Behind Bars

Behind Bars 

It was Jorge who told me. I’d met him when I was dating Cristian during the Bogotá years. He’d been Cristian’s best friend and I had always rather liked him. He had a very stable and calm and mature presence that made it easy to like. Later, when both he and Enrique lived in Madrid, they became close too. Enrique often called him his best friend.

Jorge was happy when Enrique and I got together and we had several facetime calls together during - he was empathetic when things ended. He’d checked in a few times afterward, asking if I’d heard from him. Then, right after July 4th, I saw a text from him indicating that he had just spoken to Enrique's mother and she told him that he had been arrested. In disbelief, I did a few quick searches and confirmed it myself.  

The mugshot didn’t look real. His hair was short again, a beard covering his face, one eye completely bloodshot. I could not believe this had happened and immediately tried to imagine the trepidation and fear in being in a prison system of a foreign country that yu do not speak the language. He was listed as "inmate" - this was the man that I was helping open an interior design business just a few months earlier, the man who played high-stress chess games with me at midnight, sang “Shape of You” off-key in the kitchen in underwear and hung birdhouses in the backyard like they were small works of art.

And now he was a case number. I stared at the word indigent next to his name and felt something I still can’t describe.They had taken all of the parts of him and reduced him to codes, descriptions and block numbers. I couldn't fathom what he possibly could've done to get arrested and began reading the public case files. 

The charge was "attempted conveyance".

According to the police report, he proactively shared that he was intentionally trying to open the back door of a broken-down car ...so that he could take a shirt? As I read the interview and statements, I got a clearer picture that told a better story. He had been biking home and realized his bookbag had been robbed that contained his ID, notebooks and phone. He had grown increasingly lost as he tried to bike back to the motel he was staying at and finally had come across a police car - thinking they could help him, he approached them and something happened. Probably due to the language barrier, and more likely due to it being clear that he was undocumented, he was placed in handcuffs and brought to the station.

For someone who was very uncomfortable with unwanted touch, who needed hot showers and prided himself on thorough grooming - I could imagine that this  experience must have been hell. They stripped him, searched him, gave him a jumpsuit and a number. His public defender, barely fluent in Spanish, entered a plea of not guilty. He must have thought that meant he’d go free. Instead, they set bail at $2,500 and at almost 2 o'clock in the morning, brought him to jail. 

As I read the information, I realized all of this had happened weeks ago. There had been no contact at all with the outside world - no calls, no letters, nothing except a booking number and a blurry photo. He’d been offered a phone call but didn’t know any numbers by heart and naturally nobody offered to call the embassy on his behalf. As I finished reading the documents, I was catching up with Jorge who was informing me that one of his distant cousins had visited him in the jail center once discovered on the facebook post and they had called his Mom in Spain to let her know what happened. 

Jorge shared that of immediate concern was communication - that they were told they had to open communication accounts and that Enrique had pleaded for someone to open a commissary account as he was not able to access basic hygiene supplies without it.

Eventually, Jorge connected me with his mom. Her voice shook the whole time we talked, every sentence full of panic and shock for her son. She reminded me of my own mom - the same fierce and protective love and a "will not take no for an answer" mentality.

Originally, I’d planned to only advise her through Jorge but it was clear she and the family had no idea what to do - they were split between Colombia, Spain and Italy and none of them spoke English 

The situation was complex as Enrique didnt have a formal address as he'd been staying at a motel - he had a criminal charge with the attempted theft, but his file also had a vague "immigration flag". They did not understand that the US is highly capitalistic and so that every element about was going to cost money. The phone, video visits, commissary and communication accounts were all managed by different vendors and required separate fundings, making things worse - most of their systems blocked non US numbers and as such his family could not even help.

I was a little conflicted - I had just processed his exit from my life, including the realization of how much time and energy I dedicated to helping him acclimate to his new life, but I also couldn’t ignore how lost they were. Within days - I began to see how overwhelmingly administrative all of this was and asked my assistant to help.

I was registering phone numbers, reloading balances, paying surcharges, and trying to schedule video visits that never connected. Every step had a new login, another form, another fee. I set a rule for myself no more than one or two hours a day. That was the only way to help without losing focus on my own life. I bonded with his Mother and was charmed as she told me stories of his funny childhood antics and her proudest moments. 

The biggest difficulty we had was basic communication, we needed to know what his immigration status and what that flag was, but there was no way to communicate with him- he was being held in Orlando - he had a distant cousin who had visited him that fist time but had left the area. He had to submit phone numbers for approval, but did not know any by heart, aside from his Mom who he could not call as it was international. We set up a video visit remote and registered his Mom and within 15 seconds the visit was cut due to technical difficulties. We discovered there was an email communication system and we registered him and his family an account, but he needed to be brought to a kiosk and told to accept it. 

His mother eventually convinced the chaplain, who spoke Spanish and felt badly for Enrique, to tell him about the email kiosk. That’s how we finally reached him. The first message came through his cousin: “I got the commissary account and thank you so much. Tell Daniel thank you so much -  I could buy deodorant, toothpaste, shampoo and underwear.”

When I saw it - I laughed. To his family it was just a list, but I recognized the sly nod to our formal intimacy he inserted.

Through all of it, I noticed something I found myself proud of. Even in that place, stripped of everything, he was figuring out how to adapt. The chaplain said he was quiet, respectful, focused on routine. Head down. Wait for updates. Eat, sleep, shower. Don’t draw attention. For a man who hated control, he’d somehow learned how to live inside it.

Emotionally, it felt surreal - I intentionally ensured he and I wouldn't directly communicate so I could remain detached - and it worked, mostly, but other times I got lost in a sudden nostalgia - at one point while reading the process for the criminal charge and I suddenly remembered him on the small grey couch that he liked to sprawl on and keep me company while I was working and how he had asked me one in that weird chaotic English: “Baybeee, please  - explain me - how you say this word? THOW-THOW-THOWUGUT? (thought)" 

It hit me how far away that moment felt, how different everything was now.

Enrique began to press what would happen to him - his defender never contacted him and he didn't understand what was happening or when there would be an update. A few other inmates had played a standard cruel trick on him, telling him that by law, he had to be released on the 30th day after his arrest if a formal charge wasn't filed - and as his 30th day came and passed he was getting scared and frustrated and impatient.

I had started realizing how quickly immigration laws were shifting. I had no experience in this and I was getting a great deal of almost contradictory information, warnings and worst of all silence. I had sent out almost 30 intakes for consultations on his families behalf - especially targeting NGOs and sliding scales - but the requests were either ignored or occasionally a quick note indicating they were not able to help with no other information provided.

Finally we saw an update on his case and formal charges were presented. The state was proceeding with their claim - which carried a sentence of up to 5 years and a $5,000 fine. His mother was inconsolable, especially when we were notified that the court date wasn't until mid November.

Enrique completely unraveled. His messages turned frantic, begging his mother to post the bond. I could tell he was cracking under the weight of it all, the confinement, the uncertainty, the way time itself becomes another form of punishment when you have no idea what’s next. 

But that was the week I finally understood just how bad things really were. If that bail was paid, ICE would take him immediately. He wouldn’t be released and free, he’d be transferred into another system entirely, one that had been under intense recent scrutiny for abuse, disappearances, and indefinite detentions.

His mother had been saving and gathering from the family and had taken out a few loans and was ready to pay it. After speaking to an immigration attorney and learning everything, I had to have the hardest conversation I've ever had.

I told her that while jail was awful, at least we knew where he was. He had basic rights, medical access, some communication, and a trace of dignity. If she waited, we’d have time to find and hire an immigration attorney and fix whatever the flag was and resolve it. If not, the situation would get much worse. She cried as she read the emails where he begged her for help. Then she told me she wouldn’t pay the bail but that she couldn’t forgive me that night and hung up.  I didn't hold it against her.

The following week was one of the worst - Enrique was expecting to be released on bail, but his Mom could not bring herself to tell him the truth. She constantly sent me their conversations asking how could she handle her and her sons anguish? She didn't want to scare him so said that one of the family had to take back their loan and she was pursuing other options, but it would be soon. I was frantically looking for an immigration attorney. After learning what I had, I moved away from NGOs and Sliding Scale, realizing he would need a good one, and fast. 

As my assistant completed the 11th intake form, I saw an alert that his case was updated. I opened the email and read one sentence "Upon review of the evidence, the state is dropping all charges against Enrique"