Everyone Who Is Gone Is Here

Everyone Who Is Gone Is Here Plot Summary

Introduction

In the early 1980s, a young Salvadoran doctor named Juan Romagoza was captured by government forces, tortured for weeks, and left for dead. His crime? Providing medical care to peasants in rural areas. Around the same time, in Tucson, Arizona, a Presbyterian minister named John Fife began sheltering Central American refugees fleeing violence, creating what would become known as the Sanctuary Movement. These two stories, seemingly disconnected, represent the human dimension of one of the most consequential yet overlooked chapters in modern American history. The relationship between the United States and Central America has shaped migration patterns, border policies, and urban demographics for decades. What began as Cold War interventionism in El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras evolved into a refugee crisis, gang formation, and eventually the border emergencies that dominate today's headlines. This historical narrative reveals how American foreign policy decisions directly created the conditions for mass migration, how deportation policies inadvertently exported gang culture to vulnerable Central American societies, and how temporary immigration solutions became permanent problems. For anyone seeking to understand today's immigration debates, the roots lie in this complex, often tragic history of intervention, violence, and displacement.

Chapter 1: Cold War Battleground: US Intervention and Civil Wars (1979-1992)

The late 1970s marked the beginning of a bloody chapter in Central American history, as civil wars erupted across the region. In El Salvador, decades of extreme inequality had created a society where fourteen wealthy families controlled most of the land while the majority lived in poverty. When peaceful attempts at reform were met with violence, armed resistance emerged. The Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front (FMLN) formed as a coalition of leftist groups fighting against the government, while right-wing death squads targeted anyone suspected of opposing the regime. The Reagan administration viewed these conflicts through a Cold War lens, fearing "another Cuba" in America's backyard. Despite overwhelming evidence of human rights abuses by government forces, the U.S. poured billions in military aid to El Salvador's government. In December 1981, the U.S.-trained Atlacatl Battalion massacred nearly 1,000 civilians in El Mozote, but when journalists Raymond Bonner and Alma Guillermoprieto reported on the atrocity, the administration dismissed their accounts and worked to discredit them. Archbishop Óscar Romero became the voice of the oppressed, using his Sunday sermons to document government killings and disappearances. When he was assassinated while celebrating Mass in March 1980, it signaled the beginning of full-scale civil war. As one Salvadoran refugee later recalled, "After they killed Romero, we knew no one was safe." The murder of four American churchwomen by Salvadoran security forces nine months later further demonstrated the brutality of the regime receiving U.S. support. The human toll was staggering. Between 1979 and 1992, more than 75,000 Salvadorans were killed, most by government forces or death squads. In Guatemala, where the U.S. had orchestrated a coup in 1954, government forces conducted what amounted to genocide against indigenous Maya communities, killing over 200,000 people. These conflicts created the first major wave of Central American migration to the United States, as hundreds of thousands fled violence and economic collapse. By the time peace accords were signed in the early 1990s, the region was fundamentally transformed, with shattered economies, traumatized populations, and transnational communities that would reshape both Central America and the United States for decades to come.

Chapter 2: Sanctuary and Survival: Refugee Protection Movements (1980-1990)

As violence engulfed Central America in the early 1980s, thousands of refugees began arriving at the U.S.-Mexico border seeking asylum. However, they encountered a hostile reception from the Reagan administration, which classified them not as legitimate refugees fleeing persecution but as "economic migrants" ineligible for protection. This policy contradiction was stark: while the U.S. funded the violence that caused displacement, it simultaneously denied protection to those fleeing that same violence. The approval rate for Salvadoran asylum applications hovered around 3 percent, compared to 60 percent for Iranians and 40 percent for those fleeing communist regimes. Border Patrol agents routinely pressured detainees to sign "voluntary departure" forms, denying them the chance to apply for asylum. Those deported often faced deadly consequences – soldiers would wait at airports to identify returnees, who were presumed to be guerrilla sympathizers. As one Salvadoran sergeant testified, "If someone was deported it confirmed that he'd first tried to escape El Salvador, which meant he was presumed to be a leftist, an immediate death sentence." In response to this injustice, an extraordinary grassroots movement emerged. It began in Tucson, Arizona, where Presbyterian minister John Fife and Quaker activist Jim Corbett started sheltering Salvadoran refugees in their homes and churches. On March 24, 1982, the second anniversary of Archbishop Romero's assassination, Fife declared his Southside Presbyterian Church a "sanctuary" for Central American refugees, directly challenging federal immigration law. "We take this action because we believe the current policy and practice of the United States Government with regard to Central American refugees is illegal and immoral," they declared. The sanctuary movement quickly spread across the country. By 1985, over 500 congregations had declared themselves sanctuaries, and thousands of Americans were involved in transporting, housing, and advocating for Central American refugees. The Reagan administration responded with surveillance and infiltration. The FBI placed informants in churches, and in 1985, the Justice Department indicted sixteen sanctuary workers in Arizona on charges of conspiracy and harboring illegal aliens. The "Sanctuary Trial" became a national spectacle, though the judge prohibited any testimony about conditions in Central America or U.S. foreign policy – the very context that had motivated their actions. The movement's greatest legal victory came in 1990 with the settlement of American Baptist Churches v. Thornburgh, which forced the government to reconsider thousands of previously denied asylum cases and establish more fair procedures. This grassroots resistance not only saved countless lives but also established a model of faith-based activism that would resurface decades later during subsequent immigration crises.

Chapter 3: Deportation and Gang Genesis: Creating Transnational Violence (1990-2005)

As civil wars in Central America officially ended in the early 1990s, a new crisis was brewing in the streets of Los Angeles. Many Salvadoran refugee children who had arrived in neighborhoods like Pico-Union and South Central during the 1980s found themselves in a hostile environment where established gangs controlled territory. Facing discrimination and violence, many Salvadoran youths formed their own protective groups, most notably Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13). Initially, MS-13 was less a criminal enterprise than a social club for marginalized immigrant teenagers who shared a love of heavy metal music and cultural identity. Early members called themselves "stoners" or "rockers," sporting long hair and listening to bands like Black Sabbath. As one former member explained, "We were the new kids, the ones who spoke funny. We had to stick together." However, the need for protection in LA's violent neighborhoods quickly pushed the group toward militarization, especially as the crack epidemic intensified gang conflicts throughout the city. The critical turning point came with the passage of the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA) in 1996. This legislation dramatically expanded deportation criteria to include even minor criminal offenses and applied retroactively to crimes committed years earlier. Between 1998 and 2005, the U.S. deported nearly 46,000 immigrants with criminal records to Central America, many of them gang members who had grown up in the United States and barely knew their countries of origin. These deportees arrived in post-war Central American countries ill-equipped to receive them. El Salvador, still recovering from civil war, had weak institutions, high unemployment, and easy access to weapons. The deportees, fluent in English and versed in American gang culture, quickly established local chapters of MS-13 and 18th Street gangs. They recruited from pools of vulnerable youth in countries where nearly half the population was under 18 years old. As one Salvadoran police official lamented, "The United States deported the gang problem to us, and it's returned to them as a boomerang." What began as a local adaptation to survive in Los Angeles neighborhoods had transformed into a transnational network spanning multiple countries. By the early 2000s, these gangs had established sophisticated organizational structures, control over territories, and extortion networks targeting local businesses and transportation. Homicide rates in El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras soared to among the highest in the world. This exported violence would soon generate new waves of migration as people fled gang threats, creating a tragic cycle where U.S. deportation policies inadvertently fueled the very migration they were intended to prevent.

Chapter 4: Temporary Protection, Permanent Limbo: Immigration Policy Failures (1990-2010)

The 1990s began with promising developments for Central Americans in the United States. The civil wars had ended, and in 1990, Congress created Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for Salvadorans, championed by Congressman Joe Moakley after the November 1989 murder of six Jesuit priests by U.S.-trained Salvadoran soldiers. TPS allowed Salvadorans to live and work legally in the United States but provided no path to permanent residency. As the chair of the powerful House Rules Committee, Moakley had leveraged his position, telling Senate leadership, "If the Salvadoran issue goes, then there'll be no fucking bill." However, the end of the wars created a policy paradox. TPS had been granted based on ongoing conflicts, but with peace officially declared, the rationale for protection was technically gone. Yet returning to countries devastated by decades of war, with few economic opportunities and persistent violence, was not a viable option for many. Those who had built lives in the U.S. – raising American-born children, establishing businesses, and becoming integral parts of their communities – faced the prospect of being forced to leave. The Immigration Act of 1990 had created new avenues for legal immigration, including diversity visas and expanded family-based categories. However, these provisions primarily benefited immigrants from other regions. Central Americans who had arrived during the wars often remained in legal limbo, cycling through temporary statuses or falling out of status entirely. The ABC settlement allowed some to reapply for asylum, but the process was slow and cumbersome, with many cases remaining unresolved for years. The situation worsened dramatically with the 1996 immigration laws. IIRIRA not only expanded deportation grounds but also created the "3-year and 10-year bars," which prevented undocumented immigrants from adjusting their status through marriage or family sponsorship if they had been present unlawfully. Anyone who had been in the U.S. without documentation for more than six months faced a three-year ban on returning; those present for more than a year faced a ten-year ban. This trapped millions in a legal limbo – unable to leave without facing lengthy separation from their families, yet unable to legalize their status while remaining. By the early 2000s, hundreds of thousands of Central Americans were living in a state of "permanent temporariness" – able to work legally but unable to fully integrate into American society. When natural disasters struck the region – Hurricane Mitch in 1998 and earthquakes in El Salvador in 2001 – new TPS designations were granted, but still without pathways to permanence. Republican and Democratic administrations alike found it easier to renew TPS designations every 18 months than to create an actual path to citizenship for those who had built lives in the U.S. over decades. This policy failure would have profound consequences for both immigrant communities and American society as a whole.

Chapter 5: Humanitarian Crisis at the Border: Family Separation and Asylum Dismantling (2014-2020)

The summer of 2014 marked a turning point in Central American migration, as tens of thousands of unaccompanied children arrived at the U.S.-Mexico border, overwhelming processing facilities and creating what the Obama administration termed a "humanitarian crisis." Unlike previous migration waves dominated by adult men seeking work, these were children and families fleeing violence. Images of children sleeping on concrete floors under mylar blankets shocked the public and intensified the political debate. The Obama administration responded with a multi-pronged approach. It expanded family detention facilities and expedited deportation proceedings, while simultaneously creating in-country refugee processing programs in Central America. The administration also launched a $750 million aid package to address root causes of migration in the Northern Triangle. However, these efforts produced limited results, as violence and economic instability continued to drive people northward. As Obama told immigration advocates in a White House meeting: "I have borders. You may believe that it's inherently unfair that a child born in El Salvador has a completely different set of opportunities and dangers than a child born in the U.S. And that's because it is unfair. I can't fix that for you." The Trump administration took a dramatically different approach, viewing deterrence through harsh enforcement as the primary solution. In April 2018, the administration implemented its most controversial policy: "Zero Tolerance" for unauthorized border crossings. Under this approach, all adults crossing the border without authorization were criminally prosecuted, including asylum seekers. Because children couldn't be held in criminal detention, this policy resulted in the systematic separation of over 5,500 children from their parents. The human impact was devastating. Medical professionals documented severe psychological trauma among separated children, including regression in development, anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder. Parents described hearing their children screaming as they were taken away, and children as young as toddlers appeared in immigration court alone. Public outrage reached a crescendo in June 2018 when audio recordings of sobbing children in detention facilities were leaked to the media. Facing intense pressure, President Trump signed an executive order officially ending the family separation policy, but the damage was done. Beyond family separation, the Trump administration pursued a comprehensive strategy to restrict asylum. The "Remain in Mexico" policy forced over 70,000 asylum seekers to wait in dangerous Mexican border cities while their cases proceeded. Asylum "metering" limited the number of people who could request protection each day. A series of regulations and agreements with Central American countries effectively ended asylum access for most migrants arriving at the southern border. When COVID-19 emerged in early 2020, the administration invoked Title 42 of the public health code to summarily expel migrants without allowing them to apply for asylum. By 2020, the U.S. asylum system had been effectively dismantled, representing not just a policy shift but a fundamental retreat from international refugee law and America's historical commitment to providing safe haven for the persecuted.

Chapter 6: Root Causes and Shared Responsibility: Climate, Violence, and Migration (2000-Present)

While U.S. policy debates often focus narrowly on border enforcement, the deeper story of Central American migration lies in the complex transformation of the region over decades. Climate change has emerged as an increasingly powerful driver of displacement, particularly in Guatemala's "Dry Corridor," where unpredictable rainfall patterns have devastated subsistence farming. Between 2018 and 2019, drought conditions left 1.4 million people in need of food assistance across the Northern Triangle countries. As one Guatemalan farmer explained, "We didn't want to leave our land, but the land left us first." Gender-based violence represents another significant migration driver that often goes unrecognized in policy discussions. Central America has some of the highest femicide rates globally, with domestic violence often going unpunished. LGBTQ+ individuals face systematic persecution, including from police forces theoretically meant to protect them. For women and sexual minorities, migration often represents the only escape from life-threatening situations that local authorities cannot or will not address. The economic structures of these nations continue to privilege a small elite while offering limited opportunities for most citizens. In Honduras, the 2009 military coup that ousted democratically elected President Manuel Zelaya ushered in a period of increased corruption and violence. The subsequent government of Juan Orlando Hernández, despite receiving billions in U.S. aid, was implicated in drug trafficking at the highest levels. In El Salvador, President Nayib Bukele's war on gangs has reduced homicide rates but at the cost of mass incarceration and human rights abuses. The transnational nature of Central American communities has fundamentally altered the social fabric of the region. In towns throughout El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras, remittances from relatives in the United States fund everything from home construction to education. These economic lifelines create dependency while also raising expectations about living standards. Young people grow up in communication with cousins and friends in the U.S., developing aspirations that cannot be fulfilled locally. U.S. deportation policies have inadvertently strengthened transnational ties. Many deportees maintain connections to the communities where they lived in the United States, often attempting to return to families left behind. Each deportee brings back American cultural influences, consumer preferences, and sometimes trauma from their experiences in the U.S. immigration system. This creates a complex feedback loop where migration, deportation, and re-migration continuously reshape communities on both sides of the border. Climate change, corruption, violence, and transnational connections will continue driving migration regardless of U.S. border policies. Addressing these root causes requires sustained investment in governance, climate adaptation, and economic development. It also demands recognition that migration is not simply a security challenge but a human phenomenon shaped by complex historical, economic, and environmental forces that transcend borders.

Summary

The intertwined history of the United States and Central America reveals a profound paradox: American foreign policy decisions directly created the conditions that drove mass migration, yet the same government consistently refused to acknowledge its responsibility toward those displaced by its actions. From military interventions and support for repressive regimes in the 1980s to deportation policies that exported gang violence in the 1990s, U.S. actions set in motion forces that continue to shape migration patterns today. The cycle became self-reinforcing – intervention led to displacement, restrictive immigration policies criminalized migrants, and deportations exported American gang culture to fragile post-war societies, creating new waves of violence and migration. This history offers crucial lessons for addressing today's immigration challenges. First, effective immigration policy must acknowledge the role of U.S. foreign policy in creating migration pressures rather than treating migration as simply a law enforcement problem. Second, temporary solutions inevitably become permanent realities – the failure to create pathways to permanent status for those with TPS and other provisional protections has left generations in limbo. Finally, immigrant communities themselves have demonstrated remarkable resilience and capacity for self-organization, suggesting that policies supporting community-based approaches rather than enforcement-only strategies would yield more humane and effective results. Understanding this complex legacy is essential not just for addressing current migration issues but for building a more just relationship between the United States and its Central American neighbors.

About Author

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Jonathan Blitzer

Jonathan Blitzer is a staff writer at The New Yorker. He has won a National Award for Education Reporting as well as an Edward R. Murrow Award, and was a 2021 Emerson Fellow at New America. He lives with his family in New York City.

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