With new deportation date set, the Carrizalez family considers what’s next
The Carrizalez family spent their Fourth of July, just two days after Ignacio’s release from U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement custody, like an ordinary Butler family.
They walked around at the Big Butler Fair, riding the Ferris wheel and gazing in awe at the fireworks that celebrated America’s independence. Ignacio and his wife, Amanda, took videos of their daughter, Dani, dancing with an American flag underneath the lit up sky.
The family said they were frequently recognized at the fair — some whispering within earshot about them and pointing.
Butler resident Ignacio Carrizalez, 45, said he wanted to “hide like a child” when people saw him at the fair. He couldn’t help but notice those pointing their finger at him and talking about “the Hispanic guy from the news.” He also met many who wanted to offer their congratulations, all while he spent time at the fair with his family.
“It seemed like many people know the case. There’s people who would come up to my wife, and tell her they’re proud of her as a woman for fighting for her family, or people saying they’re glad I’m out,” Ignacio said. “But at the same time, there’s too much hate.”
They spent the evening celebrating a country where they’ve bought into its promise of working hard to make a life for themselves, even as immigrants like Ignacio are detained — regardless of documentation showing his efforts to become a citizen.
“We do the best we can as a family. We try to hold strong. When we started dating, we didn’t have a house. We didn’t have the cars outside. We worked,” Ignacio said. “We keep it together. We try the best we can.”
He was released from Moshannon Valley Processing Center on July 2, months after he was detained without warrant by ICE agents while driving to work.
Ignacio, who builds houses for a living, has been married to Amanda since 2012.
They planned their life together in Butler. The couple had nearly given up on having children and began looking ahead to potentially adopting — once Ignacio’s citizenship was straightened out.
Then, shortly after they finished renovating their current house, Amanda found out she was pregnant with Dani, now six years old.
Reflecting on the past several months of emotional turmoil, Ignacio kept going back to his role as a husband and father, and how he wants to be there for his family.
“On the first day out, every three to five minutes she would grab on to me. She would tell me, ‘daddy, I love you. I need you,’” Ignacio said. “I know she needs me. I didn’t realize how much she really needs me here. That’s hard for a child to go through.”
There’s been lots of crying, Ignacio said, still processing his emotions. After everything, he’s scared to go outside, but trying to figure out what’s next, with deportation now set for September.
“It’s scary for us right now. Just to think about the process I’ve been through, and then to be away from them,” Ignacio said. “But I know I can’t stay in here all the time. I have to work, I have to start producing. Gas is expensive. Groceries are expensive.”
Moshannon Valley Processing Center is one of multiple ICE-used facilities run by the GEO Group, a private prison operator. It has made the news for alleged mistreatment of detainees, including inmate deaths, improper medical care, sexual violence and retaliating against inmates who spoke out against conditions.
While Ignacio did not witness the worst of allegations against Moshannon, he saw up-close treatment of detainees that did not sit right with him.
He recalls an older Chinese man in the bed next to his, who was coughing constantly. One day, the man started coughing up blood for three days straight, Ignacio said. He said the guards and infirmary’s solution was to shove gauze in his mouth.
Ignacio also said there were no translators present. Guards could not communicate with many of the detainees. Sometimes, he would be pulled aside to translate for other detainees.
“With all the money they have, you’d think they would have translators in order to communicate with their detainees,” Amanda said. “There was not one person. They would pull him from our calls.”
The food was even worse, Ignacio said. He could only describe the meat as “different,” and that it did not taste like what the guards said it was.
“Pretend that a dog chewed up the food, then it was thrown out, then put on a plate. That’s what it was like,” Ignacio said.
The guards even acted weird about food, Amanda alleged, saying they did not want her to see it when she visited Moshannon shortly before Ignacio’s release.
“The last day, they gave them the food in almost like a to-go box, I said, ‘hey babe, show me your food,’ just joking around,” Amanda said. “A guard got so mad at me. They said, ‘if you keep that up, you’re not gonna be able to come back and visit.’”
Ignacio’s final week at Moshannon left him the most confused. At one point, he was put on a bus and driven to State College Regional Airport, about a half-hour away, under the premise he was being transferred to a facility in Louisiana, before being deported to Mexico.
When the bus pulled up next to an airplane, the guards named every other detainee and loaded them on, he said. And for whatever reason, one of the guards’ lists with their names had Ignacio’s crossed out.
He was taken back to Moshannon, and told by guards to “send a request to ICE” regarding his questions, he said.
Ignacio has still not been given a reason by anyone for his release July 2. That day, he went back into his cell area after Amanda and Dani had just left their visit. He recalls a woman telling him he was being released that day, and he had to fill out forms to have someone pick him up. The guards did not know why he was released either, he said.
While not everybody in Moshannon are law-abiding residents, Ignacio said, he saw others like him who had been working through the process to become a legal, documented citizen — people who said they paid their taxes, and some who were detained on their way to work.
Some detainees had been there for as long as 10 months.
“You think you’ve got a good chance, but you do not,” Ignacio said. “You realize, we cannot win. No matter how good, or how much we’ve done. Some people outside think we don’t pay taxes. No, many of us pay taxes, and we still get denied.”
Some, Ignacio said, claim they were detained by ICE even on their way to a court building for immigration hearings.
“Everybody’s a father. Everybody’s a son. Everybody’s a mother, a daughter. Everybody’s a worker,” Ignacio said.
“It’s bad right now. We’re living in hard times.”
With Moshannon in the background, Ignacio’s deportation is now set for September. As the family plans to meet with a new attorney to explore their options, some open boxes with belongings remain scattered in their house.
But self deportation may not be a viable option, the family said.
Ignacio said he’s originally from a small town that he estimates is half the size of Butler. His home state of Tamaulipas, near the border with Texas, is considered highly dangerous due to violent crime, organized criminal activity and frequent kidnappings. Official advisories recommend against travel.
Ignacio has “been out of the area for too long,” he said. If they go back, the family’s safety as Americans and protection from local cartel activity can’t be guaranteed, he said.
“If we go back, we’ve got a big money sign on our heads. Because we spent too much time over here, so everyone will think we have too much money,” Ignacio said.
Unsure of what to do, or what comes next, Ignacio’s role as a father weighs heavily on him.
His father is a retired truck driver who used to drive all around Mexico and Texas. His father would spend a month or two at a time without seeing him. The experience led Ignacio to focus on keeping his family together while supporting his wife and daughter.
“I want to keep my family together, and do the best I can for them,” Ignacio said. “As a father, as the man of the house, it’s not an option.”
In the short term, Ignacio will have to find work to support his family. The paranoia surrounding his safety does not help.
“Right now, it seems like they don’t really care,” Ignacio said. “I can hold my papers up to them, and they wouldn’t take me anyways.
“Even with the paper, I don’t know if I’ll be safe.”
