<div><strong>“I’m not a criminal — so why am I being treated like one?”</strong>
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<div>In November 2024, I received an unexpected call from my cousin Monica, whom I hadn’t seen since childhood in Colombia – before I left the country at age 12. She explained that guerrilla activity in her rural region had intensified, threatening her family’s safety and making their agricultural business unsustainable. Her oldest son, Mauro, was planning to flee the country and seek political asylum in the United States. She asked if I would be willing to serve as his sponsor.
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<div>It was a difficult request, one I didn't take lightly. I thought deeply about the implications for my family and me. When I’m faced with hard choices, I turn to my late father for guidance — I look to the heavens and ask, “What would Papa do?” I knew his answer: he would open his heart and his home. He would help.
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<div>Monica has been raising four children on her own since her husband died of a sudden heart attack at age 41 — the same year I lost my father. Mauro, her oldest son, was only 18 when he stepped into the role of provider, helping maintain their small agricultural business and putting food on the table.
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<div>Eventually, economic hardship and escalating violence forced Mauro to make an unimaginable decision: to leave his family and undertake the dangerous journey through Central America, crossing the Mexico–U.S. border in hopes of seeking asylum — the same path my father took nearly 40 years ago to create a better life for us.
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<div>After a brief stay in a detention center in Arizona, Mauro was released with an ankle GPS monitor and allowed to continue his asylum process. He lived with me for a few months before moving to Chelsea, where he became a full-time volunteer at La Colaborativa’s La Casita, a shelter supporting immigrant families. Mauro quickly became a beloved and valued member of the community. I saw it for myself when I attended La Colaborativa’s gala — Mauro was greeted with open arms, laughter, and genuine affection from the staff and other volunteers.
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<div><strong>But on June 5, 2025, everything changed.</strong>
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<div>Mauro was summoned to the ICE office in Burlington, supposedly for a routine GPS tracker inspection. Instead, he was detained and transferred to a prison in Plymouth. His asylum case had been denied, and his appeal was still pending. Now he waits behind bars, hoping for a miracle — praying that his appeal will be successful so he can continue serving his community and rebuilding his life.
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<div>He calls me from prison often. Through three-way calls, I connect him with his mother in Colombia. Each time, he asks her through tears, <em>“Mamá, ¿por qué estoy aquí? No soy un criminal.”</em>
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<div><em>"Mom, why am I here? I’m not a criminal."</em>
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<div>And he’s right. Mauro is not a criminal. He is a young man who stepped up when life demanded the impossible. He fled violence, sought refuge, and poured himself into serving others. Now he’s in a prison cell.
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<div>As his sponsor, I continue doing what my father would do — offering a helping hand. I’ve shared Mauro’s story with anyone who will listen. Legal fees are mounting, and your support is deeply appreciated.
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<div>Sadly, Mauro’s story is far from unique. Across the country, immigrant families — who contribute to our economy, fill essential jobs, and strive for a better life — are being criminalized for their courage. The American dream, for so many, has turned into a nightmare.
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<div>Thank you for taking the time to hear Mauro’s story. I hope you’ll help us bring him home.
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Anonymous

Help Bring Mauro Home

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