U.S. Citizen Life Story

Hector Barajas, who has become the voice for hundreds of deported U.S. military veterans around the world, returned Friday to the country he served and became a citizen.

Barajas began raising awareness about deported veterans after his own removal from the U.S. and in 2013 founded the Deported Veterans Support House, known as “the bunker,” in Tijuana. With aid from a coalition of supporters called Honorably Discharged, Dishonorably Deported that launched in 2016, Barajas applied for citizenship. After a pardon from Gov. Jerry Brown for the offense that got him deported, he was approved last month.

“I believe in this country,” Barajas said shortly after his naturalization ceremony. “I believe we can make things right.”

On Friday, Barajas got up at 4 a.m. By 6:30, media crews were already swarming around the bunker. At least four cameras recorded him putting his socks and boots on before he donned his military uniform for the journey north.

Barajas is no stranger to the press. For years he’s pushed for coverage of the issue that he believes is unjust, and he’s told his life story over and over again to help people understand what’s at stake.

His family moved to Los Angeles in 1984 when he was seven years old, and he grew up as a green card holder. After high school, he joined the Army and was part of the 82nd Airborne Division from 1995 to 2001.

In 2002, he took a plea deal for a charge of shooting at an occupied car. Because of that conviction, the government took away his green card and deported him in 2004 after he finished a prison sentence.

“I want to apologize once more for what got me deported,” Barajas said after his oath ceremony. “I’m not proud of it, but I am proud of what I have done since then.”

Barajas said he paid dearly for that decision and missed many moments in his daughter’s childhood.

“I believe I am no less of an American because of the mistakes that I made,” Barajas said. “We must ensure our ‘leave no man behind’ motto is not left on the battlefield.”

Noncitizens generally must be green card holders to serve in the military. Though they don’t have to wait the three to five years required for other noncitizens to naturalize, U.S. citizenship doesn’t happen automatically. They still have to pass the tests and go through the process.

Like any green card holder, noncitizens who serve or have served in the military can be deported if they are convicted of certain crimes.

The American Civil Liberties Union has documented at least 239 cases of deported veterans living in 34 countries.

Those who support deported veterans’ cause say that the military doesn’t do enough to help members naturalize and that many wrongly believe they become citizens when they enlist. They also argue that common conditions that veterans face, like post-traumatic stress disorder, can increase the likelihood that they commit the kinds of crimes that can lead to deportation. They don’t object to veterans serving time under the criminal justice system, but they say deportation is too harsh.

Critics of the deported veterans movement say that green card holders have to respect U.S. laws as part of the contract of having the visas. People who violate that contract should have their green cards taken away and be deported, they say.

Yolanda Varona, founder of Dreamers Moms, who works alongside Barajas at the bunker, fought to contain the emotions of the morning as she rushed around quietly making sure everything was ready for his trip past the line that has for so long separated both of them from their families.

“Hector is realizing the dream that all of those deported have,” Varona said.

She was beyond happy for Barajas, she said, but she was sad that she would no longer see him every day.

“Everything will change in my life, in the group dynamics,” Varona said. “But we have to keep pushing forward. We have the ability to win more with what we’re doing.”

Barajas will continue to run the bunker for another year, and he will hand off the program to Joaquin Aviles, a Marine Corps veteran who was deported in 2001 for a firearm possession conviction.

Aviles said he’s going to try to carry on what Barajas started, but he knows it will be difficult to be what Barajas has been for the deported veterans movement.

“I know what he does. I see him,” Aviles said. “I just don’t know if I’ll be able to take that whole role. He’s committed to this every minute, every hour, every day of his life.”

After a prayer at the bunker and countless hugs, Barajas led a caravan of cars to the border.

When he reached the front of the line into the port of entry, he waited for officials to escort him to the secondary inspection area.

“I’ll see you guys on the other side,” he said with a salute to his crowd of supporters.

After an hour delay at the border where officials had a few final questions for him that took a conference call with his attorney to resolve, Barajas arrived at the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services office in downtown San Diego for a private oath ceremony attended by his parents and 11-year-old daughter Liliana.

When he emerged as a U.S. citizen, veterans both in and out of uniform cheered and welcomed him home.

Nathan Fletcher, who is running for county supervisor, and Norma Chávez Peterson, executive director of the ACLU in San Diego, both members of the coalition that supported Barajas, were among the first to congratulate him.

"We made a commitment to one another that we would protect each other, care for each other,” said Fletcher, who is also a military veteran. “When we say everyone comes home, it’s an oath and a bond, and we mean it. We will keep going until they all come back.”

He said that under an administration that has urged lower immigration levels and increased enforcement, Barajas’s homecoming gave him hope.

“In this era of such darkness when it comes to immigration policy, this is a ray of light,” Fletcher said. “You can get things done. You can make a difference.”

Chávez Peterson reminded the crowd outside the oath ceremony that Barajas is one of many and urged more Americans to support those she called “abandoned” veterans.

“This is an American issue,” Chávez Peterson said. “It’s not a partisan issue.”

Rep. Mark Takano, D-Riverside, who has championed the cause of deported veterans, called on Congress to pass reforms that would protect those who serve in the military from deportation and bring back veterans who were already deported.

“They were loyal to us,” Takano said. “We need to be loyal back.”

Two other deported veterans have returned to the U.S. Daniel Torres, the first, became a U.S. citizen in 2016 after he voluntarily went back to Mexico in 2011 when the Marines found out that he was an unauthorized immigrant. Marco Chavez Medina had his green card reinstated in December after Gov. Brown pardoned him along with Barajas and one other deported veteran.

James Erselius, the attorney who helped Barajas with his case, said his office is working on close to 10 other deported veterans cases through the Honorably Discharged, Dishonorably Deported coalition.

The wait at the border was the only time on Friday that made Barajas said made him nervous. On his way to a celebratory barbecue, he was still processing the reality of his new life.

He will spend a few days with his family in Los Angeles, where he hopes to hang out with his daughter and do normal things like go to the store or park. After he finishes his commitment at the bunker, he plans to find a job in the U.S. that allows him to keep pushing for deported veterans to come back home.

“I’m just happy to finally be with my daughter,” Barajas said. “Being able for her to have that comfort that dad is not going to leave.”