Immigration and asylum are controversial subjects in the United States that whisk up debates about spending priorities, national security and cultural disagreements.
But to families fleeing to the United States from repression in their home countries, the arduous process of obtaining security stateside is worth the paperwork, slew of meetings, and variety of legal and political risks, even when the future remains shrouded in doubt.
Benjamin Waddell, Compañeros: Four Corners Immigrant Resource Center team member, recently helped Durango couple Wanda Ellingson and John Condie sponsor a young woman and asylum-seeker from Nicaragua traveling to the United States to reunite with her husband and raise money for their daughter back home.
Rosycela Tinoco Davila, 26, of Esteli, Nicaragua, is a short, shy young woman. She arrived in Durango earlier this year and reunited with her husband, Denssel Ochoa Gaitan, 21, with the help of Ellingson and Condie.
Gaitan, stout and fresh-faced, arrived in 2022 seeking asylum.
Ellingson and Condie sponsored Davila via the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services’ I-134A program.
The program, according to the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, is a process for Cubans, Haitians, Nicaraguans and Venezuelans and their immediate family members to request safe and orderly entry into the United States. Accepted applicants are granted a temporary two-year parole period for “urgent humanitarian reasons or significant public benefit.”
Applicants are vetted on a case-by-case basis and must meet certain criteria to be eligible, including:
- They must have a supporter or sponsor in the United States.
- They must undergo “clear robust security vetting.”
Ukrainians are also eligible applicants to the I-134A program, according to U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services.
Ellingson and Condie served in the Peace Corps in the 1970s when Nicaraguan dictator Anastasio Somoza ruled from 1967 to 1972 and from 1974 to 1979.
Ellingson said they have two Nicaraguan goddaughters, have traveled back to the country several times since their stint in the Peace Corps and lost numerous people during the Sandinista Revolution and the Contras (the “counterrevolution”).
“When this opportunity arose it was just the right thing to do. It was like our way to give back to a country,” Ellingson said.
Waddell interpreted for Davila and Gaitan, who know little English and speak Spanish as their first language.
Gaitan said they fled Nicaragua to build a brighter future for their daughter, who is 2 years old and currently under the care of his mother in Nicaragua.
“It's a very repressive state. You can't have the freedom of expression. And the repression that exists there is not something I want to continue with,” he said.
For example, he said, Davila’s studies at university were cut short when police ransacked the place one day. They took university property and wrecked various facilities.
Waddell said since the 2018 Nicaraguan student protests, also known as the Nicaraguan Student Movement, the Nicaraguan government has taken over a number of private universities and blocked Nicaraguans living abroad from accessing their university records.
“In the town of Esteli, the police would actually set up on the outskirts of town, they wouldn't let everything flow into the markets,” Gaitan said. “So there weren't any goods in the markets. It was difficult to get gasoline and different things. ... We were getting to a point where there was nothing.”
On July 19, the anniversary of the Sandinista Revolution, Nicaraguan President Daniel Ortega condemned Nicaraguans who left the country on temporary parole through the USCIS’s I-134A program, and said they are no longer Nicaraguans and no longer welcome in the country, Gaitan said.
He said he had a friend of his who spent two years in the United States through the I-134A program. When his two-year humanitarian stay expired, he returned to Nicaragua, only to be stopped by police outside the airport and stripped of his personal belongings and money he’d saved.
“If you speak out and you raise your voice and speak out against the government, there's repercussions,” he said. “And so the government, they'll put you in jail and what they'll do is they'll repatriate you to the United States and take away your Nicaraguan citizenship.”
Davila wanted to open a bank account in her name before traveling stateside, Waddell said. The bank teller told her not to open a bank account in her name because the government will often freeze accounts of U.S.-bound citizens and take their money. Rosycela took the teller’s advice and opened an account in her mother-in-law’s name.
Gaitan said the biggest problem for Nicaragua politically is there is no competition against the president. There is only one party, the Sandinistas, and the president, Ortega, who has “complete control.”
Those who dare to challenge Ortega in elections have their campaign offices raided and are jailed, he said.
Waddell said in the last election in 2021, six or seven candidates ran against Ortega. They were accused of terrorism, money laundering and were jailed.
“Even if Ortega dies, his wife is the vice president, so she’d be the next in line,” Gaitan said. “And even if she dies, they have like 10 kids and they’re all involved in the political situation. So there’s no competition.”
Davila let her husband do most of the talking. But she grew more talkative on the subject of her daughter, again with the help of Waddell’s interpretation.
“It was really difficult because she (my daughter) is young and I was accustomed to her and she was used to me,” she said.
She said she did not have enough time to secure parole for her daughter before it was time for her to leave, so she trusted her daughter’s care to her mother-in-law.
Gaitan added they send money for food, clothing and other needs for his daughter and mother every 15 days. His mother gets sick frequently and she often needs help affording medical care.
He is awaiting word on whether he will be granted asylum status. Davila holds a temporary protected status under I-134A, and will become a derivative of her husband’s asylum claim. In other words, her status will be dependent on his status.
“In the state of Colorado, it's about 50/50” whether someone’s asylum claim will be accepted or rejected, Waddell said.
Half of applicants get approved and half get denied. Upon first denial, applicants can appeal, which takes about eight months for an answer, he said. If applicants are denied again, they are given “voluntary deportation” – meaning they can leave the country on their own volition. If they choose to stay, they become vulnerable to forced deportation.
Waddell said American politics certainly has an influence on the fates of asylum-seekers.
“There's a judge in Denver that approved 19% of asylum cases under Trump that's right now approving over 60%. So there's huge shifts, politically speaking,” he said. “It does matter what the circumstances of that case are, but it also matters who's in power, because these judges are appointed, they're not elected,” he said.
cburney@durangoherald.com
An earlier version of this story gave incorrect last names for Wanda Ellingson and John Condie.
