Hope, limbo, despair: Mexican family living in Minneapolis is deported after asylum bid denied

Dolls and stuffed animals peer out from shelves into the empty northeast Minneapolis apartment. Children's bikes and Hula-Hoops sit unused by the stairs. A "Happy Birthday" sign is draped across the entrance to the living room, marking the first birthday of the family's only American-born citizen: a boy named Leo.

"Look at this," said Ry Siggelkow, gesturing around the living room where he once enjoyed gathering. "It's such a home, you know?"

But his friends — Pablo, Efi and their four children, who lived there for four years — abruptly departed this spring when the U.S. government sent them back to Mexico. Now, Siggelkow is grappling with how tenuous home can be.

U.S. immigration judges have ordered 227,162 people deported since October 2023, leaving communities to feel the sometimes-painful ripple effects.

As record numbers of asylum cases backlog the courts, millions of immigrants are living in limbo, residing in America for years with no guarantee they can stay. They face trying to build a new life here while under the threat that a court decision could suddenly shatter their dreams. And massive delays in resolving asylum claims — as Pablo and Efi endured — make it all the harder to say goodbye when a deportation is finally carried out.

"They became like family to us," said Siggelkow, his voice cracking with anguish. "I can't bear it."

Pablo and his wife, Efi, spoke with the Star Tribune from Mexico on the condition that their state and surname not be published in order to protect their safety. They live in a region of Mexico for which the U.S. Department of State has issued a "do not travel" advisory due to widespread crime and violence.

In U.S. government documents, Pablo said his role as a local government commissioner in Mexico made him a target for criminal groups, including a cartel. He recounted returning from a community meeting in July 2019 when cartel members ambushed and beat him. Afterward, the family was terrified and stopped leaving the house. Efi said cartel members threatened her and said they would harm her eldest son.

In an asylum application, she wrote: "I fear that if we return to Mexico we will be hunted down by Cartel del Sur and physically persecuted because Pablo did not give into their threats and violence."

Later in 2019, Pablo, Efi and their children fled to northern Mexico. In the border town of Juarez, Pablo befriended Siggelkow, then pastor of Faith Mennonite Church in Minneapolis, who was on a migrant outreach trip with other faith leaders. (Siggelkow is now director of the Leadership Center for Social Justice at United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities.) He encouraged Pablo to call if he ever needed a place to stay in America. After the family crossed the border that December, they wound up living with Siggelkow and his wife, Marcia, for a few months.

The Siggelkows and other church members helped find Pablo and Efi an apartment nearby. The Siggelkows became close to Pablo and Efi, the two families sharing meals and celebrating holidays together. They also shared a deep Christian faith. In their apartment, Efi and Pablo arranged a figure of Jesus on a table alongside flowers, candles, and small Mexican and American flags.

Efi picked up cleaning and cooking jobs, and she served on the board of Pueblos de Lucha y Esperanza, an immigrant social justice nonprofit that Siggelkow co-founded. Pablo worked in construction and as a mover.

They hired Minnetonka immigration attorney Steve Thal. The couple had an interview in October 2020 with an asylum officer to determine if they faced a "credible fear" of returning to Mexico. They received a negative decision, which meant their asylum case could not proceed. Thal said that, by law, the government must hold a hearing to review a decision within a week, but that didn't happen — for 1,297 days.

Still, Pablo and Efi filed their asylum application that December — in case an immigration judge overturned the decision — and continued making Minneapolis their home.

"It felt like we're on a tightrope," Efi said. "On one hand if we wanted to stay, we had to work hard to keep moving forward and making a new life here. And if we had to go back then we would also have to figure out a place to live … the house could still be there but due to the reasons why we left, we can't go back."

Just 4% of asylum claims by Mexicans were granted in 2023, according to the Executive Office for Immigration Review. Siggelkow admitted that their chances didn't look good. Still, he didn't think the family would be deported. He'd met so many migrants over the years and had never known anyone close to him who was sent back.

But in May, Pablo and Efi finally had a hearing at the Fort Snelling federal immigration court to review the initial asylum officer's negative decision. The judge ruled against Pablo and Efi. Siggelkow, who attended the review, recalled yelling "Shame! Shame on you!" He, Efi and Pablo walked into the hallway to tell the children. "And the kids knew — you could tell by their faces," said Siggelkow.

"It began to dawn on me …that there was nothing we can do," he recalled. "Nothing we can do."

It wasn't until the family was summoned to a Bloomington office of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement that they realized they were being deported. The Siggelkows hurried to the office with other friends and church members to pray, sing songs and say goodbye.

"They didn't give us any time to pack our bags. … The clothes we were wearing, our phones and our wallets, that was basically it," Efi recalled.

Upon returning to Mexico, Pablo, Efi and their children went to live with Efi's mother. Even though it's five hours away from their former home, Efi said they are too afraid to leave their house often.

The Siggelkows set up an online fundraiser that raised $14,000 to help with the family's immediate needs and legal fees. Their lawyer has requested that the Chicago Asylum Office reconsider the negative credible fear determination and sent supporting evidence and documentation that was not available at the time of the initial interview.

Ry Siggelkow said the experience has created a lot of fear in the community that Pablo and Efi created, including at Pueblos de Lucha y Esperanza. As the family's once carefully tended plants wilt in their pots, Siggelkow dreads the prospect of having to pack up their Minneapolis apartment.

Pablo and Efi still hold out hope that they will return to Minnesota someday.

"If they're not ready to give up," said Siggelkow, "then I'm not ready to give up."