Everyone Who Is Gone Is Here: The United States, Central America, and the Making of a Crisis

Eddie Anzora came to Los Angeles from El Salvador with his mother and brother when he was three years old. He grew up “half anthropologist, half wannabe hood” (156), carefully observing society’s various unspoken rules and codes. As a Central American boy, Eddie was “at the bottom of an already vicious racial hierarchy” (159), and his ability to observe and adapt helped him survive in his primarily Black and Chicano neighborhood.

In the 1980s, gang violence was everywhere in South LA, but Eddie was never attracted to their “violence and air of malcontent” (163). Instead, he and his friends were taggers, roaming the streets with cans of spray paint. Although he avoided the worst trouble LA had to offer a teenage boy, he was apprehended several times for minor infractions, and a judge finally threatened him with reform school or a juvenile facility. Instead, Eddie’s mother decided to send him to El Salvador for a year.

He arrived in San Salvador in December of 1991 as officials were signing the peace accords that ended the war. Eddie stood out because of his clumsy Spanish and cholo fashion; however, he was surprised to meet a number of other “American transplants” in San Salvador. Many were young gang members who had been deported, but they bonded over their shared American culture.

Back in LA, Eddie went back to tagging and was eventually arrested for damaging property. Instead of doing jail time, Eddie spent a summer fighting forest fires at the Juvenile Camp Louis Routh. The experience was “intensely motivating” and encouraged Eddie to think seriously about his future. He earned his GED and started working at a veterinary hospital. One night in 1997, Eddie went for a walk, even though his neighborhood was often dangerous after dark. As he approached his car, he was stopped by two police officers. They found an ounce of marijuana in his glove box and arrested him for drug possession.

In many respects, Eddie’s story exemplifies the shortcomings of immigration law that leaves no room for discretion or addressing extenuating circumstances. In 1996, lawmakers had recently passed a new bill expanding the list of crimes that could lead to deportation, including for green card holders and permanent residents. In jail, Eddie, who had had legal status since childhood, was shocked to learn he would be deported. He had essentially become deportable overnight with the passing of a new law. It took years before the INS actually caught up with Eddie, during which he bought a house, began pursuing a veterinary degree at a local community college, and started a music production company.

When he was finally sent back to El Salvador in 2007, his experience highlighted the intertwined fates of the US and Central America. El Salvador was completely changed from Eddie’s childhood visit. Gang members deported from the United States had caused violence to skyrocket, and new deportees were especially targeted by gangs who wanted to know what gang they belonged to in the United States. Eddie’s ability to observe and adapt again helped him survive, and he began working at an English-language call center.

For years, Eddie embodied the interconnected nature of the United States and Central America. He worked surrounded by Americanized deportees, taking calls from the United States, making him feel as if he lived in “a third country” that was “a blend” of the United States and El Salvador (310). Through his characteristic determination, Eddie worked his way back up in life, starting a family and his own English school, finally achieving a sense of permanence in El Salvador.

Keldy Mabel Gonzáles Brebe de Zúniga was living in the Honduran port city of La Ceiba with her family when Hurricane Mitch struck in 1998. In the wake of the storm, many people she knew, including three of her brothers, were forced to migrate, introducing Keldy to the world beyond La Ceiba.

During her adolescence, the gangs that solidified in El Salvador were starting to infiltrate Honduras, creating new dangers. Keldy married a man named Mino and had two children with him, in addition to a son from a previous relationship. For a number of years, her life was happy and complete. However, in 2006, one of her brothers was killed for refusing to pay a tax to a gang.

Keldy’s story illustrates the compounding factors that drive people to migrate. Initially, she struggled with the aftermath of Hurricane Mitch, which gave way to gang violence and economic hardship due to the global recession. She and Mino initially migrated to the US temporarily to work and send money back home. They stayed until they had saved enough to buy property in Honduras, and later returned. However, they were met by growing gang violence and political corruption. Keldy’s other brothers were killed, and she was repeatedly threatened until she had no choice but to flee with her husband and children.

Keldy also reveals the real-life implications of Trump-era immigration policies. When she finally reached the United States with her two younger sons, Keldy became one of the first women separated from her children under Trump’s new “zero tolerance policy.” She was detained for nearly two years while her asylum case was processed and ultimately declined. Then, she was deported to Mexico, where she found herself among tens of thousands of migrants trapped due to MPP.

Throughout her ordeal, Keldy’s faith never wavered, and she began to support other migrants with prayer circles, sermons, and practical help. Eventually, her own prayers were answered, and she was able to enter the US and reconnect with her family under a special, albeit temporary, humanitarian visa issued by the Biden administration.