Thrust into spotlight after ICE detention, Milford teen navigates being face of immigration in Mass.

Boston Globe

12 hours ago

Gomes, a Brazilian national who was detained by ICE officers on May 31
The 18-year-old has decried the conditions he experienced during the six days he was detained in local and national media interviews, shared his story with
Some ask for a photo or thank him for speaking out about the conditions of detention. Others tell him he doesn't belong in the United States.
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Gomes is confronting his newfound celebrity as he also must grapple with his family's vulnerable status in the United States, the trauma he experienced as a teenager pulled away from his home and detained in a federal facility, the responsibility of being the oldest child in a family with limited English skills, and the looming demands of his senior year of high school this fall.
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Family and friends of 18-year-old Marcelo Gomes da Silva, who was detained by ICE on his way to volleyball, broke down in tears during a protest held for Gomes outside of Town Hall in Milford on June 1.
Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff
The Globe spent a month documenting the teen's life since his detainment in a Burlington facility, where
Since his release, Gomes has become resolved to remain in the country and help other immigrants. But he knows this future is not promised.
Small mistakes could lead him to being detained again and eventually deported.
The day Gomes was detained began early as he got ready for volleyball practice while the rest of his family was still sleeping. It ended with him sitting on the cold concrete floor of a detention cell.
In detention, Gomes's mind flooded with anxiety.
When he closed his eyes, images of his family shuffled on repeat. He imagined what he'd do if he was deported to Brazil, a country that seemed so distant to him.
Where would I live? Would I finish high school? Maybe I could work at an açaí shop.
It'd been more than 12 years
since his parents moved him to the US seeking
better economic opportunities. Gomes recalls his departure from Brazil, his grandparents
crying at the airport as they watched him, at 6 years old, get through security to board a plane.
Worlds away in the windowless cell of the Burlington facility, Gomes couldn't escape the foul stench of the toilet he shared with his cellmates. He spent his days translating immigration documents for cellmates who didn't speak English, breaking the news to some that they were being deported. He watched the men cry.
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When feelings of helplessness crept in, he turned to prayer, asking the other men, many twice his age, if they'd like to pray with him.
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Standing in a circle with heads bowed and eyes closed, the men held hands as Gomes asked God, in Portuguese and Spanish, to bless them.
God, please give us strength. Please bring calmness into our environment, Lord. Please let us go home to our families.
Each night, those invocations would bring peace to the small, crowded cell. Within 30 minutes, they'd all fall asleep.
When Gomes was released on June 5, he wanted to go home and shower. But first he decided to speak with reporters waiting for him outside the Burlington facility.
Gomes was embraced by a friend as his parents Daiane and João Paulo Gomes Pereira watched nearby inside their Milford home June 5 after his release from ICE detention.
Erin Clark/Globe Staff
'Nobody should be in here,' Gomes said as two congressmen, Representatives Seth Moulton and Jake Auchincloss, stood at his side. 'Most people in there are all workers. They all got caught going to work. These people have families.'
'Should I change?' Gomes wondered in front of a mirror in his family's living room, as he waited to be picked up for his first studio television interview, the week after his release.
He wore his usual gray sweat pants and a T-shirt.
'My lawyer said I should dress as if I'm going to church,' he remembered.
'Yeah, I should change,' the teen said before walking upstairs to his bedroom.
Before his arrest, Gomes wanted the American dream. The steady job. The house with a pool. The family.
He was a carefree teen who was always smiling and goofing around with his friends.
He longs for that time again, that naivety.
Gomes cuddled with his dog, Luna, as he took some time out to try and rest in Milford on June 17.
Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff
'I want to enjoy my summer, have fun like a normal kid, but I can't be a kid anymore. I need to be an adult,' he said. 'That's kind of ironic because everyone's like, 'I want to be an adult so bad. I want to grow up.' I regret saying that.'
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Friends have told him, 'I'd love to be at the detention center for six days to get your fame.'
But Gomes never wanted to be famous. And he wouldn't wish his detention on any of them.
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Still, he acknowledges it opened doors for him.
Almost overnight, his Instagram followers grew from about 500 to more than 3,400. Many wished him well or said they were praying for him after a recent post he made about his release that included a selfie with Healey at the State House.
The governor asked Gomes, who previously never paid attention to political campaigns, whether he would consider a career in politics. Other adults around him asked him to think about becoming an immigration lawyer. Immigration activists invited him to meetings and to join their fight.
Gomes met with Governor Maura Healey at the State House in Boston on June 13.
Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff
Before his detainment, Gomes thought he would become a plumber.
His arrest woke him up to a bigger mission. In detention, he made a promise to the men he shared a cell with to be a voice for immigrants without criminal records who are detained by ICE. He's weighing starting a nonprofit to provide services for such immigrants and their families.
He's
also
tried to live up to his promise by not turning down any opportunity to speak up.
Sitting at a television studio for the first time in early June, Gomes cracked his knuckles, with a soft, closed-mouth smile, as NBC News host Tom Llamas introduced him for the network's show 'Top Story.'
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When asked whether he's an American, Gomes said, 'I'm half, I'm both.'
'I definitely wanna become an American citizen. I wanna stay in America,' Gomes said. 'This is my community, I love this country.'
The next day, Gomes and his friends gathered for a pool party. The teens played Marco Polo, chicken fight, and volleyball in the pool. But before the games, they paused to pray while crammed into a backyard Jacuzzi.
'I thank you for being here, not inside of a prison cell, my God,' Gomes prayed, as the he and his seven friends held hands, eyes closed, heads bowed, knees and shoulders touching.
Gomes (third from left) joined hands with his teammates to pray as they sat in the hot tub at his cousin's house in Milford on June 11. 'I thank you for being here, not inside of a prison cell, my God.' Gomes said, leading off the prayer before his teammates joined in.
Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff
'I believe that you used me, that you took care of me in that place, my Lord, and I hope that you keep using me,' he said.
Gomes's faith extends well beyond church walls and the gold cross that hangs around his neck. It is his belief in God that helps him maintain hope.
As he grew up, Gomes's parents read the Bible to him every day. His favorite Bible character is Job, whose faith is tested when he loses his family, his health, and his wealth. Despite the adversity, Job maintains his faith in God.
'How could you possibly go through so much … your family, kids die, knowing that God let it happen and still stay with Him and trust Him?' Gomes said. 'It just shows me the literal, true faith. The ultimate faith of a human being.'
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His faith is cultivated at a Presbyterian church, where he started playing music at age 11. At that time, he would creep onto the platform after service concluded and try his hand at the drums. He'd be chased away by the pastors, but he kept at it, eventually teaching himself how to play.
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Church is his 'safe place,' and he plays the drums during worship nearly every Sunday and Friday, when he attends a youth group.
The drums bring him closer to God. So do his friends who share his faith.
In the Jacuzzi, Gomes's friend, Gabe Santos, prayed after him.
'I pray over every other immigrant that's getting taken right now, that's innocently getting taken. Lord, I just pray over them and their families,' Santos said.
'In the name of Jesus, we pray.'
Students prayed outside of Milford High School after walking out of school to protest the detention of Marcelo Gomes da Silva in Milford on June 2.
Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff
A week later,
Gomes was changing in the locker room of his gym when a man approached him.
'Are you the famous kid? I heard about you,'
said the man Gomes thought to be in his 60s. 'You seem like a great kid, but you're illegal. You shouldn't be here.'
Gomes had been called illegal before. As he grew up, other children sometimes gave him and his parents that label.
The man drew closer, and more confrontational.
'You're not legal. You need to go back to your country,' the man continued, closing in the space, and eventually jabbing Gomes's arm.
The man said Gomes's family is a burden on the American taxpayer.
Gomes wanted to respond, he wanted to defend himself. But the man wouldn't stop talking, he said.
The teen is aware he's being watched — by ICE and the public at large. The weight of his actions feels heavier than before, knowing that a little mistake could have big consequences, marring his reputation, and even those of other immigrants.
Gomes's friends drew near him. Afraid a fight would break out, Gomes walked away.
The next morning, Gomes pulled into a Framingham parking lot, his body battling nerves. He was quiet, observant — not his usual gregarious self.
He was about to interact with the same agency that had arrested and detained him weeks earlier.
He walked into the waiting room where his ICE check-in took place and sat alongside other immigrants waiting for appointments. Most were Brazilian, and they recognized the teen.
One shouted in Portuguese from a chair two rows behind Gomes.
'Bro, you getting arrested was good for us!' the man said.
Gomes, trying to make sense of what he heard, asked the stranger to repeat himself.
'Because of you, now the media is exposing the truth,' the man replied, his tone friendly.
Before Gomes could answer, a worker opened the waiting room door to ask if he wanted his appointment to be in Portuguese or English.
'English,' Gomes answered without hesitation. Within minutes, the teen's name was called.
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Being released from detention was merely the first step in a long process to fight the government's attempt to deport Gomes. His next court hearing is in October, during the fall of his senior year of high school. After that hearing, it might take three more years for him to get a final hearing due to a backlogged system, his lawyer said. The teen has applied for asylum to change his status, but while that is underway, he must follow strict, parole-like rules.
ICE did not respond to a request for comment about Gomes's detainment or the current status of his case. In June, an ICE spokesperson said in a statement that Gomes 'peddled blatant lies regarding his treatment while in custody in Burlington,' adding he received three meals per day and 'off-site medical attention.'
At the Framingham office, Gomes learned more about the conditions of his release: No travel outside of Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Connecticut, and Rhode Island without ICE's permission, and for no more than 15 days. ICE check-ins every three months. Immediate reply with a selfie to a monthly phone notification that comes at random times.
If he misses an appointment or a notification, it's a violation. And any violation could lead to
him being detained again.
The teen, who has no criminal record, opted for the phone notifications over an electronic ankle monitor.
A videographer recorded a discussion between Gomes and the barber cutting his hair, Felipe Guerra, at FG Barber Studio in Milford on June 18.
Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff
He was accompanied by Coleen Greco, the mother of one of his volleyball teammates.
Greco, who Gomes lovingly refers to as his 'American mother,' sprang into action when the teen was detained, securing a legal team for him within hours.
From their first introduction, Greco said, she was charmed by Gomes, his traditional manners and kindness.
'He immediately started telling me all the great qualities about my own kid, and that just stuck with me,' she said.
In the aftermath of his detainment, Greco worried about the emotional toll and traumatic experiences Gomes had in detention. She helped find him a therapist.
She, like so many in their community, would never have imagined Gomes in trouble with the law.
'He has a special heart,' she said. 'He's the kind of kid that you wish you had raised.'
As the duo left the ICE appointment, Greco made sure he had all his documents with him.
'I feel like a criminal,' he said, his voice heavy with frustration as he reached the elevator.
Later that day, Gomes walked onto the soccer field at Milford High School, followed by his two younger siblings.
Between soccer passes, speaking a mix of Portuguese and English with his friends, Gomes scored goals, and missed some.
Throughout the practice, he largely kept his eyes on the sidelines, where his two siblings played by themselves, Miguel with a soccer ball and Mariana with a mermaid doll.
Gomes took a break from soccer to hang out with his siblings, Mariana and Miguel, in Milford on June 18.
Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff
During the summer, while his parents often work 12-hour days as house cleaners, Gomes watches Miguel, 7, and Mariana, 9. The two — both US citizens — are full of energy and are constantly chattering, bouncing from discussions on their newest coloring book to their growing keychain collection.
'If my parents are ever taken, God forbid, I'm the one who's going to care of my siblings,' he said. 'I definitely feel a big responsibility to take care of them.'
It's a thought that often haunts him:
Would I be able to take care of my younger siblings by myself?
Gomes has always been a helper, said his father, João Paulo Gomes Pereira, volunteering to help his mom clean the house, helping his father repair things, or helping strangers carry in groceries.
When he was about 4, while still living in Brazil, Gomes saw an older man sitting on a sidewalk by his grandparents' house. He worried the man was sick or needed help. He sidled up next to him to make sure the man was OK, his mother, Daiane Pereira, recalled.
And when he was 8, he saw an older woman with a cane, hands full of grocery bags, struggle to open her car trunk in the parking lot of Market Basket, Pereira said. Gomes asked her if he could hold her bags.
Throughout high school, Gomes has volunteered to teach multiple children from his church to play the drums. He coaches a volleyball team comprising senior women.
That day at the Dairy Queen, between sips of vanilla Coke, Gomes smiled at other strangers and acquaintances who approached him to talk about his story.
The stranger who blessed him. A teacher with his child. A Dairy Queen worker who also attended Milford High School.
In every interaction, the teen was courteous and gracious. Underneath the big smile, though, he was starting to feel a deep exhaustion.
Gomes peered out of the window as he waited for his ride to come to take him to a TV news interview in Milford on June 11.
Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff
Between more than a dozen media interviews and meetings with politicians and activists, Gomes was also trying to have a regular summer — his last in high school — with video game nights, volleyball games, and hiking days with his teammates.
Keeping busy was an intentional choice. Being alone brought back thoughts he wanted to push away, the fears over what could happen to him or his parents.
When it was time to leave the Dairy Queen, Gomes's little sister asked where the trio was headed next. Gomes, who wanted a break from the attention, offered her an answer he no longer took for granted.
'Home.'
Marcela Rodrigues can be reached at