Latest news with #Mejia
Straits Times
16 hours ago
- Straits Times
An American toddler in foster care, a mom in ICE detention
Guatemalan immigrant Ingrid Mejia stands in front of the Seneca County Jail after being released from spending over 120 days in a immigration detention cell in Tiffin, Ohio, U.S., July 3, 2025. REUTERS/Rebecca Cook GREENVILLE, Ohio - For 125 days in her immigration detention cell, Ingrid Mejia replayed in her head the day she was separated from her 3-year-old son. Mejia, a 25-year-old farmworker from Guatemala, had gone to court on February 25 on a charge of driving without a license. She didn't have a lawyer - or child care. So she left Eliazar, a chubby-cheeked child with dark hair and eyes, waiting outside with the person who had given her a ride to court. She thought she would pay a fine and go home, just as she had four months earlier on the same charge. Instead, as this was her fourth such offense, municipal court judge Julie Monnin sentenced her to three days in Ohio's Darke County jail. The brief sentence plunged Mejia into the dragnet of President Donald Trump's aggressive immigration enforcement, landing her in immigration detention for more than four months and stranding her U.S. citizen son in foster care for even longer. Mejia began trying to get her son back on July 3, within hours of her release. She hoped it would happen in days. But at a July 15 custody hearing, child welfare officials said Eliazar had bonded with his foster family during her prolonged detention. They told the hearing a slow transition would be in the child's best interest, Mejia said. 'He's my son. I just want him back now,' Mejia said after the hearing. 'I just want to hug him." Friends and family say Mejia is a hardworking mother, not a violent criminal, who did not need to be detained, and her son did not deserve to be in foster care. Top stories Swipe. Select. Stay informed. Singapore Two found dead after fire in Toa Payoh flat Singapore Singaporeans aged 21 to 59 can claim $600 SG60 vouchers from July 22 Singapore Singaporeans continue to hold world's most powerful passport in latest ranking Singapore Singapore, Vietnam agree to step up defence ties, dialogue between leaders Asia Malaysia govt's reform pledge tested as DAP chief bows over unresolved 2009 death of political aide Tech Singapore to increase pool of early adopters in AI to complement data scientists, engineers Singapore Prosecution says judge who acquitted duo of bribing ex-LTA official had copied defence arguments Singapore Ports and planes: The 2 Singapore firms helping to keep the world moving Immigration authorities and those who favor restricting migration say Mejia repeatedly broke the law by driving without a license and by violating immigration rules. Mejia admits to using false paperwork to enter the U.S. and to being in the country illegally. 'I don't think this offense should be minimized," Jessica Vaughan, director of policy studies for the Center for Immigration Studies, a think tank that favors lower levels of immigration, said of the driving without a license charge. Trump was elected on a promise to deport millions of immigrants who are in the United States illegally, and has deported more than 239,000 people so far, according to Department of Homeland Security data. His administration has set arrest quotas for immigration enforcement officials of 3,000 a day - 10 times higher than average daily arrests the last year of President Joe Biden's administration. It has also been releasing far fewer people from immigration detention on humanitarian grounds. Just 67 people were paroled in June by Immigration and Customs Enforcement, down from 5,159 in December, Biden's last full month in office, government data show. Meanwhile, since Trump took office, ICE has dramatically increased 'detainer requests' - notices to state and local jails to hold an immigrant for pick-up, sweeping up immigrants like Mejia. They rose to 700 a day on average through early June, from an average of about 400 a day during the same time period last year, according to a Reuters analysis of ICE data collected by UC Berkeley's Deportation Data Project. PICKED UP FROM JAIL When Mejia was booked into the county jail on February 25, her fingerprints were automatically shared with ICE. They showed a match for a person who had entered the United States seven years earlier and was in the country illegally. ICE issued a detainer request and on February 28, after Mejia had completed her unlicensed-driving sentence, immigration officers picked her up from jail and drove her 140 miles to a detention center in Tiffin, Ohio, according to jail records. 'She has been arrested multiple times for driving illegally and admitted to law enforcement that she was in the country illegally,' DHS spokeswoman Tricia McLaughlin told Reuters in a statement, in response to questions about Mejia and her child. McLaughlin said deportees are generally given the choice of taking U.S. citizen children with them or leaving them with friends or family in the United States. After Mejia was convicted on February 25, police and child welfare officials tried to contact a friend whom she suggested could look after Eliazar during her three-day sentence. But the woman didn't answer the door to Mark Ater - the police chief in Union City, where Mejia lived - because she was afraid he might be working with ICE. With nobody else immediately available, Eliazar was placed in foster care. The case weighed on Ater, the police chief said. "It broke my heart that this kid was taken away from his mom,' he said. 'Outside of the entire situation, there was still a kid that was going to go into foster care." Monnin, the judge, declined to comment, saying the 'unfortunate consequences of the defendant's actions are out of my control,' adding: 'I pray that a reunification process is developed quickly.' A TEENAGER ALONE Mejia fled sexual and gang violence in Guatemala, arriving at a port of entry on the U.S.-Mexico border in November 2017, a few weeks shy of her 18th birthday, according to her immigration paperwork. Smugglers told her to travel on her younger sister's documents to ensure she was processed as an unaccompanied minor in the event that her journey took longer than expected, she said. While entering on fraudulent documents does not disqualify an asylum application, it can make it harder to win, experts say. Mejia spent four months in a government children's shelter before being released to pursue her asylum claim. She moved on to Virginia, where she lived for eight months with a woman who beat her with a leather whip and made her work for no pay, according to her application for a visa for victims of human trafficking. Reuters was unable to verify her account independently. By September 2019, she had escaped and made her way to an area of rural Ohio in America's Corn Belt, dotted with poultry farms and egg processing plants. She got a job packing eggs into cartons that were shipped to grocery stores across the country. Mejia said she tried to use mini-van ride shares to get to work from her home in Indiana, 20 miles away, but sometimes there were no seats available. Neither Ohio nor Indiana allow immigrants in the country illegally to obtain drivers' licenses. She was driving to work on February 18 when she ran a stop sign, colliding with another car, according to the police report. Nobody was injured. The officer at the scene wrote her up for driving without a license, requiring her to appear in court. For Jim Groff, 76, who heard the collision from his home across the street, the facts of Mejia's detention are simple: She was in the country illegally. 'If mom wants her little baby back, send them back,' he said. But he wished the U.S. could speed up the process of allowing immigrants to come into the country legally. 'Jeepers, creepers, they're damn good workers,' he said. MIXED MESSAGES In late February, after her transfer to immigration detention, a distraught Mejia contacted Maira Vasquez, for help finding out where Eliazar was and how she could get him into the care of a family member. Vasquez, a U.S. citizen, attended Eliazar's birth as a community health worker and the two women had stayed in contact. When Vasquez visited Darke County's Department of Job and Family Services in March, officials told her this was a new situation for them and they weren't sure how to handle it. Asked for comment, the agency said it was unable to share details about the case, citing privacy laws. 'We continue to work closely with the family, law enforcement and our community partners to ensure child safety,' it said in a statement. Many state and local child welfare agencies don't have the training to handle cases involving the immigration system, said Kelly Kribs, co-director at the nonprofit Young Center's technical assistance program, which aims to support children caught between the federal immigration and state court systems. ICE and local child welfare agencies work as separate systems, with separate goals, she said. 'These agencies don't talk to one another,' Kribs said. That can lead to mixed messages. Mejia told Reuters in a phone call from detention in March that ICE officers told her that she could be reunited with Eliazar if she signed a document agreeing to be deported. But Vasquez said that county officials told her that Eliazar was in their custody, and they had their own processes meant to look after the boy's best interests. Mejia didn't sign – and Vasquez continued to explore options for placing Eliazar with family or friends. Mejia's sister, who asked not to be named as she is afraid of being arrested by ICE, was initially willing to take him. But county officials told her that it would be difficult for her to pass background checks as she is in the country illegally. Two friends who do have legal residency declined to take Eliazar because they feared exposing family members who are in the U.S. illegally, Vasquez said. Eliazar's father has never been involved in his life, and was not an option, Mejia said. LASTING TRAUMA Experts warn that forcibly separating a child from a parent can result in trauma, even after they are reunited. Mejia's 'son is being set up for major psychiatric and learning problems in the future by this separation,' Joan Lederer, a psychiatrist who evaluated Mejia at the request of her lawyer, wrote in a court filing. In detention, Mejia thought about Eliazar warming to people quickly. He doesn't talk much due to a speech delay, she said, which makes conversations by phone difficult. In April, child welfare officials sent Vasquez a picture of a smiling Eliazar with a toy truck. They told her that Eliazar's foster family had five other children. Mejia said officials told her that nobody in the house spoke Spanish and she worried he would not understand what was going on around him. By that point, Ater, the police chief who went to the address Mejia provided that February day, was alarmed that Eliazar was still in foster care. He reached out to Vasquez and said Eliazar could stay with him and his family until he is reunited with Mejia ‒ 'three minutes or three years.' He would even fly the boy to Guatemala if Mejia were to be deported. 'I have to go out and do my job,' he said. 'But on the flip side, I'm also human and this isn't cool. This little dude is not with his mom, and what does the future hold for him and what does the future hold for her?' Mejia worried that signing over custody of Eliazar to Ater could mean losing him forever. She also didn't think it would help ease access to the boy for family members, as they were unlikely to visit him at the home of a police officer for fear of being arrested by ICE, Vasquez said. She decided to wait. On July 2, an immigration judge dismissed Mejia's deportation case for a second time, ruling that she was entitled to a hearing before an asylum officer and noting she was the sole custodian of a U.S. citizen child with disabilities. This time, ICE did not contest the ruling and released Mejia the next day. Vasquez picked her up from the detention center, and the two women tried calling Darke County children's services but it was the eve of the July 4 holiday and they couldn't immediately get through. The following Monday afternoon, Mejia did meet Eliazar, in the offices of children's services. 'I just hugged him and hugged him,' she said. She said he recognized her, but didn't speak to her. He seemed attached to his foster parents, and she said she overheard him speaking English. In the July 15 custody hearing, child welfare officials recommended more visits so that Eliazar could get used to his mother again, Mejia said. Officials also ordered inspections of her home to ensure her place is appropriate for a child, she said. Darke County children's services declined to comment. Vasquez said child welfare officials expressed concerns about how Mejia would support Eliazar, now that she has lost her egg packing job. Vasquez said she had raised funds to deposit about $3,000 in a bank account in Mejia's name to show she has money to tide her over until she gets her work permit. On Monday, July 21, an official from children's services and Eliazar's foster mom dropped him off at Mejia's home with unexpected good news. He would be allowed to stay with her, with regular child welfare visits until the case is closed. "They are not going to take him away anymore," Mejia said. 'This makes me happy.' REUTERS
Newsweek
5 days ago
- General
- Newsweek
Mom Asks New Dad To Bring Car Seat To Hospital—Can't Believe How He Arrives
Based on facts, either observed and verified firsthand by the reporter, or reported and verified from knowledgeable sources. Newsweek AI is in beta. Translations may contain inaccuracies—please refer to the original content. A woman couldn't resist capturing the moment her partner had a "first-time dad moment" after she asked him to bring the car seat. Nayomie Mejia from Tampa, Florida, hit record on her phone as soon as she saw what her partner, who has asked not to be named, had done. "I was tired, in pain, but I had to pull out my phone because of his explanation that the nurses side-eyeing him and him just assuming this was a regular thing," Mejia told Newsweek. "I knew the internet needed to see this first-time dad moment in real time." Becoming a father for the first time can be a stressful experience. A systematic review of data published in the Joanna Briggs Institute Database of Systematic Reviews & Implementation Reports highlighted several key concerns. Shifting to the fatherhood identity and the negative feelings and fears associated with it was key, while the restrictions placed on the lifestyle they previously enjoyed was also an important consideration. Crucially, in this context, the review highlighted how fathers wanted "more guidance and support around the preparation for fatherhood." That's something Mejia's partner could well have benefitted from when it came time to take their newborn son home. It's become something of a regular feature on social media to see videos of dads carrying their newborn children out of the hospital in a car seat. "Hot dad walks," as they have been termed, don't always go to plan though. Mejia and her partner had planned similar, but it didn't get off to the best of starts when he arrived at the hospital with the car seat still boxed up and in need to putting together. "I did tell him ahead of time to just bring the car seat, not the whole box, not the base, none of that," Mejia said. "But of course... here he comes rolling into the postpartum room with the entire giant box like it was a suitcase of ours." Mejia's video, posted to TikTok under the handle @ captured the chaos and hilarity that followed as he tried to explain his logic. The clip went viral with 250,000 views and a glut of comments from amused social media users. "It still being in the box is taking me out," one viewer wrote. "Tell me this your first baby with out telling me this your first baby." Though Mejia found the whole thing amusing, she was a little sympathetic at the same time. "To be fair, our baby decided to make an early arrival, so we hadn't installed the seat yet, and it was still packed up at home so we ended up bringing the whole box in the car," she said. "He also said he needed help installing it and didn't want to mess anything up, which is sweet but also, sir... we are literally in the hospital room." The story has a happy ending though: Mejia was able to help him put the car seat together. "I had to make sure the manual was turned to the correct page so he could reference it while he installed it," she said. They left hospital on June 22, with Mejia enjoying a well-earned dad walk in the process.
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USA Today
14-07-2025
- Sport
- USA Today
2025 Mifel Open: Mejia [244th] vs. Basavareddy [111th] Prediction, Odds and Match Preview
No. 244-ranked Nicolas Mejia will meet No. 111 Nishesh Basavareddy in the Mifel Open Round of 32 on Tuesday, July 15. Basavareddy is favored (-350) in this match compared to the underdog Mejia (+260). Tennis odds courtesy of BetMGM Sportsbook. Odds updated Monday at 2:35 PM ET. For a full list of sports betting odds, access USA TODAY Sports Betting Scores Odds Hub. Nicolas Mejia vs. Nishesh Basavareddy matchup info Watch the Tennis Channel and more sports on Fubo! Mejia vs. Basavareddy Prediction Based on the implied probility from the moneyline, Mejia has a 77.8% to win. Mejia vs. Basavareddy Betting Odds Mejia vs. Basavareddy matchup performance & stats
New York Post
07-07-2025
- Politics
- New York Post
Feds pause deportation of beloved Long Island bagel shop manager while judge mulls his US fate
His fate was put on ice. The planned deportation of an undocumented Long Island bagel shop manager snatched up by federal agents last month has been paused — after the case sparked national outrage. Fernando Mejia, 41, scored a temporary reprieve last week, with the courts ruling that he cannot be deported for at least a month. The judge, in the meantime, will weigh a motion by Mejia's attorney Brian Pu-Folkes to reopen the case over his immigration status. 3 The planned deportation of Long Island bagel store manager Fernando Mejia (center) has been paused after a court ruling. Instagram/@schmearbagelcafe 'We're very happy that at least Fernando can be less worried about any imminent deportation,' Pu-Folkes said in a statement following the July 2 ruling. 'We're cautiously optimistic.' But Pu-Folkes admitted it was a 'tough case.' 'We're just going to wait for the judge's decision,' the attorney added. As Mejia was arriving at Schmear Bagel & Café in Port Washington for work on June 12, he was picked up by ICE agents and sent to a facility in Newark, New Jersey — part of President Trump's crackdown on undocumented migrants in the US. Mejia emigrated to the US from El Salvador two decades ago, but overstayed his visa and missed an immigration hearing in 2005. 3 Mejia is the manager of Schmear Bagel & Café in Port Washington. Instagram/@schmearbagelcafe As a result, an order for his removal was issued. His case has sparked national attention — inducing protests, rallies, a GoFundMe that quickly raised over $30,000, and a letter from Long Island Rep. Tom Suozzi demanding his release. 'His arrest has devastated the Port Washington community, where he has lived and worked for over 20 years,' Suozzi, a moderate Democrat, wrote to Trump. '[Mejia has] spent years contributing to our economy and society. 'Deporting those who have 'proven themselves to be very good people' is not the answer.' 3 Mejia was apprehended by ICE agents while arriving for work on June 12. GoFundMe Mejia does not own a criminal record. His June detention came just days after thousands protested across Long Island — from police headquarters in Mineola to the Hamptons. Democrat Debra Mulé, a Nassau County lawmaker, blasted Washington for terrorizing Long Island families with 'indiscriminate ICE raids' following the detainment of four undocumented immigrants at a Glen Cove train station and the alleged wrongful detainment of a US citizen from Brentwood. Every morning, the NY POSTcast offers a deep dive into the headlines with the Post's signature mix of politics, business, pop culture, true crime and everything in between. Subscribe here! Nassau County Executive Bruce Blakeman insisted, however, that unless someone is a danger to society, they have nothing to worry about. Blakeman, a Republican, has pledged Nassau law enforcement will work with ICE, while adding he was 'disturbed' that some would rather spend 'tens of thousands of dollars in taxpayer money' to lock up undocumented criminals with an illegal immigration status instead of simply removing them from the US. His neighbors in Republican-led Suffolk County have also pledged to work with ICE. 'There is no reason to be afraid because they're only going after criminals –- people who have committed rapes and burglaries,' Blakeman told The Post last month. Critics have slammed the Trump administration's ICE raids claiming they have crossed the line from seeking out the worst of the worst criminals. They point out that Mejia and many others in ICE detention facilities have no criminal history. 'He's never had a parking ticket, never been to jail, never done anything, the whole community loves Fernando,' co-worker Nicole Martinez told ABC 7. 'I feel like they're stalking these people — leave them alone, they're trying to work and take care of their families … what's happening to them is just not fair.'
Los Angeles Times
07-07-2025
- Business
- Los Angeles Times
A fan-favorite Latino night market flickers back to life after ICE raids
From afar, it looks unassuming: rows of multicolored tents bustling with customers. But up close, it's a cherished yet common scene that dominates summer dining in L.A. — street vendors slice juicy al pastor off a rotating spit, dicing it with a long knife and tossing the meat into a freshly pressed tortilla topped with a pile of chopped white onion and cilantro. Families crowd around the stand, some recording the spectacle with their phones, colorful aguas frescas in hand. On the border of Westlake and Pico-Union sits El Gato Night Market, a destination for diverse Latino cuisines and communities that takes over an empty parking lot every Thursday through Sunday. On a typical night, roughly 70 to 80 vendors, many of them immigrants, fill the air with a joyous mix of reggaeton music and carne asada smoke that wafts from their grills. But on June 28, El Gato was down to just 45 vendors. Two days before, there were around 25. After shutting down for two weeks in early June when Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids began to spread through L.A., the market is slowly regaining its footing. The night market reopened on June 20, in a much smaller lot across the street from its usual home — the same lot where it first opened back in July 2022, when it only had a handful of booths, according to vendor Geofrey Mejia. 'Hopefully by next week we're back to normal, slowly but surely,' said Mejia, the owner of Nieves Artesanales, his family's ice cream cart that sells classic Mexican flavors like nuez, or walnut. 'Everybody's struggling right now. A lot of these vendors actually just live off of this, they don't do anything else.' Street vendors' high degree of visibility, especially at night markets, is part of what makes them such an integral aspect of the L.A. food scene — immigrants find tastes of home at markets like El Gato. They also play a large role in keeping the L.A. food scene accessible — but the simple act of coming to work and setting up their carts on city sidewalks puts them at risk of being arrested by ICE. 'It seems like [ICE agents] are just picking up anybody,' Mejia said. 'You feel more like they're profiling at that point.' Some street vendors have been directly involved in anti-ICE protest efforts, like the trio behind an aguas frescas stand who poured milk onto the faces of tear-gassed protesters as a salve. But as El Gato and other food businesses in L.A. face a dwindling customer base due to the presence of ICE, vendors are forced to choose between their safety and primary source of income. 'People have been afraid to buy, and that really affects vendors like us,' said Favian Salas of Tacos El Champ at El Gato. 'If we don't sell, there is no economy … and it's affecting everyone.' Now, the scene at El Gato Night Market is somewhat of a balancing act: Vendors, many of whom worry for their safety and the future of their businesses, show up for work out of necessity — but also to provide comfort and familiarity for customers, most of whom are Latino and often bring their young children. Knowing that many vendors rely heavily on El Gato for income, Cristian Bautista, one of the night market's organizers, was reluctant to temporarily close the market last month. Vendor safety has long been a priority for Bautista, who intentionally chose an enclosed private parking lot as the location for El Gato and hires a security guard during the night market's operating hours. Bautista is also the owner of Pastas Mr. Cat, a stall at the entrance of the night market where he greets customers with steaming pans of fettuccine alfredo and seafood spaghetti. 'The community feels like a family,' Bautista said of the vendors, primarily Latino but also East Asian. 'In various places, usually there are only tacos and Mexican food ... [At El Gato] there are many people of different countries. ... That's why it's popular.' Inside, the night market feels isolated from the city around it, as vendors hand out free samples of pan dulce and carnitas wrapped in soft tortillas and families fill standing tables with smoked ribs, hibachi fried rice and rolled ice cream. One of El Gato's first vendors, Mejia has watched the market grow from less than 10 vendors into a late-night destination. The dozens of vendors can draw anywhere from 800 to 1,000 customers on a given night, according to Bautista — a number that has shrunk significantly since El Gato reopened on June 20. Mejia estimates that about 30% to 40% of the night market's customers are tourists. Savanna Deyro, a visitor from Las Vegas, came to El Gato on June 26 with her boyfriend and infant son after the couple saw a video of the night market on TikTok. 'We always like to support local businesses and help out the community as much as we can,' Deyro said after buying pupusas from Vicky's Pupusas, a Salvadoran food stand. 'We know that they're struggling and we want to support them in any way possible, even if we don't know them.' As Jocelyn Arevalo, who has been vending with Vicky's Pupusas at El Gato for about four months, shaped masa for pupusas and threw them onto a flat-top grill, she said that the last few weeks have brought financial uncertainty for vendors. 'We are afraid that something might happen,' Arevalo said. 'Customers are a little [scared] too.' Located just outside downtown L.A., El Gato also serves a number of neighborhood locals. Jonothan Vasquez has been grabbing dinner at the night market, which is down the street from where he lives, every week for more than a year. On June 26, in between bites of a taco from Tacos El Champ, he said that the night market had noticeably fewer customers since it reopened. 'I love to support because it means the difference,' said Vasquez, who added that the good food and customer service is what keeps bringing him back. 'This whole country is built on immigrants. … A lot of people don't realize the impact.' One of El Gato's most popular vendors, Tacos El Champ typically draws large crowds as Salas dices carne asada and another employee uses a tortilla press to flatten fresh masa. On June 26, Salas seemed disheartened by the lack of customers. But two days later, as a bustling crowd filled the night market's aisles, vendors seemed to match the energy — the music was louder and the displays of food and drinks on their front tables were larger. It wasn't as busy as it was before June 6, but it was a first step nonetheless, said Salas, who takes pride in his Tijuana-style tacos. 'When people try [our tacos], they practically feel like they're in Mexico,' Salas said. 'We hope [the night market] fills up like before.' Like many businesses around L.A., the vendors of El Gato implore customers to support them as they navigate the night market's reopening with uncertainty about its future. 'People should come since we have food from all countries, from Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala, Mexico,' said Arevalo, flipping fresh pupusas and portioning out tangy curtido topped with fresh salsa roja. 'They should support us. It's the only source of income we have at the moment.'
