Abbie Arevalo Herrera (at right) shares a meal with her husband, Elmer, and sister Claudia, at First Unitarian Universalist Church of Richmond. (Photo by Carlos Bernate)
Abbie Arevalo Herrera is used to being told, “Go back to where you came from.” She first heard the phrase when she arrived in the United States seeking asylum and was held in an hielera, a Spanish term meaning “icebox” that refers to the cold temperature of Customs and Border Patrol facilities. And she didn’t stop hearing it throughout years of check-ins with immigration authorities.
But returning to her native Honduras would be a death sentence, she says. Arevalo, 32, fled the country in late 2013 with her eldest daughter after what she describes as years of domestic violence at the hands of the girl’s father, leaving her younger child with her mother. When she learned of her impending deportation in June 2018, she moved into the First Unitarian Universalist Church of Richmond. (Her story is detailed in our September 2018 feature article "Within These Walls.")
U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, commonly known as ICE, doesn’t typically make arrests at sensitive locations, such as churches. But that doesn’t mean Arevalo isn’t fearful.
“I’m still afraid. And I’ve been afraid all these years I’ve lived here, all those years I’ve had to be in contact with ICE,” she says in Spanish during a recent phone interview. “Because of my situation, my life is hanging by a thread.”
Arevalo is one of several dozen immigrants living in sanctuary in churches across the U.S. (a spokeswoman says that Church World Service, a faith-based relief organization that works with refugees, knows of 45), many of whom recently received notices of fines from ICE for failing to comply with a deportation order. At the end of June, in letters dated about a week after Arevalo’s first anniversary of entering sanctuary, she learned she was being fined $295,630.
“The amount is so high, I couldn’t even believe it,” she says. “I’ve never seen that huge amount of money in my life. I don’t even know how a woman like me could earn that much money.”
Responding to a request for comment from the church, the Rev. Jeanne M. Pupke, senior minister at First Unitarian Universalist, says via email, “Assessing a fine of that size on a woman who is seeking asylum from death threats tells me the U.S. leadership has lost its moral compass. It is, however, just one more outrageous action out of many in our immigration policy.”
The penalties accumulate at a maximum of $500 per day, according to the section of the Immigration and Nationality Act cited in the notice Arevalo received, but the document didn’t indicate how much per day she was fined, says her lawyer, Alina Kilpatrick.
According to The New York Times, ICE officials began issuing such notices in December.
“ICE is committed to using various enforcement methods — including arrest, detention, technological monitoring and financial penalties — to enforce U.S. immigration law and maintain the integrity of legal orders issued by judges,” Carol Danko, an agency spokeswoman, told the newspaper.
ICE told WRIC-ABC 8 News that the fines are set at $799 per day because of inflation.
Alina Kilpatrick (Photo by Carlos Bernate)
Kilpatrick also represents Maria Chavalan Sut, a Guatemalan woman living in sanctuary in a church in Charlottesville, who was sent a fine of about $214,000.
The Rev. Isaac Collins of Wesley Memorial United Methodist Church, where Chavalan is staying, told The Daily Progress newspaper that the fine is a scare tactic. “The purpose of it is to intimidate Maria and to put pressure on her,” he said.
Kilpatrick says it’s possible Arevalo could continue to be fined the longer she remains in sanctuary. The first step is to send ICE an objection, which must be received by Friday, July 26, and Kilpatrick expects to have to appeal that decision afterward, as she doesn’t anticipate ICE responding in Arevalo’s favor.
“If that doesn’t work, then we’ll take it to federal court,” Kilpatrick says.
The fine is the latest hurdle in Arevalo’s legal battle to remain in the U.S. Her deportation order stems from missing her initial court appearance, but she and Kilpatrick say her “Notice to Appear” in court didn’t include a date and time. Because of a previous lawyer’s error, her asylum application wasn’t received.
Arevalo has a pending visa based on the fact that her husband is a permanent U.S. resident, but that doesn’t solve her problems, Kilpatrick says. In order to receive the visa, Arevalo would have to return to Honduras for an interview, but her removal order would require her to remain there for five years before returning to the U.S.
That would separate her from her family, including her two children who live with her in the church, and put her in “very grave and serious danger,” Kilpatrick says, “because the person who wants to harm her is still there in Honduras and still wants to harm her.”
To be able to enter and leave Honduras quickly, Arevalo needs her legal case to be reopened. But neither she nor Kilpatrick know when that might happen.
At present, Arevalo says she doesn’t feel like she has control over her future.
“Lately I’ve felt discouraged, and have been thinking … whatever happens, it doesn’t even matter because my children are OK,” Arevalo says. “If I die today, if I die tomorrow, I think what most matters to me is that my children are in a safe place.”
