Hernández arrived in Tijuana late at night still wearing his prison sweats. “I had no money, I didn’t know where I was, what to do, or what to say,” he tells me, preferring to speak English.
Confused and disorientated, a passerby took pity and paid a taxi driver 60 pesos, just over $3, to take Hernández to the Scalabrini men’s shelter. Within a few weeks Hernández, a seasoned hustler, found work at a barber’s shop and rented this apartment, decorating the walls with Marilyn Monroe posters.
Things were looking up, when Hernández was attacked by muggers on his way to work and suffered a fractured hip. He needed emergency surgery but the surgeons at the public hospital were in Mexico City, treating the September earthquake victims.
He applied for humanitarian parole, requesting permission to return briefly to San Diego for free treatment at the veterans’ hospital. It was rejected.
Hernández spent a month in hospital in terrible pain, waiting for surgery. There are no official figures, but activists believe thousands of veterans like him have been deported in recent years.
“When I stood up and gave my oath of allegiance to the US, the army told me I was an American, and that’s what I’ve always believed. I had my social security number, driver’s license, a house, cars, a salon, so didn’t worry about citizenship. That was stupid I know, but it never crossed my mind that I’d end up in this situation.
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