Climbing the American Ladder as Deportation Looms
This is the second story in an ongoing series following Giddel Contreras, one of more than 400,000 immigrants whose Temporary Protected Status could expire in the coming year. Read and listen to the first story, "A Family Braces for Dad's Deportation," here.
The party-goers at the Three Kings Day celebration thought the highlight of this Sunday afternoon was going to be finding the baby Jesus figurines hidden in the cake known as la rosca de reyes.
That's the tradition on Three Kings Day, a post-Christmas holiday popular in Central America. But Giddel Contreras and his wife, Maribel Hernandez, have their own, additional tradition on this holiday: announcements.
And so toward the end of the party, after la rosca de reyes was sliced up and all the baby Jesuses were found, Maribel rang a bell for announcements. News that their niece won an interview for admission at a coveted middle school was met with cheers. Applause grew louder when Maribel announced that Giddel, a cook who has worked at small restaurants and hotels, landed a highly competitive job as a sous chef at the five-star Pierre Hotel on Central Park.
Then, screams reached ear-piercing levels when Maribel, who until recently worked in Mayor de Blasio's Office of Immigrant Affairs, announced her new job: "I am leaving the mayor’s office to go work for Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez!"
Maribel is the new district director for the first-term Democrat, who is not just the most buzzed about congress member in the country but a hero among immigrants and progressives. Maribel will now be running her offices in New York.
As friends and family offered congratulations and hugs, the moment stood as affirmation for two strivers who hustled for decades in their adopted country while navigating a complex immigration system. But it masked a sadder reality: As it stands now, Giddel, despite his new job, won't be at next year's Three Kings Day on Jan. 6. The immigration program that allows him to stay and work in the country, Temporary Protected Status for Hondurans, was eliminated by the Trump Administration, and is set to expire on Jan. 5, 2020. The party marked the first day of what could be his last year in the U.S.
Maribel was born in Mexico and grew up undocumented in the U.S. Thanks to her skills at chess, she landed a scholarship to boarding school, Philip Exeter Academy, and was then admitted to Harvard University. She later got her citizenship, went to law school and eventually became an immigration attorney for the city.
That work experience would seem to put Maribel in a position to resolve her husband's immigration predicament. But the fact that it remains unresolved reflects the precarious situation for 88,633 Hondurans — including 8,447 from New York, according to federal numbers — with Temporary Protected Status. The program is in place for immigrants from countries — currently 10 — where war or natural disasters made returning difficult and dangerous, and it covers more than 400,000 people who now must leave the country in the coming months.
In the meantime, Congress could intervene. (Incidentally, Ocasio-Cortez rallied support to save the program outside the Capitol on Tuesday, saying the country must keep its promise to remain a "safe haven.") Separately, the courts could halt the Trump Administration's action: The American Civil Liberties Union filed a class-action lawsuit Monday in a federal court in Northern California on behalf of Temporary Protected Status recipients from Honduras and Nepal, as well as their children, arguing that President Trump has expressed racial animus against immigrants.
Failing all of that, Maribel has a three-part strategy. In December, she and Giddel submitted a petition to immigration authorities to waive the fact that 24 years ago, after Giddel entered the country without documents — but before he was granted Temporary Protected Status — he missed a court date and got hit with a deportation order.
If that petition is approved, Giddel will have to file another petition giving him legal status. And if that's approved, he and Maribel will have to travel to Honduras because he must apply for his U.S. Green Card from the American consulate there.
That process alone could take months, or years. And that means he wouldn't see his daughter, Madison, who is now 12.
"I'm just going with the flow," Giddel said. "I can’t really do anything else but wait and hope for the best. If I start freaking out right now, then it's just going to get worse...It's just a matter of taking care of this immigration process for now and then the rest, as we say in the kitchen, piece of cake."
Maribel said putting together the application for the waiver, which involved writing affidavits detailing their lives, was "very emotional." They considered cancelling their annual Three Kings Day party, but after some discussion they decided "we can't let this put a damper on all our lives," so "let's be happy, let's be with family, let's be with friends, and just have a good time like we always do."
Giddel, as the resident chef, cooked for the party: conch soup, kimchi soup with tofu, guacamole and traditional Honduran baleadas, which are akin to tacos. To drink? Corona and horchata, made with rice, peanut butter and cinnamon. Plus, take-out pizza for the kids.
Their Washington Heights apartment, which they share on the weekends with Madison, who lives nearby with her mom, is small and cozy. On the walls are diplomas from Giddel's cooking schools and Maribel's universities; a picture of Maribel's brother, who's a chief petty officer with the Navy stationed in Japan; and two pictures of Madison with Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor, a fellow Latina from New York. Giddel keeps his treasures in one corner, including a fishing pole, a skull from a lamb he cooked and a collection of gourds that he harvested, hallowed out and steamed.
There are also pictures of the blended family all over the apartment — "los tres amigos," they call themselves — and a drawing that Madison made when she was a toddler, with three hearts. "One for each one of us," Giddel said. "Little things like that make the home more enjoyable."
Meanwhile, life ticks forward, with the family crossing off items on their bucket lists, just in case their time together is shortened. They recently went skiing for the first time, and loved it — even if they spent the entire time on the bunny slope. "We didn't even take the lift," Giddel said.
In the last story about the family that aired on WNYC, Madison choked back years as she said that after the Trump Administration rescinded Temporary Protective Status, "I realized that nothing is forever, not even family."
That comment prompted Maribel to post a note on Facebook, asking her friends from around the world to send Madison letters of support, via snail mail. Madison now keeps a stack of them at their apartment. "It’s really nice to know that people are always here for me in this hard time," she said.
"I still feel the same, and I’m really sad," Madison said. But she doesn't "space out as much at school," worrying about the situation. "I think since we spoke I let a lot of my emotions out, so I don't have that pain in my chest any more." Then, she added: "But I still have it."
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