Mexican Mom Struggles Back Home after Self-Deporting

“Self-deport” is a verb that has arisen from our modern struggles with national sovereignty: some illegal aliens decide that the hassle of dealing with their unlawful status is too much and they depart for their home country. It’s a double-good situation, where taxpayers don’t have to buy tickets for the intrusive job thieves, and it’s safer for arresting officers.

Wednesday’s Los Angeles Times had a typical sob story presentation, highlighting a Mexican mother filled with “sadness” because of her decision to self-deport.

Another front-page item (see photo below) noted that Mexican Mom had to “flee anti-immigrant fervor and job scarcity.”

There certainly isn’t much “anti-immigrant fervor” in California where she, the boyfriend and her five kids lived: Governor Jerry Brown has made the whole state a sanctuary zone for illegal aliens. But the fear of Trump is strong among the guilty!

Typical of the sob story genre, there are lots of emotional images in the writing — “alone but for a pig,” “isolation hit her” and “she broke down in tears.” But the whole gaggle’s cost for taxpayers and the issue of basic lawbreaking don’t come up.

‘It’s so hard right now’: For a mother who self-deported to Mexico, days of feeling lost, Los Angeles Times, February 7, 2018

Maria Barrancas stood in the backyard of her mother-in-law’s home, alone but for a pig and some hens. It had been about a week since she packed up her life in Gardena and left for Mexico with her partner and their two children.

There, in the small, dusty Sinaloa town of El Aguaje, the isolation hit her. Her three older children were still in California. She was in a country she hardly remembered, having left for the U.S. 32 years ago at age 15.

She broke down in tears but wiped them away before walking inside to her family. She didn’t want them to see that she was afraid.

Back in their two-bedroom apartment in Gardena, Barrancas and Ricardo Madrigal had dreamed of one day owning a home nearby. They made money buying and selling used cars. Every other day, Barrancas would see her then-21-year-old daughter, Cynthia, and granddaughter Hailee, who lived five minutes away.

But all that felt stable came unmoored when Donald Trump was elected president. Barrancas watched as Trump said he did not want people like her and Madrigal in a country he boasted he’d make great again, in part, by getting rid of them.

The couple were in the country illegally. Jobs already felt hard to come by, and the anti-immigrant climate added to their stress.

They decided to leave in August, heading for a border they had long avoided — a process some refer to as “self-deporting.”

In Tijuana, their daughter, Luz, then 6, clung to them, sobbing to go back. Barrancas held her tight and told her everything would be OK.

“We’re starting a new life today,” she said.

The family stopped briefly in El Aguaje before driving six hours to Tlaquepaque, in the Mexican state of Jalisco. They had chosen to move there because it felt safer than Sinaloa — where they were both born — and because Madrigal’s sister lived there.


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