He promised the “largest criminal deportation operation in our country's history." “On Day 1 of my new administration,” he said , “I will seal the border, stop the invasion of people pouring through our border and send Joe Biden's illegal aliens back home where they belong,"
He promised a mass deportation modeled on an Eisenhower-era policy called “Operation Wetback.” He would rely on local and state police and the national guard, but would not rule out using the U. S. Military. Authorities would arrest migrants in massive sweeps, then house them in detention camps until deportation.
“Any activists who doubt President Trump’s resolve in the slightest are making a drastic error,” crowed Stephen Miller, principal architect of the policy. “Trump will unleash the vast arsenal of federal powers to implement the most spectacular migration crackdown.”
This is what it might look like:
The Poster
Suddenly, the poster was everywhere. It was on billboards, telephone poles, in emails, on social media. “ATTENTION,” it announced. “Migrant Removal Notice and Warning.” There were two large portraits below the bold lettering. One was Trump’s Fulton County mug shot, which had become his official White House Portrait. The other was the dour, leaden visage of Homeland Security Secretary Stephen Miller.
“Instructions to All Persons Residing Unlawfully Within Any State or Territory of the United States of America,” it continued. “You Are Hereby Directed to Immediately Remove Yourself From any State or Territory of the United States of America by May 1, 2025. Any Person Unlawfully Who Remains Within Any State or Territory Beyond That Date Will Be Subject to Arrest, Confinement in A Holding Facility, and Deported to Their Country of Origin or Other Destination Determined by the Secretary of Homeland Security.”
Thousands packed up and left the country. But nearly all the approximately eleven million people who were subject to the Order remained. Many could not afford to leave. Others had no place to go – they had no remaining ties to their countries of origin. Some remained because they had family members who were American citizens, mostly children. Many were defiant. Others, paralyzed by shock, simply waited.
The Preparation
Humberto sat in his apartment, watching the news describe large barracks under construction. The federal government was building detention camps to house migrants destined for deportation. Trump funded the effort by diverting funds Congress intended for Ukraine’s defense against Russian aggression.
One of the camps was named “New Manzanar.” It was in the Owens Valley, east of the Sierras, just west of the original Manzanar, a notorious World War II detention center that housed ten thousand persons of Japanese descent. The irony was not lost on Humberto, who studied Manzanar as an undergraduate.
Lydia was dusting shelves when she glanced at a television that carried the same newscast. She worked for a house-cleaning company. The owners of the house, a couple in their sixties, were sitting on the couch. Lydia wondered if they suspected she was not an American citizen. Her employer assured its clients that all employees were working lawfully but had never actually checked. Lydia had lived in the United States for 22 years. She was 11 when her parents, brothers, and others crossed the border. Lydia’s 11-year-old son Alex was born in this country.
Leo, alone in his room, turned off the television. He carefully packed a backpack and phone charger. He knew what was coming; his family did not. He placed the pack in his car, then returned to the house. “Did you just take your backpack to your car?” asked his mother. “I want it handy,” he told her. “in case I decide to go camping.” His mother nodded, but didn’t believe him. Leo was the world’s worst liar.
By late April, the internment facilities were largely habitable. Uniformed personnel moved in. They staffed the gates and guard towers. Others prepared for the enforcement stage of Trump’s migrant removal project. The President had federalized the national guard in every state under the Insurrection Act and added them to the deportation force. There were federalized guardsmen, regular military, state and local police agencies, and other federal employees involved in the effort. On May 2nd, the force was unleashed on the streets, homes, schools, and businesses of America. The sweep had begun.
The Capture
Leo met with federalized guardsmen near a bus station in central Los Angeles. He led them to an apartment building where many of his co-workers lived. All worked for a local building contractor and most were undocumented. It was shortly after dawn and Leo’s co-workers, nearly all male, were preparing for work.
Leo had prepared a list of co-workers who lived in the complex. He included their apartment numbers and, to the extent he knew, the names of relatives who lived with them. Most of the families included American citizens, many of them children. He turned his list over to the deportation authorities.
Leo stood by quietly while the deportation force surrounded the apartment building, then began knocking on doors. He moved behind a corner as his co-workers and their family members were led at gunpoint to heavily guarded buses. He heard their cries and screams. He lit a cigarette and took a long, deep draw. Leo was undocumented, like most of his co-workers, but received amnesty for his cooperation. He and his family would be allowed to remain. All it cost him was his soul.
Humberto was halfway through his high school World History class when the principal came into his room, accompanied by two men in suits and four armed police officers. The principal waved Humberto to approach. “These gentlemen need to speak with two of your students,” he told him. “Yolanda and Maris.”
The gentlemen in suits showed Humberto their federal IDs. Their last names were Johnson and Levis. The police officers wore visible badges.
Humberto had known Yolanda and Maris for two years. He knew their parents were undocumented. The girls, who were born in this country, were not. He called them to the front of the room. “These men want to talk to you,” he told them.
“Ms. Vasquez and Ms. Bahi, you need to come with us,” said Agent Johnson. “Why?” asked Yolanda. “What did we do?” “Just come with us,” Johnson replied. “I thought you just wanted to talk to them,” said Humberto. “Why do they have to go with you?”
“We need to take them to their parents,” said Levis. “Now.”
Humberto stood in the classroom door. He knew the men were from the deportation force. The girls’ parents were likely already in custody. “Let them stay,” he pleaded. “These girls are American citizens. They don’t need to go with you.”
“Yes, they do,” was the reply. “We don’t separate families. Children belong with their parents – including these two.” “Even if the family is deported?” asked Humberto. “I can see what’s going on. You can’t take these girls.”
“Sir,” said Johnson. “Please step aside and let us do our job.” “I have a job as well,” said Humberto. “Protecting the kids in my custody.” “They are no longer in your custody,” said Levis.
“You can’t do this!” cried Humberto. “I’m not moving.” There was a moment of silence as Johnson and Levis looked at one another. “Sir,” Levis said finally. “I am giving you to the count of three to remove yourself from the door.”
“Seriously?” asked Humberto? “You’re counting to three?”
“One,” said Levis. Humberto did not budge. “Two.” A police officer slowly moved his hand toward his firearm. Humberto stepped aside. The girls were escorted into the hall, where they were handcuffed. A group of students gathered to watch, some of them shouting expletives and calling the deportation officials “pigs,” “fascists,” and “la migra.” The police officers drew their guns and the crowd backed away. The men left the building with Yolanda and Maris.
Lydia’s cell phone rang. It was Alex. “Mama, there are men here. They took Papa (Alex’s abuelo) away. They want you to come home now.” “I will be right there Mijito,” Lydia replied. “Just stay there, wait for me, and don’t say anything.” “Mama,” said Alex, starting to cry. “I’m scared.”
Lydia drove home. There were several uniformed men and women at her house, some of whom were already inside. She saw a row of buses on the street, along with armed members of the military and several personnel carriers. It looked like what it was: an occupation. Many of Lydia and Alex’ neighbors were undocumented and half of them had already been forced onto buses. Alex ran to her, tears streaming down his face. “Mama,” he wailed, “they say we have to leave our home. We have to get on the bus and go somewhere.”
Lydia knew the buses would head for internment camps. She called over one of the troops. “My son is an American citizen,” she told him. “Let me find somebody who can take care of him.”
“He’s going with you,” replied the trooper. “You can take care of him.”
Lydia knew it was hopeless. She and Alex climbed onto a bus where they saw Alex’ abuelo. “Wait,” cried Alex. “We need to get Chico.” “We need to get his dog,” Lydia told a trooper. Chico was a medium-sized black and white mutt, a Border Collie mix. The family adopted him when he was a puppy.
“The dog stays here, ma’am,” came the reply. “No dogs. No pets.”
The bus began to pull away. “I want Chico!” cried Alex. “Chico! Chico!” He looked back as the bus drove off with Chico in pursuit. The dog tried his best to keep up, but gradually fell behind, then gave up. The last thing Chico heard as he sadly returned to the empty, ransacked house was Alex faintly calling his name.
The Camp
It took nearly five hours to reach New Manzanar from Lydia’s Boyle Heights neighborhood. They arrived in the late afternoon. The sun was about to set behind the majestic Sierra Nevada range to the west. The air was cool and dry. More than four dozen buses were lined up at the main gate. Armed, uniformed military personnel were everywhere. Lydia, Alex, and other passengers exited the buses, squinting at the dying sunlight. Each was handed a slip of paper that listed the barracks they were assigned to. Lydia and Alex were allowed to remain together. Alex’ abuelo was sent to a location for adult men.
They were escorted to their barracks, assigned beds and a small storage unit, then ordered to report for a meal. They lined up cafeteria-style for a tray of food Alex found disgusting. Alex had been spoiled by Lydia’s cooking. She would not cook again for a long time.
Yolanda and Maris were reunited with their families, then placed on separate buses. Yolanda’s family was bused to New Manzanar. Maris and her family were sent to a facility in West Texas, arriving in darkness.
Humberto stayed in his empty classroom after the final bell. He sat at his desk as the sky turned burnt orange. Should he have done more? What can he do now? He started to cry, then stopped himself. He locked the dark classroom, left the school grounds, and returned to his apartment two miles away. Then he poured himself a drink, cursed the walls, and pounded the furniture.
Late that night, after Humberto drank himself to sleep and as Maris’ bus entered Texas, Alex cried himself to sleep.
More than two hundred miles away, in the dry hills of Los Angeles, so did Chico.
© 2024 by Mike Tully
(Many of Trump’s proposals reflect those included in The Heritage Foundation “Mandate for Leadership.” Read it here.)