In Guatemalan villages, community leaders fear more children will be exploited. “This is a crime. This is human trafficking,” said Marleni Villeda, 46, who helps run a school for at-risk children, one of whom, she contends, recently left for the United States with a man who may not be a relative. “What is happening here is a tragedy.”
Often, these cases can be more complicated than they first appear. The families involved face hunger and threats of violence. There are disagreements about paternity and allegations of abuse. Far from a common practice, illicit “adoptions” seem to brand the participants with a scarlet letter in their own community.
'I don't have any support here'
For three months, Denys Adelmo Mejia lived like a fugitive. Gang members wanted to recruit the 23-year-old auto mechanic. He hardly ventured outside.
“One night, he told me, ‘Mom, I can’t take it anymore. I’m going to talk to the girl’s mother, and if she wants to give her to me, then I’m going to go,” said his mother, Teresa de Jesus Luna.
The girl’s mother was Gilda López, a 33-year-old maid who lived a few doors down, in a dirt-floor shack, the walls a patchwork of burlap bags and boards with exposed nails. Her five children, including the eldest, Elizabeth Dayana, 9, slept alongside her on a ratty slab of foam.
López, a single mother, left each morning at dawn to clean houses and came home 12 hours later. A month of this would bring in $60. In her home, there was rarely enough food.
When Mejia came asking for a child, López was willing to let her daughter go.
“I don’t have any support here,” she said, tears in her eyes. “And so I made the decision that my girl should leave.”
That decision has shaken this village of some 3,000 people, where gossip travels quickly. Town leaders, such as the mayor, and the head of the Catholic charity foundation, say Mejia, who left earlier this year, has no relation to Elizabeth Dayana, and they are concerned for her welfare.
Under the Flores settlement, CBP holds children in Border Patrol stations for no longer than 72 hours.
“Seventy-two hours is such a short amount of time to interview, and in places such as the [Rio Grande Valley of South Texas], you interview people as quickly as you can,” said one senior CBP official who works on fraud detection.
In recent weeks, the agency has processed nearly 2,000 people a day along the border with Mexico, more than half of whom are women and children. After turning themselves in to U.S. agents, most families can expect to be assigned a court date months or years away and released from custody after a few days. With existing detention facilities near capacity, the government has virtually nowhere to put them. In recent weeks, U.S. immigration authorities have been dropping off hundreds of newly arrived parents and children at church shelters and charities in Texas, Arizona and California.
Instances of adults traveling with minors who are not their biological children are not necessarily human-trafficking cases or fake “adoptions,” said Alejandra Colom, an anthropologist at the Universidad del Valle de Guatemala who works with adolescent girls in rural mountain areas facing high levels of emigration.
“In these small communities, a lot of people are related, and traveling with someone who is your cousin or distant family member is not the same as going with a total stranger,” Colom said. At the same time, she said, there is a “now or never” view that has taken hold in some rural areas where it is well-known that the way to gain entry to the United States and avoid immediate deportation is to bring a child. “They think they won’t ever have another opportunity again like this.”
In some rural areas of Guatemala, “adoptions” are viewed as both an economic necessity as well as a source of shame. The country was once a major source for foreign adoptions, which were sharply curtailed a decade ago amid widespread allegations of forged birth certificates, payoffs to lawyers and judges and cash payments to desperate mothers.
For a fee, dubious documents
Dina Casanga is 19 and has four children. The eldest, Benjamin, is either 5 or 6 years old, depending on which of his birth documents is to be believed.
Such documents, issued by the Guatemala’s National Registry of Persons (RENAP), are at the center of the controversy over true parentage in the disputed cases in Chanmagua. The town’s mayor, and other officials, allege the RENAP office in nearby Esquipulas will issue, for a fee, documents establishing a parent-child relationship, particularly for single mothers who did not have a father initially registered.
RENAP did not respond to multiple requests for comment.
Elmer Oseas Moran, 20, left Chanmagua with the young boy, Benjamin, in October, headed for the United States. In an interview with The Washington Post, the mother, Dina Casanga, first described Elmer as “the father” and later as “an acquaintance,” and said she did not know his last name.
Casanga’s father, Héctor Casanga, 50, disputes Moran is the boy’s father and is pressing a legal complaint against his daughter. He said he raised the boy for several years and that his daughter had no right to give his grandson to someone else.
In his cramped home, he showed copies of two RENAP documents. The most recent one, dated Oct 12, listed the boy’s last name as Moran Casanga, taking the last name of the man who left with him. But the earlier document shows his name as Casanga Vasquez, the same as the mother, and it had no information identifying a father.
“She named him as her husband, so he could take the boy with him,” said Héctor Casanga, the boy’s grandfather. “She invented that to take him away from me, and RENAP gave her a paper.”
Dina Casanga, who is unemployed and illiterate, said her father was an alcoholic and abusive and that her son would be better off in the United States. The man with her son will provide for him, she said.
“He is going to pay for someone else to take care of him because he has to work,” she said.