Man detained by ICE was already scheduled to leave, advocates say
GRAND RAPIDS, Mich. (WOOD) — Grand Rapids immigration advocates are seeking the release of a man who they say was detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement only days before he was scheduled to leave the country.
Movimiento Cosecha GR and GR Rapid Response to ICE say Carlos Menjivar is at the Calhoun County Correctional Facility, which is an ICE holding facility. ICE did not immediately confirm that to News 8 Wednesday.
The advocacy groups say Menjivar was detained June 4 when he went for what they called a 'routine check-in' at the office for the Intensive Supervision Appearance Program on Michigan Street NE near College Avenue in Grand Rapids.
ISAP is an ICE program in which people are under supervision while their immigration cases make their way through the system, which can take years. Through it, contracted case managers can keep ICE agents up to date on cases and whether people are abiding by the conditions of their release, explains.
'(Menjivar) was asked to come to this ISAP office with his paperwork, so his passport, and approve of them leaving (the United States). They had agreed, actually verbally agreed, with the ISAP office to departure this Saturday,' Movimiento Cosecha organizer Gema Lowe said at a Wednesday news conference.
She said ISAP workers were supposed to check the paperwork and plane tickets for their return to Menjivar's native El Salvador. Instead, she said, he was 'arbitrarily' detained and ICE now has his and his family's passports.
'This family, they have been compliant to everything Immigration has asked them since they came to this country as refugees in 2017,' Lowe said.
She argued that asking Menjivar to report to the ISAP office was a 'trap.'
At the news conference, one of Menjivar's children held a sign that read, 'Te amamos, Papa,' or 'We love you, Dad,' in Spanish.
ICE did not immediately provide answers after Target 8 sought information about Menjivar's status and details about how frequently people are detained at ISAP check-ins.
GR Rapid Response to ICE organizer Jeff Smith suggested between eight and 10 people were detained at the ISAP office June 4. It was unclear how he reached that count. ICE has not provided any information.
Immigration advocates went to the ISAP office that day and Grand Rapids police were called to ask them to leave. Smith said everyone who went to an ISAP appointment after the advocates arrived was allowed to leave as expected. Smith said the group is now offering to send advocates with people when they have appointments.
Smith said advocates are calling for Menjivar to be released in time for the family's scheduled departure Saturday, that the passports be returned to the family for that travel and that ICE documentation note he left voluntarily. They have also asked U.S. senators and representatives to intervene.
In the meantime, Menjivar's wife and three children are seeking sanctuary at Fountain Street Church, a nondenominational Christian church in downtown Grand Rapids, the advocates say.
'When the residents of our community are under attack or under threat, our doors are open to provide shelter and sanctuary,' Rev. Nathan Dannison, the pastor at Fountain Street Church, said. 'Our beliefs here at Fountain Street compel us to act.'
Smith called on other Grand Rapids faith organizations to offer themselves up as sanctuaries.
'We're asking the public to see what's happening. This is the faces that they are brave enough to show and say, 'We're here,'' Lowe said. 'Even though they did they did everything they were asked to, they've still been separated. It's structural violence.'
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
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The Hill
37 minutes ago
- The Hill
Mahmoud Khalil vows to continue protests after release from detention
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Yahoo
an hour ago
- Yahoo
He thought a decade-old misdemeanor was behind him. Then he took a vacation in Europe.
Fabian Schmidt and his fiancée, Bhavani Hodgkins, stroll along the Nashua River near their apartment in downtown Nashua, N.H., with their black Lab named Django. (Photo by Allegra Boverman/New Hampshire Bulletin) Fabian Schmidt had no control over the light. It stayed on overhead from 6:30 in the morning until 11:30 at night. Which was a surprise for the 34-year-old New Hampshire resident because he always thought of prison as a dark place, like in the 1999 movie 'The Green Mile.' His cell wasn't fully dark at night either. Guards with flashlights regularly checked on everyone held at the Wyatt Detention Facility. Schmidt was housed among other Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detainees apart from the larger inmate population held by the U.S. Marshals Service awaiting federal court proceedings. Yet he learned other ICE detainees faced serious charges, including murder, sexual assault, and drug-dealing. The mission of the Wyatt — a quasi-public maximum security facility in Central Falls, Rhode Island's smallest city — is to 'protect the public from people who pose a threat to society.' Schmidt never committed any violent crime. Instead, he got off a plane at Boston's Logan International Airport on March 7 on his return from a 10-day trip to visit family and friends in his native Germany. Schmidt obtained his green card as a teenager and became a U.S. permanent resident. But for some reason, Customs and Border Protection (CBP) agents pulled him aside. They aggressively asked him about past misdemeanors from 10 years ago when he lived in California — including a charge of drug possession that had been adjudicated. They asked about his annual income, where his parents lived, and what they did for a living. He was held for hours, which turned into days during which he was denied the chance to speak with a lawyer, his family, or the German Consulate. At one point, Schmidt said he was strip-searched and thrown into a cold shower. He was given only a thin mat to sleep on and fed a cold cup of noodles. He collapsed after developing flu-like symptoms and was transported to Mass General Hospital, where he was handcuffed to the bed. After being discharged from the hospital, Schmidt was taken back to the airport. On March 11, four days after his return from Europe, CBP agents came to get him. 'That's the first time I went to Rhode Island,' he recalled in a recent interview at a coffee shop near his home in Nashua. 'In hand shackles, feet shackles, in the back of an SUV going like 80 miles an hour.' He speaks softly, with a faint accent, sometimes pausing to note the surreal facts of the 58 days he spent inside the Wyatt. In a statement, Department of Homeland Security Assistant Secretary Tricia McLaughlin told Rhode Island Current, 'When an individual is found with drug related charges and tries to re-enter the country, officers will take proper action. In this case, the conviction was dismissed, and the individual was released.' In several posts on the platform X , McLaughlin has called clips from news reports on Schmidt's treatment by CBP at Logan 'blatantly false,' 'straight-up false,' and 'flat-out FALSE.' Schmidt is readjusting to life back home. He said the ordeal cost him tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees, lost wages from his job as a master electrician, and expenses for food, clothing, and phone calls home to his worried girlfriend. He is considering filing a lawsuit, though he doesn't have details to share about that yet. 'This whole experience feels like a movie,' he said. Schmidt's story is one of dozens of accounts of hyper-aggressive immigration enforcement since the start of Donald Trump's second term. There's the Canadian woman with a U.S. work visa detained by ICE for two weeks who wrote she felt like she had been 'kidnapped;' the visiting scholar at Georgetown University with an academic visa held without charges at an ICE detention facility in Texas; the pair of Georgia newlyweds separated after the bride, an asylum seeker from Colombia, was detained by ICE. According to the Syracuse University-based public records database, Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse (TRAC), 19,125 people were booked into ICE detention in March, when Schmidt was first detained. His case drew headlines because it initially made no sense. New Hampshire's Democratic U.S. Sen. Maggie Hassan described the case as 'very concerning,' while Massachusetts Democratic State Rep. Mike Connolly called Schmidt's detention 'outrageous' and 'unlawful.' On X, a Canadian law professor's post about Schmidt was shared more than 2,000 times. His case also highlighted the Wyatt's role at the center of a yearslong political firestorm. Several public officials, including Rhode Island General Treasurer James Diossa, previously the mayor of Central Falls, have called for its closure. State lawmakers have introduced bills to close it down or, in the case of active bills in the House and Senate sessions, to stop ICE's ability to do business with Wyatt for civil immigration violations. Community members regularly hold protests outside the Wyatt's walls to draw attention to people detained inside. Since Trump's inauguration, there have been at least six such rallies. One, on March 18, was for Schmidt. Outside the Wyatt, people chanted his name and held signs that read 'FREE FABIAN' and 'DEFEND THE CONSTITUTION.' Schmidt heard them from inside. It gave him a surge of adrenaline. And a realization. 'Whoa,' he recalled thinking at the time. 'This is bigger than myself.' Schmidt spent his childhood traveling with his mother and stepfather, who worked as a tech consultant. He has lived in Denmark, South Africa, and England; he can read and write in four languages. When he was 16, his stepfather's work brought the family to Palo Alto, California. His stepfather's visa was for people with extraordinary abilities in their field — often called a 'genius visa' — and granted Schmidt legal entry as a dependent. Schmidt rode horses, played football, and embraced his new home. In 2022, he moved to Nashua to be closer to his mother, who had moved there. After a stint as a bartender, he found work as an electrical project lead at two affiliated companies: Greenerd Press & Machine Co., in Nashua, and Diamond Casting, in Hollis. Ian Wilson, a process engineer at Diamond Casting, called Schmidt a crucial member of the company. 'He's upstanding, friendly, gregarious, and very energetic,' he said. While bartending, Schmidt met and fell in love with Bhavani Hodgkins, who is now his fiancée. (Schmidt has an 8-year-old daughter from a previous relationship who lives with her mother in California.) He and Hodgkins have a black Lab named Django. 'This is where I'm from,' he said. 'I love this country.' The Donald W. Wyatt Detention Facility opened in 1993 on the site of a former textile factory. At the time, it helped address a shortage in pre-trial federal jail space in New England. During the search for a suitable Rhode Island site, a few cities and towns opposed the facility. But long-struggling Central Falls saw an economic opportunity. Shortly after the facility opened, then-Mayor Thomas Lazieh called the Wyatt 'a win now and a much bigger win down the road.' The ensuing years brought some payments from the detention center to the city; Central Falls received a total of $5.3 million in impact fees from Wyatt from 1994 through 2008, according to a 2012 joint legislative commission. But Wyatt also brought escapes, lawsuits over detainee mistreatment, criminal charges against staff members and wardens, a receivership, and — most notably — the 2008 death of an ICE detainee involving medical neglect and mistreatment. The death of that detainee, Hiu Lui 'Jason' Ng, prompted ICE to withdraw from the Wyatt for a decade. In 2019, the agency returned, amid an outcry from community groups, the Rhode Island ACLU, and elected officials. Today, the facility boasts a capacity of up to 730 adult male and 40 adult female detainees. According to a report in late March, the facility held 617 detainees for the U.S. Marshals Service (590 male, 27 female), and 116 detainees for Immigration and Customs Enforcement (112 male, 4 female). One of those male ICE detainees was Schmidt. He was housed in 10-by-7-foot cells with thick, pneumatically locking steel doors. One cell looked out over Macomber Stadium, where Central Falls High School plays athletics. The food was so bad, he said, he wouldn't feed it to his dog. Breakfast was some kind of 'oversalted…flour soup,' Schmidt said, along with a pinkish sausage of unknown origin, a dry piece of cornbread, and a serving of lukewarm milk. Lunch and dinner consisted of food that came from a can — chicken, green beans — and powdered potatoes that tasted like cardboard. Schmidt's account of the food provided at the Wyatt echoes a March report by the community organization Alliance to Mobilize Our Resistance (AMOR), which states, 'In the first two weeks of March, AMOR received messages from 16 people detained by ICE who specified that they would not have enough to eat without help purchasing food from the Commissary.' Schmidt was scared, sad, and depressed during his weeks at the Wyatt. He missed his daughter, his partner, his dog. 'Mentally, you have to learn how to block that out in prison or else you'll ruin yourself,' he said. 'You have to be able to be like, 'OK, I'm not gonna miss my dog today.'' In April, Hodgkins shared a note Schmidt wrote in a Facebook post: 'Time moves differently in here. It drags, heavy and cruel…I haven't seen the sky in weeks.' After Schmidt was moved to the Wyatt, Hodgkins spent hours on the phone — with him, his family members, attorneys and others — trying to strategize how to secure his release and ensure his safety and comfort until then. She was forced to navigate the substantial financial burden of having a loved one detained at Wyatt. To supplement the Wyatt's food options, Schmidt needed to purchase food items from the commissary. He needed money to buy more toothpaste and soap because supplies issued to detainees didn't last very long. Hodgkins created accounts so Schmidt could receive packages and communicate with her, via phone or video-chat. 'Every single thing that you do at the Wyatt Detention Facility requires (a) form of payment,' she said. A receipt Hodgkins shared on Facebook shows, between March 12 and May 6, she spent more than $2,600 in deposits into the facility's TouchPay system — deposits requiring fees ranging from around 6% of a deposit to more than 40%. In one instance, she was charged a $4.30 fee for a $10 deposit. The total fees, across 25 deposits, add up to more than $220. Here, again, Hodgkins' experiences aligned with conditions described in AMOR's report, which says Wyatt contractors charge 'exorbitant' rates for basic services, including phone calls, text messages, and food to supplement insufficient nutrition. 'In the first two weeks of March, 20 people detained reported to AMOR that calls were too expensive,' the report's authors write. 'During the same period, 43 individuals made new requests for Commissary help.' As she navigated these new challenges, Hodgkins said she was dealing with waves of her own anger, anguish, and sadness. She was fearful for Fabian's health and safety, that he would be deported, that they would lose the life they had built together. Hodgkins rearranged her work schedule so she could make the 80-mile drive from Nashua to Central Falls in time to meet the facility's strict rules that visitors arrive at least 30 minutes before visiting hours. During one visit, she saw an elderly woman with a walker turned away for arriving too late. Hodgkins found the facility intimidating: a massive concrete building with small windows surrounded by tall razor wire fences. The 'visits' were, in fact, a phone conversation with Schmidt while the two were separated by glass in a room lit by fluorescent lights. Once, when she washed her hands inside the facility, she noticed the water had a yellowish tinge. 'I really hope that no one has to go there to see their loved ones, because it's truly horrible,' she said. ICE did not respond to multiple requests for comment. When Rhode Island Current reached out to the Wyatt with detailed questions about the conditions both Hodgkins and Schmidt described, a spokesperson responded: 'The Wyatt has no comment at this time.' When protesters assembled outside the Wyatt on March 18 to call for Schmidt's release, his lawyer, David Keller, said Schmidt's past issues in California had been resolved and there hadn't been any new official charges pressed against his client. 'Imagine yourself being charged with a crime, held, and not even knowing what the crime is,' he told reporters. 'That's essentially his situation.' (Keller was unavailable to comment for this story.) About a week later, Schmidt finally learned the reason for his detention: a misdemeanor charge for drug possession from California that had already been resolved. Schmidt had pleaded no contest to the charge in 2015, despite disputing that the drugs were his; he was unaware that the controlled-substance conviction marked him in the immigration system as inadmissible. He said he was never notified of these implications of a no-contest plea, nor had he been stopped by CBP after an earlier international trip in 2017. Once the immigration charges against Schmidt became clear, lawyers for Schmidt on both coasts swung into action. In California, a criminal attorney re-opened the drug case and was able to get it dismissed from the system. (Grounds for that dismissal: the substance Schmidt was charged with possessing had never been tested to confirm what it was.) In Boston, his immigration attorney worked to secure a hearing with an immigration judge. The hearing finally happened on May 8. The judge dismissed Schmidt's immigration case in minutes. Time moves differently in here. It drags, heavy and cruel…I haven't seen the sky in weeks. – Note from Schmidt posted by Bhavani Hodgkins on Facebook Schmidt and Hodgkins finally reunited outside of ICE's Boston field office in Burlington, Massachusetts. The days since then have been joyful. Shortly after his release, Schmidt proposed to Hodgkins. He has enjoyed regular walks with his dog, cooking dinner with Hodgkins and reconnecting with friends. But the couple's life together is much different from the way it used to be. Schmidt estimates his time in custody cost him at least $65,000, between legal fees, lost wages, and the many costs of his Wyatt detention. An online fundraiser by his mother raised over $34,000. A second fundraiser launched by Hodgkins 'to help aid other legal immigrants with injustice' is ongoing. The emotional toll has also been steep. In the early days after his release, he couldn't take a nap while home alone, afraid people might come for him while he was sleeping. Routine activities like a trip to the grocery store can now trigger waves of panic. He is wary about driving, fearful of being pulled over and detained again over a minor infraction. 'I have to be strong when he's not, and I can't show my fear as much because I don't want him to get fearful,' Hodgkins said. 'We're going to spend the rest of our life healing from this trauma.' The couple have embraced new roles as advocates for immigrants navigating an unforgiving system. They are calling for more transparency in the detention process, to spare others from the weeks of confusion they experienced. And they are speaking out against the heavy-handed response Schmidt faced for what was essentially a paperwork issue. As dark as his experience was, Schmidt said he benefited from privileges many other ICE detainees lack. He's a white man who speaks fluent English, with access to a top-notch legal team. 'I don't even want to know what's happening to other people,' he said. Although the Wyatt holds immigration-related detainees, Hodgkins wants people to understand it is designed to hold criminals. She said the staff there had no interest in helping her with the logistics of visitation or keeping her partner comfortable and connected while inside. 'They're not going to be nice to you,' she said. 'They're not going to be helpful to you.' Schmidt went back to work in early June. When he was away, his projects were either put on hold, or his work had to be delegated to other people, Wilson, his coworker, said. 'I'm very relieved that he's been released,' he said, 'and very concerned for our judicial system.' In a June 2 Facebook post, Hodgkins wrote about feeling anxious, even as Schmidt was excited about his first day back to work. 'No one prepares you for the fear and uncertainty that comes with being separated from a loved one under such traumatic circumstances,' she wrote. 'But today, we're beginning to find our rhythm again.' This story was originally published by Rhode Island Current. Like Maine Morning Star, Rhode Island Current is part of States Newsroom, a nonprofit news network supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. Rhode Island Current maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Janine L. Weisman for questions: info@


The Hill
2 hours ago
- The Hill
Trump's immigration policy is a resounding success
The Democrats' decisive defeat in 2024 exposed their catastrophic failures on immigration, yet they are doubling down on the chaos with calculated recklessness. By fueling anti-ICE riots and pushing lawless policies, they have declared war on America's safety and its citizens. Meanwhile, President Trump is demolishing them on this issue, as Americans rise up against the Democrats' dangerous, self-destructive illegal immigration agenda. Trump's 'Worst Goes First' policy is doing precisely what Democrats wouldn't — putting Americans first. In Trump's first 100 days, 75 percent of ICE arrests targeted criminals with convictions or pending charges, according to data from the Department of Homeland Security. This relentless crackdown is making communities safer, despite Democrats' cries of 'fascism.' The border numbers don't lie. In May 2025, border encounters crashed to 8,725 — a staggering 93 percent drop from May 2024, when 117,905 crossed under Biden. The real shocker? Not a single illegal border-crosser was released into the U.S. in May 2025, compared to more than 62,000 dumped into the country in May 2024 under Biden. Americans are fed up. A New York Times poll shows 87 percent support deporting illegal immigrants with criminal records. Even 63 percent back deporting those who entered illegally under Biden, and 55 percent want all illegal immigrants removed. These numbers obliterate Democrats' delusions. Legal immigrant voters may be turning on Democrats harder than anyone else. In 2020, they favored Democrats by 32 points on the immigration issue. Now they trust Trump and Republicans more by a net 8 points — an astonishing 40-point swing, per CNN's Harry Enten. The verdict is clear: Americans—and immigrants—are done with Democrats' lawless and calculated sabotage of border enforcement under Biden. They are rallying behind Trump's bold, results-driven vision of law and order. While Trump's immigration policies deliver results, Democrats are consumed by petty theatrics. Their obsession with stunts is endangering Americans. Rep. Lamonica McIver (D-N.J.) has been indicted for obstructing law enforcement during a DHS operation. Sen. Alex Padilla (D-Calif.) turned a Homeland Security press event into a circus, only to be detained for his antics. These aren't isolated incidents — they comprise a pattern of Democrats prioritizing showmanship over safety. In Wisconsin, Judge Hannah Dugan was indicted for allegedly helping an illegal alien evade Immigration and Customs Enforcement. A judge betraying the very laws she's sworn to uphold? It is a disgrace that undermines trust in the justice system and cripples law enforcement. The contrast is stark: Trump delivers results, while Democrats play games with American cities fuel chaos, shielding dangerous criminal illegal aliens and crippling law enforcement. By refusing to work with immigration agents to hand over immigrants who have been arrested, these jurisdictions simply force them to go looking for them in neighborhoods — endangering both citizens and non-criminal illegal migrants, as well as wasting resources. Meanwhile, violent illegal alien offenders exploit these policies to escape justice. Worse, sanctuary policies push the lie that illegal entry is harmless. It isn't. Under Title 8 of the U.S. Code, illegal entry is a crime, and re-entry after deportation carries even more severe penalties. Ignoring these laws doesn't just erode the rule of law — it sends a reckless message: Break the law, face no consequences. Sanctuary cities don't protect — they endanger. Americans deserve better. Illegal immigration isn't just a border crisis. It is an all-out assault on America's sovereignty and safety. Under Biden, individuals from over 160 countries, including terror-sponsoring nations, stormed the border. Many destroyed their identification papers in order to avoid being vetted. Hostile regimes such as Venezuela and Cuba refuse to share intelligence, leaving America vulnerable. The result? Criminals and potential terrorists have been slipping through, endangering American lives. And to call them 'undocumented' instead of 'illegal' isn't compassion — it's a blatant lie. Democrats are intentionally whitewashing lawbreaking to push mass amnesty, all to secure a permanent voter base. This isn't policy — it's a reckless power grab that jeopardizes national security for the sake of political control. The price? Potentially catastrophic. Democrats' relentless obstruction of Trump's immigration policies is nothing short of a betrayal of America. By championing open borders and sanctuary cities, they have turned their backs on safety, security, and the rule of law. While Americans overwhelmingly demand stronger enforcement, Democrats bow to radical ideologies, leaving our nation exposed and vulnerable. Their reckless, self-serving agenda is an insult to every American. But in 2026, voters will again deliver a clear verdict: no more lies, no more chaos, no more betrayal. Ford O'Connell is an attorney, a veteran Republican operative and political analyst, and adjunct professor at George Washington University's Graduate School of Political Management.