling from Honduras with his 17-year-old sister and 5-year-old stepbrother, to flee the country’s gang violence. Now, they were being held at Boystown outside Miami, one of more than 100 youth shelters in the government’s sprawling system meant to provide a temporary haven for migrant children caught crossing the border.

The two teens had been taunting Alex since he’d arrived at the shelter, making crude sexual jokes about his pregnant sister. Now, in the bedroom, Alex said, they yanked down the front of his shorts.

“At least your sister has already tasted a man,” he heard one of them sneer. “But you haven’t even tried a woman.”

Alex said he fought as hard as he could, somehow managing to pull up his shorts and kick until he broke free. As he lay on the floor catching his breath, he said, the boys fled, warning him to keep his mouth shut.

Over the past six months, ProPublica has gathered hundreds of police reports detailing allegations of sexual assaults in immigrant children’s shelters, which have received $4.5 billion for housing and other services since the surge of unaccompanied minors from Central America in 2014. The reports, obtained through public records requests, revealed a largely hidden side of the shelters — one in which both staff and other residents sometimes acted as predators.

Several of the incidents have led to arrests of shelter employees or teenage residents. And in one particularly heinous case, a youth care worker was convicted in September of molesting seven boys over nearly a year at an Arizona shelter. The employee had worked for months without a full background check.

Coverage of such incidents by ProPublica and other media triggered demands for investigations.

Arizona’s governor ordered a statewide inspection of the shelters, leading to the shutdown of two centers run by Southwest Key after the nonprofit failed to provide proof that its employees had completed background checks.

And late last month, federal investigators warned that the Trump administration had waived FBI fingerprint background checks of staffers and had allowed “dangerously” few mental health counselors at a tent camp housing 2,800 migrant children in Tornillo, Texas.

But ProPublica’s review of the hundreds of police reports showed something else about the assaults. Something that went beyond background checks. Kids at shelters across the country were, indeed, reporting sexual attacks in the shelters, often by other kids. But again and again, the reports show, the police were quickly — and with little investigation — closing the cases, often within days, or even hours.

And there are likely even more such cases. ProPublica’s cache of records is missing many police reports from shelters in Texas, where the largest number of immigrant children are held, because state laws there ban child abuse reports from being made public, particularly when the assaults are committed by other minors.

We found 100 facilities holding immigrant children and have mapped 88 of them. Help us find out more about the facilities and the children being held there.
Now, as the immigration system struggles to house and care for 14,600 children — more than ever before — an examination of how federal and state authorities investigated the assault against Alex, one of those children, reveals startling lapses.

For a few days, Alex said, he didn’t report his assault, heeding his attackers’ warning, worried that speaking up would delay his release from Boystown. But as they continued to harass him, he decided to tell his counselor.

The counselor told him that a surveillance tape had captured the teenagers dragging him by his hands and feet into a room, and that there might have been a witness.

But Alex’s report did not trigger a child sexual assault investigation, including a specialized interview designed to help children talk about what happened, as child abuse experts recommend.

Instead, the shelter waited nearly a month to call the police. When it finally did, a police report shows, the shelter’s lead mental health counselor told the officers “the incident was settled, and no sexual crime occurred between the boys like first was thought among the staff.”

And instead of investigating the incident themselves, officers with the Miami-Dade Police Department took the counselor’s word for it and quickly closed the case, never interviewing Alex.

A spokeswoman for the Archdiocese of Miami, which received $6 million last year to care for about 80 children at Boystown, said it handled Alex’s case correctly, blaming him for any delays. In response to questions, a Miami-Dade police spokesman said the department was reopening the case.

An examination of Alex’s case shows that almost every agency charged with helping Alex — with finding out the full extent of what happened in that room — had instead failed him.

The police closed Alex’s case 72 minutes after responding to the call.

Alex’s mother, Yojana, had just gotten off work on July 27, bone-tired after another hot day installing swimming pools in southwest Missouri, when the call came from Boystown. She’d been expecting her regular chat with her children, so when her cellphone showed a Florida number, she answered excitedly.

Yojana had left them behind in Honduras four years earlier to seek a better life in the United States. Now after a month in the shelter, they’d soon be reunited.

But instead of her children, she heard the unfamiliar voice of a shelter staff member. Something had happened to Alex.

There was surveillance video, the woman said, showing two older teenagers grabbing Alex, throwing him to the floor and dragging him into a bedroom.

“But there are no cameras in the room,” she said, “so we couldn’t see the rest.”

The woman passed the phone to Alex, who sobbed as he told his mother what happened in the bedroom.

When she hung up, Yojana was furious. The attack had happened more than three weeks ago. Why was she only finding out about it now? Where was the staff? Why wasn’t anyone watching them? And what if the attack had been worse than Alex said?

As a mother, Yojana said her instincts were to go to the police — to break down any door she had to — to make sure the shelter and the teens were held accountable. But she knew that in the United States, she wasn’t just any mother. She and her husband, Jairo, had separately crossed the border illegally several years earlier and had been living in the country without permission ever since. The family agreed to let us tell their story as long as we didn’t use their last names.

Yojana had reason to worry. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents have been arresting parents and family members, or members of their households, who are in the country illegally when they come forward to claim their children. This month, ICE said it had arrested 170 such sponsors, or people connected to them, between July and November; 109 of those people had no criminal record.

If Yojana and Jairo went to the authorities, or pressed too hard, they could risk everything they’d worked for.

Weeks earlier, Alex had started on a path he thought would lead to help. Four days after the attack, he finally got up the courage to report it to his counselor. “She told me it was very sad what happened to me and that she was very sorry,” Alex recalled. His counselor took him to the office of her supervisor, Marianne Cortes, where he repeated his story.

Then, he said, Cortes told him that she and his counselor would watch the surveillance video and “if it’s like you told me, we’ll put in a report.” After they watched the video, Alex said, his counselor told him that there was something else on the tape, something he hadn’t realized during the attack. There’d been a witness.

“In the video, my counselor told me there was another boy in a window,” he said.

But then, after those revelations, nothing happened. There was no further investigation.

In an interview, archdiocese spokeswoman Mary Ross Agosta said at that time there was no reason for one. Alex “was interviewed by staff, and he claimed it was verbal harassment, sexual gestures and teasing about his sister, but no nudity,” she said.

The staff had reviewed the surveillance footage, she said: “They did grab him by his hands and feet and take him in the room.” But, she said, it was “humiliating,” not criminal.

The shelter reported the incident to federal regulators as sexual harassment. Staff didn’t call the police, she said, “because there was no sexual contact or inappropriate behavior — other than making fun of him.”

Waiting three weeks to call Yojana was “an oversight,” Ross Agosta said, which Cortes noticed when she prepared to call Yojana to begin the reunification process.

It wasn’t until July 30, she said, that Alex told staff that something sexual had happened. But Alex said by that time, Cortes knew the full story. He’d told her when he first reported it in early July and she heard it again as she stood by while he told his mom on July 27.

On July 30, Ross Agosta said, the shelter called the Miami-Dade police and the Florida Department of Children and Families.

Child abuse experts say waiting in such a situation goes against best practices. Regardless of what Alex revealed the first time, they said, counselors who work with children should know that it’s common for assault victims to withhold details initially.

“Sometimes it can be overwhelming,” said Chris Newlin, the lead author of a U.S. Justice Department report on best practices for interviewing children in abuse cases. Young victims may be unsure of what to do, what will happen if they tell or how the system works, he said. They may have been threatened or they may be traumatized.

Newlin said a child in Alex’s situation would be even less likely to report because of his immigration status. That’s why it’s critical, he said, for staff members to take every case seriously and look for signs of trauma.

Ross Agosta said the police came to the shelter on July 30 followed the next day by DCF investigators. And both agencies, she said, determined there “was no sexual assault.”

After the call from Alex, Yojana and Jairo dropped everything and started driving across the country to Boystown. It was supposed to be a happy time, but now they were filled with worry.

Yojana, 33, had come to the United States from Honduras in 2014, leaving behind Alex, then 9, and his sister, Yemerly, 13. She joined a sister in southwest Missouri and found work at a chicken plant, packing frozen pieces on the graveyard shift.

She kept up with her kids through video chats and posted pictures on Facebook of Alex’s face painted like a clown at a birthday party she missed.

The money she sent to Honduras allowed Alex and Yemerly to attend private school, a rare privilege she hoped would insulate them from the country’s gang violence. Yojana hadn’t made it past the sixth grade, but Yemerly was studying to be a civil engineer.

But that display of economic success made them vulnerable to kidnappers, she and Jairo said. One night, after not hearing from Yemerly for several days, Yojana saw a TV news report about five young girls being kidnapped and decided it was time.

“If we didn’t send for them to come, we might regret it for life,” Jairo said.

Alex, Yemerly and their stepbrother Amahury set off from Honduras in June with their 8-year-old cousin. They traveled in a packed refrigerated trailer through Mexico and, 11 days later, crossed the Rio Grande in a green inflatable raft. They were quickly caught by the Border Patrol and taken to Catholic Charities’ Msgr. Bryan Walsh Children’s Village — a facility most people call Boystown.

Five weeks later, on the day they were finally reunited in the Boystown cafeteria, photos show Yojana didn’t even stop to put her handbag down before hugging her children tightly to her. Alex was now taller than her with a new haircut, a thick wave of black hair on top with the sides shaved to a point in the back like the soccer stars he worshipped. Yemerly cried in her mother’s arms.

“Right there, in that moment,” Yojana said later, “it felt like the children that I left in Honduras had come back to life.”

But, she said, she could feel a part of Alex was closed off. The kids wouldn’t be released for two days, so when Alex called her at the hotel, Yojana decided to press for more details about the attack and record it on her phone.

During the call, Alex told her the police were coming and he’d been told they “are going to interview me.” But he was scared that anything he said could interfere with his getting out. “I just don’t want to be here anymore.”

Yojana urged him to tell the truth. “When the police arrive, you tell them the exact same thing you told me,” Yojana said. “Don’t be afraid of what those kids did. You must tell them what happened.”

Yojana could hear the staticky sound of a walkie-talkie in the background.

“Hold on,” Alex said, “the counselor is coming for me.”

What happened next is disputed. Alex said after he hung up he was never interviewed by police or anyone else.

The Miami-Dade police initially told ProPublica it couldn’t find any reports about an alleged sexual assault at Boystown despite being provided with Alex’s full name, the shelter’s address, the date and a description of the incident.

After culling through a log of 145 calls the police had received from the shelter since 2013, we found it under the vague label “Conduct Investigation.”

According to the report, Miami-Dade police officers arrived at Boystown at 4:42 p.m. on July 30 and completed their investigation at 5:54 p.m. The report doesn’t describe what they did for that 72 minutes. The narrative is three sentences long.

Cortes, it said, had called the police “to advise that on the listed date and approximate time” Alex had “an incident” with two other boys. But she “advised the incident was settled and no sexual crime occurred between the boys like first was thought among the staff.”

That was essentially it. The police left. There was nothing about a surveillance video. They didn’t interview the teenagers or the potential witness. They didn’t talk to Alex. There was no mention of how Boystown had come to its conclusion — or why the police believed it.

Under “Case Status,” an officer had typed “CLOSED.”

In a brief phone call, Cortes said she couldn’t discuss how she and others in the shelter responded because of privacy rules and referred questions to the archdiocese.

“The only thing I could tell you is that we advocated the most for him and his care,” Cortes said. “Anything that happens with any child there that might be a trauma, we take it for face value. We don’t minimize it. We take everything very serious.”

Detective Alvaro Zabaleta, a Miami-Dade police spokesman, said he didn’t know if the officer who responded had been told there was video. But he didn’t want to second-guess his judgment in not interviewing Alex.

Shelter staff members, Zabaleta said, are trained to work with immigrant children and the issues they face. So when “you’re dealing with kids and you have their counselor,” he said, “they become their voice, and they’re there to look out for the best interest of the child.”

But the officer’s decision not to interview Alex struck child abuse experts we spoke with as unusual.

“How can you possibly conduct an investigation without getting input from the one person who you think can be your most credible witness about what may or may not have happened?” Newlin said. “How do you know who to talk to? How do you know what evidence to possibly look for if you don’t obtain a statement from that individual?”

Mike Haney, who formerly oversaw abuse prevention and intervention at DCF and the Florida Department of Health, said the state developed its model for abuse investigations in 1978 when it created “child protection teams” made up of pediatricians, social workers and child psychologists. The teams work with local law enforcement agencies and DCF to assess child abuse reports, provide services and conduct what are known as “forensic interviews.”

Haney said such interviews should occur “as soon as it’s reasonably appropriate for the child,” but generally within 24 to 48 hours. That’s because children come under a lot of pressure when a report is made to law enforcement and DCF, he said.

“For an officer to respond to that type of allegation and not interview the kid, I’m not sure what the officer was thinking,” Haney said. “And if the clinician said, ‘I talked with the kids, they said this,’ I’d want to know that the child gave me the same story.”

Still, under Florida law, Haney said, the officer was under no obligation to call in a child protection team to conduct a forensic interview. That’s because the law only requires such interviews when the child alleges abuse by a parent or caregiver. And what Alex says happened to him is what’s known in Florida as a “child on child.”

“In my opinion, we should be referring any child if there’s an allegation of sexual abuse for a professional assessment,” Haney said. “But that becomes a resource issue, a funding issue, a staff issue. That’s the biggest reason. There would be a significant cost increase if we make it available to any child.”

The hundreds of police reports reviewed by ProPublica revealed many hastily dismissed incidents like Alex’s in immigrant youth shelters.

In 2016, a staff member at a shelter outside Phoenix observed one boy making hip-thrusting movements on top of another boy with a blanket in between them. The victim couldn’t stop crying and wouldn’t speak to the staff member. A police officer took a report and the case was closed.

A year earlier at the same facility, a youth care worker walked in on a boy who had his shorts partially down and was standing behind another boy who also had his pants down and was bending over a bed. The next day, during a medical exam, the boy told a nurse that one of his roommates had held him down while the other raped him. Five days later, however, when he was finally brought in for an official interview, the boy denied that anything had happened. That case, too, was closed.

In March 2017, a 16-year-old Honduran boy told a shelter employee in New York that his roommate had raped him while he’d been at a shelter in Renton, Washington. After nearly two months of back-and-forth, a detective finally interviewed the teen. But by that time, the boy no longer wanted “to do anything about it.” Like the others, the case was closed.

In many cases, the responding officers simply filed brief information reports about the incidents, without investigating them as potential crimes.

Critics say this highlights a flaw of the system. Because immigrant kids are typically only in the investigating agencies’ jurisdictions for a few weeks, even if a detective wanted to pursue a case, it wouldn’t necessarily be easy. Kids get moved around a lot in the shelter system, sometimes without warning or in the middle of the night. When they’re released, they’re often sent out of state to live with parents or relatives who might want to avoid interactions with police because they’re undocumented themselves or living with someone who is.

When Boystown finally released Alex and his siblings on Aug. 1, they handed Yojana a folder. It contained Alex’s intake papers, vaccination records and blood tests. There was information for Yojana about how to be a good sponsor and how to follow up with immigration court. But there wasn’t anything, not even an incident report, about what happened to Alex.

When Jairo asked to see the surveillance video, a staff member informed him that the security cameras were on a loop.

“They said that after 30 days, the video is erased, and much to our regret, today is the 31st day,” Jairo said. “How convenient.”

But in that moment, he and Yojana didn’t want to press. They had their children again. And for the first time in their lives, they could step outside and into America together.

After leaving Boystown, the family huddled at a nearby Honduran restaurant to decide if they should go to the police or if they should just get home.

They’d only been given a few days off work, and Jairo felt pressure to get back. On the other hand, somebody should pay for what happened to Alex, if not for his sake, to prevent other children from being harmed in the shelter.

Then again, the shelter said it filed a police report. Even if Alex hadn’t been interviewed yet, surely an officer would follow up.

“I wanted to grab my phone and break it because I couldn’t stand it anymore — the pressure,” Jairo said. “I have so many responsibilities on my shoulders and this was another on top of that. Plus, we already had our children, and that was good.”

They decided to leave.

Back in Missouri a few days later, Alex squeezed into the backseat of Jairo’s pickup, tagging along on a swimming pool job.

As they drove east on Interstate 44, passing the exit-ramp oases of Waffle Houses, Best Westerns and Flying J truck stops, Alex stared out the window silently, occasionally resting his head on the window or running his fingers nervously along the seams of his jeans.

For days, Yojana and Jairo had been wavering between wanting to seek justice but feeling powerless over how to go about it. Jairo said he had a business card for a lawyer in Kansas City who could take Alex’s case and maybe get to the bottom of what happened. But Jairo and Yojana hadn’t called for an appointment.

There was a lot they were trying to sort out. They weren’t sure if Alex was telling the whole story of what happened at Boystown or keeping something even worse from them. Yojana said she’d tried to broach the subject, but Alex told her not to ask him about it anymore.

Alex said that on the day the police came, he and his counselor “were waiting for the police to talk to me, but Marianne Cortes spoke with them, and then my counselor told me they didn’t need to interview me anymore.”

Alex said he was left confused. He’d wanted to tell the police what the two boys did to him and didn’t understand why the shelter had talked to the police on his behalf.

When asked what he wanted to happen, Alex was unequivocal. “I want to report them,” he said. “To go to the police.”

In mid-August, DCF released a report citing Boystown for three violations of the state’s rules regarding residential child care facilities.

The report said the shelter had been understaffed. It had failed to report suspected child abuse in a timely fashion. And it had failed to notify a child’s parents or legal guardian after a critical incident.

The records didn’t mention Alex or describe what prompted the investigation. But they show that on Aug. 16 — a little over two weeks after Alex was released — Boystown agreed to a “corrective action plan.” It promised to retrain employees and file biweekly reports that would allow the state to check that Boystown had enough staff to supervise the kids.

DCF spokesman David Frady said he couldn’t speak about Alex’s case or even confirm that there’d been an incident at Boystown because of privacy concerns.

“I’m not able to confirm or deny whether or not we’ve spoken to an alleged victim,” he said.

Miami-Dade police denied a request to interview the responding officers and refused to release body-camera footage of their visit to Boystown. Of the 17 minutes of video and audio that exists, the department said only 12 seconds was public because Florida law prohibits release of any body-cam recording taken within a “private residence.”

ProPublica challenged the decision, but the department said the conversation occurred in an office, a place where the social worker could expect privacy.

However, after receiving our questions about the handling of the case and reviewing the incident, Zabaleta said, the department had assigned an investigator to take a second look — effectively reopening the case.

The department then said it wouldn’t even release the 12 seconds of footage because the case was still under investigation.

The federal Office of Refugee Resettlement, which funds and regulates the shelters, said that after the incident, Boystown transferred the “perpetrators” to a different dorm. But the agency declined to answer questions about whether Boystown had handled the incident properly or what, if anything, ORR had done in response.

“Our focus is always on the safety and best interest of each child,” spokeswoman Lydia Holt said in an email. “We have no additional information to share regarding this case.”

Today, Alex’s case remains in the hands of the state attorney’s office. But child abuse experts say the likelihood of learning the truth of what happened to him in the bedroom at Boystown grows dimmer every day.

This much is clear: If Alex’s case is any guide, the thousands of children passing through the nation’s overburdened shelter system — understaffed and increasingly akin to long-term orphanages — should not expect a rigorous investigation if they suffer abuses in the shelters.

“Somebody has to pay for these mistakes because these are monstrous things,” Jairo said. “It can’t go unpunished. If it stays that way, in many centers, this is going to continue to happen.”

Prior to the publication of this story, and without the knowledge of ProPublica, Silvina Sterin Pensel, a freelance reporter, started a GoFundMe page to help a relative of Jairo get back to Missouri after her son was released from a New York shelter. The fundraising effort was launched after ProPublica and Sterin Pensel had secured the cooperation of Jairo and his family for this story and had no bearing on the reporting.
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https://www.propublica.org/article/...social&utm_source=twitter&utm_campaign=buffer

shootersa · Jan 1, 2019

Longest copy and paste from the general yet.
Haven't even looked for a foster kid abuse story yet have you?

stumbler · Jan 1, 2019

What a raving lying just phony to the core hypocrite. Just how fucking stupid do you think people are? I have already documented that I am not only fully aware of stories about kids abused in foster care. I wrote stories about kids that were being abused in foster care and busted their abusers and the system that covered for them.

Worst phony and pathetic dodge I have ever seen. Use kids in foster care as a dodge because kids in US custody are being abused but you can't give a fuck about them because your fucking Fuhrer can do no wrong.

Wear you own despicable label you disgusting phony non fuck.

You don't care about kids in foster care and you never fucking did. And I have proven that beyond reasonable doubt.

All you care about is WINNING because Trump. And you are willing to use abused kids as a prop to do it.

shootersa · Jan 1, 2019

You don't ever prove anything but how delusional, fake, hypocritical and sorry you are.

Yeah, shooter cares first about American kids. You got a problem with that, tell your senator, cause shooter gives not a gnat fart what you think.

Not since you tried to claim you were a foster kid. And the icing on that shit cake is that you spew endlessly about "alleged" abuse of migrant kids when the truth is all you care about is attacking trump.

Dumb ass

stumbler · Jan 1, 2019

Over the years I have proven I care about all kids. I am all for improving our foster care system and even better yet better safety nets to help parents be better parents and keep kids out of foster care. And I care about the kids that Saudi Arabia is starving to death with our help in Yemen. And I damn sure care about kids in US custody because that is on US to make sure they are taken care of and not abused. As US citizens that is our legal and moral responsibility and the Trump administration is failing miserably at it.

And I detest and protest Trump's racist and mindless and incompetent self inflicted debacle at the border.

Because there is no reason for it and a lot better ways to handle it.

shootersa · Jan 1, 2019

Sure. Okay.
Where was your rage when Obama separated kids from their parents?
Oh, Excuse Shooter
Where was your rage when Obama and Bush tore children from their mothers bosom and tossed them into cages?

And by the way, where's your source showing that kids in US custody are being abused? That they died in custody means nothing as far as determining if they were abused. According to RELIABLE sources they were treated humanely from the time they were picked up and were given better medical care than most Americans would get, and for damn sure, better care than they would have gotten in their home country or on their trek up here.

You can speak the words lying hypocrite and you can attack anyone who doesn't toe your line, but reality is what it is.
Even when there are voices in your head telling you otherwise.

stumbler · Jan 18, 2019

Watchdog: Thousands more migrant children separated from parents than previously known

The Trump administration separated thousands more migrant children from their parents than was previously known, according to a government watchdog report.

“More children over a longer period time were separated [at the border] than have been commonly described,” an official from the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) inspector general’s office told reporters on Thursday.

The report from the inspector general's office said thousands of children have been separated from their parents during an influx that began in 2017, before the administration’s “zero tolerance” policy was enacted, and before a federal judge ordered the agency to reunite all the children who were separated.

"How many more children were separated is unknown, by us and HHS," the agency official said

Under zero tolerance, children brought across the border illegally were separated from their parents, deemed “unaccompanied,” and detained by HHS in separate facilities sometimes hundreds of miles from their parents.

The report confirms that family separations at the border increased months before then-Attorney General Jeff Sessions wrote the zero tolerance memo. It sheds new light on the administration’s efforts to use separations as a way to deter migrants from unlawfully crossing the southern border.

House Democrats have vowed to investigate the policy.

A federal judge in June ordered HHS to identify and reunite all separated children. As a result, the agency identified 2,737 children who were separated from their parents and placed into HHS custody.

HHS has since reunited or otherwise released most of those children, but there are thousands more who were separated before that point. The total number is unknown, and officials also don’t know how how many of those children have been reunited.

The efforts to reunite separated children were impeded by the department's lack of a centralized database to track children.

An HHS official said the agency now can “determine the location and status of any child in [the Office of Refugee Resettlement's] care at any time” using an online portal. But the report found that ability did not exist until the judge ordered the reunifications. Tracking was largely informal until HHS scrambled to implement a better system.

In response to the report, HHS officials noted that they have accounted publicly for all children who were separated from a parent at the border by the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), and who were in the agency’s care as of June 26, 2018

The agency also noted the investigation looked at children who DHS separated from a parent or legal guardian at any time, regardless of whether the separation occurred at the border, and regardless of whether, or when, the HHS refugee office discharged the child.

The administration has also continued to separate children, despite the court order, the report found.

From July 1 through Nov. 7, HHS received at least 118 children who were separated from their parents. DHS officials have only given HHS limited information about the reasons for these separations.
Click to expand...

https://thehill.com/latino/425828-w...-separated-from-parents-than-previously-known

freethinker · Jan 25, 2019

stumbler · Jan 28, 2019

The hypocrisy glares like the sun when you watch the video clips of Trump screaming undocumented immigrants are taking American jobs and "hire Americans" and then watch the interviews of undocumented migrants that worked for Trump for years and years and then got fired in the last week after it was all over the news.

Which is why its a pretty big story today.

shootersa · Jan 28, 2019

Why yes, a huge story.
The despicables prove yet again, anything can be spun to fuck with Trump.

Rixer · Jan 28, 2019

The children are always used as a prop for political gain no matter which side of the isle you're on. I dismiss it as propaganda. The parents knew exactly what would happen before they marched those kids to our border. In my opinion, they put themselves and their own children at risk theirowndamnedselves.

stumbler · Jan 29, 2019

shootersa said: ↑

Why yes, a huge story.
The despicables prove yet again, anything can be spun to fuck with Trump.
Click to expand...

Hey @shootersa I have a question for you. When the Trump administration separates these children from their parents they can only be legally held in detention for a short time. So where do those kids go from there?

shootersa · Jan 29, 2019

You bored today general and just trolling?

stumbler · Jan 30, 2019

shootersa said: ↑

You bored today general and just trolling?
Click to expand...

Simply proving again you are just such an outrageous hypocrite when you tried to deflect and distract with all your fake concern for kids in foster care when that's where these migrant kids are placed in.

shootersa · Jan 30, 2019

They don't go to foster care until they are abandoned by their parents and no family is willing to take them.

But you already know that if, as you claim, you have had firsthand experience with the system.

Which shooter seriously doubts.

But yeah, trolling is what you're doing.

Good luck with that.

stumbler · Jan 30, 2019

shootersa said: ↑

They don't go to foster care until they are abandoned by their parents and no family is willing to take them.

But you already know that if, as you claim, you have had firsthand experience with the system.

Which shooter seriously doubts.

But yeah, trolling is what you're doing.

Good luck with that.
Click to expand...

Once again you just blatantly and deliberately lie.

Families still being separated at border — months after Trump’s ‘zero tolerance’ policy reversed

The Trump administration has quietly resumed separating immigrant families at the border, in some cases using vague or unsubstantiated allegations of wrongdoing or minor violations against the parents, including charges of illegally re-entering the country, as justification.

Over the last three months, lawyers at Catholic Charities, which provides legal services to immigrant children in government custody in New York, have discovered at least 16 new separation cases. They say they have come across such instances by chance and via their own sleuthing after children were put into temporary foster care and shelters with little or no indication that they arrived at the border with their parents.

ProPublica stumbled upon one more case late last month after receiving a call from a distraught Salvadoran father who had been detained in South Texas, and whose 4-year-old son, Brayan, had literally been yanked from his grasp by a Customs and Border Protection agent after they crossed the border and asked for asylum. Julio, the father, asked to be identified only by his first name because he was fleeing gang violence and worried about the safety of relatives back home.

“I failed him,” said Julio, 27, sobbing uncontrollably. “Everything I had done to be a good father was destroyed in an instant.”

ProPublica tracked down Brayan, who has reddish-blond hair and an endearing lisp, at a temporary foster care agency in New York City, and reached out to the lawyer who represents him. Until that phone call, the lawyer, Jodi Ziesemer, a supervising attorney at Catholic Charities, had no idea that Brayan had been separated from his father. The chaos, she said, felt disturbingly like zero tolerance all over again.

“It’s so disheartening,” Ziesemer said “This was supposed to be a policy that ended.”

Officially it has. On June 20, President Donald Trump signed an executive order retreating from his so-called zero-tolerance immigration enforcement policy, which called on authorities to criminally prosecute adults caught illegally crossing the border and separate them from any children they brought with them. A week later, a federal judge, Dana M. Sabraw, issued an injunction against the separations and ordered the government to put the thousands of affected families back together.

TODAY

Sabraw, however, exempted cases in which the safety of the child was at risk, and crucially, imposed no standards or oversight over those decisions. As a result, attorneys say, immigration officials — taking their cues from an administration that has made it clear it still believes family separations are an effective deterrent — are using whatever justification they can find, with or without substantiation, to deem immigrant parents unfit or unsafe.

If the authorities have even the most specious evidence that a parent was a gang member, or had some kind of blemish on their record,” said Neha Desai, a senior attorney at the National Center for Youth Law, “anything they can come up with to say that the separation is for the health and welfare of the child, then they’ll separate them.”
‘Nothing to do with zero tolerance’

In an email, a senior CBP official acknowledged that immigrant families are still being separated, but said the separations had “nothing to do with zero tolerance.” The official added that “this administration continues to comply with the law and separates adults and children when required for the safety and security of the child.” The official declined to say how many children have been taken from their parents for what was said to be their own protection.

CBP officials explained that Brayan was such a case. One official said that the agency had conducted a routine background check on Julio, and that it “confirmed his gang affiliation with MS-13.” Spokeswoman Corry Schiermeyer declined to provide the evidence the agency had to support the allegation, saying only that it was “law enforcement sensitive.” Nor would she say why CBP believed Julio was a danger to his child. But Sabraw’s order, she said, “did not prevent these separations, in fact it explicitly allows DHS to continue with this prior practice.”

CBP has also not shared any evidence supporting its assertion of Julio’s gang ties with his lawyer, Georgia Evangelista, who said she wonders whether it exists.

(On Tuesday, a government lawyer repeated the allegation to an immigration judge in South Texas but said he could not provide documentation to the court because it was “confidential,” according to Evangelista. She said the immigration judge did not press for release of the evidence but freed her client on an $8,000 bond. Evangelista was frustrated by the outcome, saying, “How can we fight these charges when we don’t know what they are.”)

According to Evangelista, Julio arrived at the border in mid-September, carrying a letter prepared by a Salvadoran lawyer that explained that he had fled El Salvador with his son because he had been attacked and threatened by gangs there for years. At Evangelista’s request, the Salvadoran lawyer and Julio’s former employer sent sworn statements vouching for Julio’s character, and stating that he was never involved in criminal activity.

“I’m furious about this. They aren’t playing by the rules,” Evangelista said, referring to U.S. immigration authorities. “They’re treating him like a criminal so they can justify taking away his son. Where’s the proof? It’s his word against theirs. It sickens me.”

Susan Watson, a civil rights and family lawyer, said this kind of action could not be done without a judge’s review in custody cases that do not involve immigration issues. “Constitutionally, before a parent is separated from a child, you are entitled to due process,” she said. “Some decision in a dark corner by the Border Patrol doesn’t meet that standard.”

In New York, Ziesemer says the new separations identified by her organization involve children between the ages of 2 and 17, including Brayan. All of them arrived in New York City without any records indicating they had been separated from their parents at the border and why. A few weeks ago, the ACLU, which brought the lawsuit over the first round of family separations, sent a letter to the Justice Department raising concerns about the new cases, specifically about the grounds for the separations and why the ACLU hadn’t been notified about them.

‘Flimsy excuses’
Lee Gelernt, the ACLU attorney who led the organization’s lawsuit against family separations in the spring, said, “If the government is still secretly separating children, and is doing so based on flimsy excuses, that would be patently unconstitutional and we will be back in court.”

Lawyers at the ACLU and Catholic Charities said that the DOJ responded that it wasn’t obligated to report the new separations to the ACLU because they hadn’t been done as a part of the zero-tolerance policy. The DOJ said that in 14 of the 17 cases flagged in the ACLU’s letter, the children were removed from their parents’ custody because authorities suspected the parents had some kind of criminal background that made them unfit — even dangerous. But the agency would not specify what crimes the parents were suspected of committing and what evidence authorities had to support these allegations.

The ACLU and other groups representing immigrant children said the DOJ’s secrecy is highly troubling on several counts. They worry that the Department of Homeland Security has allowed authorities without formal training in custody issues — primarily Border Patrol agents — to make decisions using standards that could violate the spirit of the court order and that would never hold up in non-immigration cases. Ziesemer has talked to relatives and social workers and says she suspects that at least eight of the cases involve parents whose crime is illegally re-entering the country. Illegal re-entry is a felony, although previous administrations did not typically separate families in such cases. Ziesemer said the allegations the government has advanced to justify separations in eight other cases were either vague or unsubstantiated. The final case she identified involved a parent who was hospitalized.

“The government’s position is that because these are not zero-tolerance cases, they don’t have to tell us, or anyone, about them,” Ziesemer said. “Our position is that when children are separated from their parents, there needs to be some oversight.”

Brayan’s case is a vivid example of how government officials are interpreting the court order to allow separations of families.

I found out about him by accident. Early last month, after the government reported that of the more than 2,600 immigrant children separated under the zero-tolerance policy, only one child under the age of 5 remained in their care. I decided to try to find that child, thinking the case might make a compelling bookend to a story I’d written this year about a girl named Alison Jimena Valencia Madrid, whose cries were recorded inside a Border Patrol detention facility in June. The recording ignited a storm of outrage that tipped the political scales against the Trump administration’s family separation policy.

An attorney on the border, Thelma O. Garcia, said she represented a 6-year-old Salvadoran boy named Wilder Hilario Maldonado Cabrera, who was in a temporary foster home in San Antonio. Wilder had been separated from his father in June, Garcia said, and hadn’t been reunited because the father had a 10-year-old warrant for a DUI charge in Florida.

The father, Hilario Maldonado, called me from the South Texas detention facility in Pearsall and said he’d tried to keep in touch with Wilder by phone, but his social worker didn’t always pick up. When they did connect, he said, Wilder, pudgy, precocious and missing his two front teeth, scolded him for not coming to take him home.

I told Maldonado that it appeared he would be one of the last parents to go through such a separation because the government had agreed to stop them.

Maldonado, 39, said that wasn’t true. The separations are still happening, he said, and he knew of one.

A few minutes later, I got a call from Julio, who was at the same detention facility. He sounded desperate, crying and pleading for answers. He said he’d turned himself and Brayan into the authorities as soon as they’d crossed the border, asked for asylum and told immigration agents that his mother, who lives in Austin, Texas, was willing to help him get on his feet. Seven days later, a Border Patrol agent took Brayan, dressed in a SpongeBob SquarePants T-shirt, away, screaming.

Julio said all he knew was that his son was somewhere in New York. As soon as we hung up, I called Ziesemer at Catholic Charities, which has a government contract to provide legal services to the unaccompanied minors in the city. I asked whether she’d heard of Brayan.

“We do know this kid,” Ziesemer quickly responded, “but were not aware he was separated from his father.”

Ziesemer was audibly shaken. “Until you called, all I had was his name on a spreadsheet,” she said.

Ziesemer immediately arranged to have Brayan, who had been placed in a temporary foster home, brought to her office. Her experience told her not to expect much from their first interaction, partly because Brayan was likely to be afraid, and partly because he was only 4. So she tried putting Brayan at ease by opening a box of crayons and a Spider-Man coloring book.

He warmed up to her quickly, putting down his crayons to show her his Spider-Man moves and squiggling lines on a piece of paper when she asked whether he knew how to write his name. But, as Ziesemer expected, he was too young to make sense of what had happened to him on the border, much less explain it to an adult he’d just met. And his lisp made it hard for Ziesemer to understand the few things he could tell her.

After the meeting, she sounded both exasperated about having to grill a tiny child and terrified that there might be other children like him buried in her spreadsheets.

“We, and the caseworkers and the consulates, do what we can to fill in the gaps and figure out where these kids came from,” she said. “But that means days and weeks go by with a child not knowing where his parents are and vice versa. And it doesn’t have to be that way. It shouldn’t be that way.”

After Ziesemer’s meeting with Brayan, I traveled to Pearsall to meet Julio. He said he’d fled the country with Brayan because street gangs had threatened to kill him after finding out that he reported one of their members to the police. His wife and stepson stayed behind because there wasn’t enough money to pay for everyone to come. I spoke to his wife, who told me she was hiding out at her parents’ house because she didn’t want to be home if gang members came looking for her husband.

In photos his relatives sent, Julio looked sort of like a cop, stocky with a crew cut. But after a month in detention, he looked pale and deflated. He wore navy blue detention garb and his dark brown hair was wet, though neatly combed. He didn’t have any tattoos, which are common among Central American gang members.

‘Ice box’
Through tears, Julio told me he’d replayed the days since his arrival at the border in his mind, trying to make sense of why authorities took away his son. Julio and Brayan had been taken to the “ice box,” a notorious air-conditioned cellblock that is the first stop for most immigrants intercepted at the border. Brayan developed a high fever and had to be taken to the hospital for treatment. A Border Patrol agent who drove Julio and his son scolded Julio for bringing a small boy on such a harrowing trip. Could that be the reason they took his son away? Was it because the agents had looked at the color of Brayan’s hair and didn’t believe he was the boy’s father?

Julio wonders whether he had been fooled into signing a document at the hospital — they were all in English — surrendering his rights to his child. Was it because he’d once been arrested for a robbery in El Salvador, but exonerated two days later when authorities realized they had the wrong person? Why would they consider him a danger to his child?

It wasn’t until I told him that Julio learned his child had been taken from him because Border Patrol agents suspected he was a gang member. The news hit him hard, and it was confounding because at the same time the CBP had deemed him a gang member, another agency within DHS had found that his asylum petition, in which Julio claims he was a victim of gang violence, was persuasive enough to be heard by an immigration judge.

In early October, Julio had met with an asylum officer for what’s known as a credible fear interview. According to the report of that interview, which Julio provided to ProPublica, the asylum officer not only asked him why he fled El Salvador, but whether he had a criminal record. Among the questions were: Have you ever committed a crime in any country? Have you ever harmed someone for any reason? Even if you did not want to, have you ever helped someone else harm people? Have you ever been arrested or convicted of a crime? Have you ever been a member of a gang?

Julio answered no to all of them. The asylum officer who conducted the interview deemed Julio’s account credible, and, even more significantly, indicated that she had been provided no derogatory information or criminal records that would automatically bar Julio from winning asylum.

The discrepancy reflects differences in the legal standards for asylum and family separation. While the asylum officer’s decision is subject to review by a judge, the Border Patrol’s decision to take away Julio’s child was not.

“I don’t know what information, if any, they really have on Julio,” his attorney, Evangelista, said. “They have total discretion when it comes to separating him from his child. They can do what they want. And they don’t have to explain why.”

Julio said his own father had abandoned him when he was about Brayan’s age. Then his mother left for the United States when he was 7. He said he vowed never to do the same thing to Brayan, which is why he didn’t leave the boy behind in El Salvador. He wonders now whether that was a mistake. In every phone call with Brayan, Julio says, he feels his son slowly slipping away.

“He tells me: ‘You’re not my Papa anymore. I have a new Papa,’” Julio said of his son, adding: “He doesn’t even call me Papa. He calls me Papi. I never taught him that word.”

Happening again?
Back in New York, Ziesemer said she worries family separations may be beginning all over again.

Sitting with Brayan in her office, she said, brought back the faces of the 400 or so separated kids who had shuffled through over the summer. As Catholic Charities’ point person during the crisis, she said she came to know every single one of those kids by name. One 9-year-old girl went into a full panic attack when she was asked to step into a room without her sister because she thought Ziesemer was going to take her sister away like officials had taken her mother. “At one point, we had to have a meeting with the entire office to explain why the conference room was full of all these wailing kids,” she said.

Catholic Charities, the ACLU and several other large immigrant advocacy groups took the lead in putting the families together again; working the phones to find parents who were still in immigration detention and dispatching colleagues to Central America to track down parents who had already been deported. In addition to the “huge, heavy lift” of reunification, Ziesemer said, there was a crush of calls and emails from Congress, consulates and the media — all seeking information about the separations.

Ziesemer said she and her team worked around the clock for months, and though there are still several dozen kids awaiting reunification, she thought things were winding down. That’s when she began seeing new cases, like Brayan’s, which had some of the same hallmarks of the old ones.

Ziesemer didn’t know much about Brayan, except the little bit of information she’d gotten from him during their meeting. So I shared with her some of the things I’d learned about him from his family: that he could eat four hard-boiled eggs in one sitting; that he loved Lightning McQueen, a character from the Pixar movie “Cars”; and that he had a dog, Lucky, whom he insisted on seeing during every WhatsApp video call with his mother. His grandmother in Austin had fixed up a bedroom for him, filled with Mickey Mouse dolls, remote-control cars and winter coats. I told Ziesemer how distraught Brayan’s father was that his son called him “Papi.”

“A couple of weeks is a long time for a kid his age,” she said about Brayan. “They start losing attachments to people, even their parents.”
Click to expand...

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news...ts-families-separated-immigration/2132426002/

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Trump's New Order Does Nothing To Help Children Now Separated From Their Parents

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