On Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, the Garcia family was ripped apart by the U.S. government. On the north side of the U.S-Mexico border, Cindy and their two U.S. citizen children are trying to cope with the loss of their beloved husband and dad. On the south side of the U.S.-Mexico border, Jorge is trying to cope with being torn from his entire family, his home, and his country of three decades:
"I feel like I'm lost," Garcia says, his eyes taking in the valley and hills of the city of Nicolás Romero on a Friday morning in January. "I don't fit in here, at all.”
Two weeks earlier, Garcia was deported from Michigan to Mexico after living in the U.S. for 30 years, forced to leave behind his family, friends, and a solid job in landscaping. Now, the married father of two finds himself alone in an unfamiliar country, with an uncertain future.
"Since I've got here, I haven't had a good night's sleep," he explains, fingers fidgeting with each other as he speaks. "It's like my body wants to rest, but I'm not able to with all this thought I've got on my mind and the stress. ... During the night, out of nowhere in my sleep, I start thinking about the whole situation and I lose my sleep."
Garcia recites a Hail Mary and the Lord's Prayer every night before bed, but it’s not enough to calm him down.
"I just keep tossing and turning,” he told the Detroit Free Press. “Tossing and turning.”
Garcia was brought to the U.S. by an aunt in 1989 and, like many other undocumented immigrant youth, completed his education here. In 2002, he married Cindy, a U.S. citizen, and the couple spent more than a decade and at least $100,000 to unsuccessfully obtain legal status for him. During this time he was ordered removed, but received numerous stays that allowed him to continue living here and keep working legally. Then came the Trump presidency:
Jorge feels that he is being punished despite being open with immigration officials about his status and working for years to gain U.S. residency.
"For trying to do the right thing, everything came out wrong," he said.
Cindy, 45, is on retired disability from a Dearborn truck plant after going through two C-sections and years of heavy lifting at work.
While she, too, is going through challenges, she says: “At least I have my children. He has no one. He's in a country he doesn't know. He is living with a family he has not seen for years. He's not getting much sleep. He wakes up every day at three in the morning. … it's going to eventually catch up to him.
"He's hurting his own self because he needs to get the rest. He needs to move on. But it's hard for him because he's all alone in a country he does not know, even though that is where he was born, and it's not his home.
"His home is the U.S. of A.”
Back home in the U.S., Garcia was a breadwinner and had a solid job as a landscaper. But in Nicolás Romero, about an hour from Mexico City, Garcia struggles for normalcy. With both of his parents living in the U.S. (and without legal status themselves), Garcia lives in a bedroom in his aunt’s house. With no job or income, he relies on others to get by. His cell coverage—the lifeline that’s still connecting him back to his family in the U.S.—is undependable, making it all the more difficult for him to speak to his loved ones:
He misses his Michigan block, his dog, his steady, content life in an American suburb. Most of all, he misses his wife, Cindy, and two children, Jorge Jr., 12, and Soleil, 15.
“I used to tell them, good night, every night,” Garcia says. “And now, if I can get a signal, I’ll call them, but it’s not the same. I’m not actually there.”
Garcia's only connection to his American life comes through his cell phone — if it works. He tries to keep in touch with his wife and kids, but phone service is spotty up in the hills.
The family has taken steps to try and return Jorge back to his U.S. home, including “filing paperwork with the U.S. Embassy in Mexico to grant him a wavier to be admitted back in the U.S.” But “that process could take at least 18 months to even get an interview with the embassy to be considered.” In the meantime, Cindy has become a vocal immigration rights advocate, recently speaking at a Women’s March event and pressing for legislation to keep families together. Jorge waits and prays, visiting a shrine to La Virgen de Guadalupe:
"She lifts me, helps me keep my faith," Garcia says, while starting at her. "Gives me a little bit more of relaxation, too."
Jorge Garcia has become a spokesman for immigrant rights, and while the attention can be overwhelming at times, he says he hopes it can help others.
"If it's going to help somebody with anything that they're going through, then I'm not just doing it for me, I'm doing it for others, too," he says.
"She lifts me, helps me keep my faith," Garcia says, while starting at her. "Gives me a little bit more of relaxation, too."
Jorge Garcia has become a spokesman for immigrant rights, and while the attention can be overwhelming at times, he says he hopes it can help others.
"If it's going to help somebody with anything that they're going through, then I'm not just doing it for me, I'm doing it for others, too," he says.