Teen cartel killer’s mom sentenced in immigration case (San Diego Union-Tribune)

Teen cartel killer’s mom sentenced in immigration case
Written by Morgan Lee
7:57 p.m., Oct. 18, 2011

SAN DIEGO — The mother of a 15-year-old San Diego-born boy convicted this year of killing on behalf of a Mexican drug cartel has been sentenced to one year in jail on immigration charges, officials said Tuesday.

Yolanda Lugo Jimenez, 44, pleaded guilty in February in U.S. District Court to being in the country illegally after being deported to Mexico because of a 1997 felony drug conviction. She was sentenced Monday by Judge Roger Benitez.

Lugo was detained by federal agents outside her Logan Heights apartment on Dec. 6 — four days after Mexican soldiers captured her son, Edgar Jimenez Lugo as he prepared to board a flight from central Mexico to Tijuana in hopes of reaching his mother.

Edgar was convicted in July of homicide and organized crime charges in the beheading of four men and is serving a three-year sentence in a juvenile detention facility in Mexico. The August 2010 killings ended with mutilated bodies being strung from a bridge in Cuernavaca, a tourist destination just south of Mexico City.

U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement has placed a hold on Yolanda Lugo that would turn her over to immigration officials once her sentence is completed in December, said agency spokeswoman Lauren Mack. A previous conviction makes it likely Lugo will be deported.

She might seek to defer deportation, said her attorney, Jack Boltax, who declined to specify on what grounds.

Lugo’s husband, an undocumented immigrant with no criminal record, also was arrested on Dec. 6 and was returned to Mexico. The couple have two elementary school-aged daughters who were born and raised in the United States. Edgar is Lugo’s child from a previous relationship.

Monroe college student faces deportation back to Poland (Stamford Advocate)

Monroe college student faces deportation back to Poland
Vinti Singh, Staff Writer
Published 10:30 p.m., Friday, October 14, 2011

MONROE -- There was nothing "voluntary" about it, but 19-year-old Paulina Krynska felt as if she had no other choice. If she didn't sign the voluntary deportation agreement, she would have to go into hiding, constantly dreading the day Immigration and Customs Enforcement tracked her down.

She signed the document. But it was a decision she would come to regret -- just a few hours later.

Krynska's father, Dariusz, and mother, Ewa, first came to the U.S. on tourist visas on the advice of relatives in New York and moved into an apartment in Queens. Krynska's father then obtained a work visa and her mother a student visa. The family moved to Monroe in 2005.

Krynska came to the U.S. from Poland on a tourist visa when she was 11, but never returned there. She has a Social Security number that she got when she was issued a work permit for her first high school job. She used that to get a driver's license and pay taxes on the wages she earned working at local coffee shops. She was able to extend her stay in the U.S. when she was granted dependent status, but she has been here illegally since the extension expired in 2006, according to documents the U.S. Department of Homeland Security sent her.

When DHS sent her a letter that said she was "removable," her family hired a lawyer who helped them navigate the immigration court system. In August, he told Krynska she had little choice but to sign the voluntary departure.

The car ride to Hartford on the day she went to sign the agreement was mostly silent, she said. Her lawyer asked her if she was sure of her decision. It was highly unlikely she would be allowed to return to the U.S. unless it was as a fiance to an American citizen, she was told.

"Mostly, I was just like sad," Krynska said. "I wanted to cry."

She signed the document on Aug. 18 at 8:30 a.m. She agreed to leave the country no later than Dec. 16. But what she didn't know was on that very same day, President Barack Obama announced he was establishing a new process to handle deportation cases. His administration would focus more effort on deporting criminal immigrants in the country illegally. The president said in May that immigration officials would focus on violent offenders and not families or "folks who are looking to scrape together an income."

Krynska graduated from Masuk High School and attends Naugatuck Community College as a liberal arts and science major. She plans to transfer to Western Connecticut State University in Danbury and get a degree in business or marketing. Krynska feels she qualifies as an immigrant in good standing.

Her lawyer, Crescenzo DeLuca, sent in paperwork to have her case reopened, but in September, Krynska was notified her appeal was denied. DeLuca could not be reached for comment. The Krynskas said he was very diligent about letting them know the consequences of Paulina signing the deportation agreement.

Krynska came to the U.S. to join her parents who had settled here in 1998. Her parents wanted to get established before bringing her over. But when Krynska was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes and spent three weeks in a Warsaw hospital, her mother decided she should come to the U.S. as soon as possible.

"I was little, and obviously an 11-year-old isn't going to understand the immigration system," Krynska said. "I had no clue what was going on. I thought, I'm moving to this country, I'm going to be with my parents, I'm going to be happy."

Krynska and her parents have stayed in the country on various extended visas and has applied for a green card more than once, but her application was always rejected. Her family said they got bad advice from previous immigration lawyers.

It's not uncommon for immigrants to be swindled by lawyers who prey on their lack of knowledge about the complex immigration system, said Wayne Chapple, director of immigration services at the International Institute of Connecticut and a private immigration attorney.

Krynska has many concerns about returning to Poland. She is worried that if she is deported, it will be difficult for her to afford insulin and blood tests for her diabetes care. Also, Krynska said she can speak Polish, but cannot read or write in the language, so it would be difficult for her to attend school or find a job.

Krynska has only enrolled in two classes this semester -- English and U.S. history-- because she does not want to pay too much in tuition if she will have to leave.

Krynska's friend, Sarah Magilnick, has started an online petition to garner support for her case. She has collected letters from friends and acquaintances on Krynska's behalf. On Wednesday, she planned to mail copies of the letters to 20 state officials including U.S. Rep. Jim Himes and U.S. Sen. Richard Blumenthal.

"I'm usually the type of person who sits back and lets people be pushed around, but it would be like losing a sister if she has to leave," Magilnick said. "I know she's so happy here and everything she has is here. It's like helping family."

Krynska said she got advice from the daughter of Tomasz Kocab, another Polish immigrant in Monroe who was on the verge of removal, to contact U.S. Sen. Joe Lieberman, D-Conn., because he was able to help her family.

"What we want to get out of it is to reopen my case and see if I do qualify under the new policy," Krynska said. "I do want to stay here and go to school. Maybe they can give me a student visa and give me a green card."

While Krynska is pinning her hopes on Obama's new immigration policy, Chapple says she shouldn't count on it to help her because it is not yet an official policy and could change.

Chapple said at best, all Krynska could hope for is an extension of her deportation case so she could go to court with her parents.

"You never know about new immigration laws, and let's face it, no one is agreeing on anything in Washington and immigration is not a high priority when you're looking at jobs, economy, and the national budget."

But there have been various cases around the country that have been excused under the new order.

ICE would not comment on Krynska's case.

"In accordance with the DHS privacy policy, in most immigration cases ... ICE will not discuss specifics except to confirm a detainer, arrest or removal of an alien," ICE spokesman Chuck Jackson said.

Krynska's parents are scheduled to appear in court in May. Their lawyer told them they have a better chance of being allowed to stay, since they have been in the country more than 10 years and they have a second daughter, who was born in the U.S. five years ago.

Cousin: Man dies after abandoned by smugglers (AP via KTUL)

Cousin: Man dies after abandoned by smugglers

NOGALES, Ariz. (AP) - The Border Patrol says that an illegal immigrant has died from exposure in the southern Arizona desert over the weekend and that two others were rescued before succumbing to the heat.

Border Patrol spokesman Brent Cagen said Monday that agents in Nogales found a 26-year-old Mexican man unconscious in the desert on Friday afternoon. He was airlifted to a nearby hospital but died Saturday.

Cagen says the man's cousin was with him and didn't need medical attention.

The cousin told agents that smugglers abandoned the pair when his cousin couldn't keep up.

On Sunday, agents in Casa Grande also saved a 39-year-old woman who was lost in the desert and called 911 and a 38-year-old man suffering from severe dehydration and heat exposure.

Severe stutter mars Jamaican's asylum case in US (AP via Boston Globe)

Severe stutter mars Jamaican's asylum case in US
By Maryclaire Dale
Associated Press / October 16, 2011

PHILADELPHIA—Derrick Cotterel was a farmworker who came to the United States from Jamaica, picking citrus in Florida and apples in West Virginia for 10 years, before a pay dispute with a landscaping employer led to his arrest last year on robbery charges.

Given his long-expired visa, the arrest landed Cotterel in immigration custody in York, Pa. But judges there struggled for nearly a year to understand his request for political asylum.

Cotterel, 42, speaks a Jamaican patois, or Creole, that might alone be difficult for Americans to grasp. But his speech is further compromised by a severe stutter that makes him nearly impossible to understand.

Nor can he read or write. So many of his thoughts remain trapped inside of him.

"Me can, me can, me can ... " Cotterel once stammered to an immigration judge charged with deciding his case. "I said me can't say what (indiscernible). Please, sir, I say I can't tell you what I want to tell you about."

Unlike criminal defendants, immigration detainees like Cotterel have no right to free counsel. So Cotterel sat in the York County Prison, where about 700 detained immigrants are housed with 1,700 convicted or suspected criminals, from July 2010 until May while frustrated judges continued his bail and asylum hearings.

One judge tried to toss him only yes-or-no questions about his political asylum claim, and asked Cotterel to raise his left or right hand, depending on his response.

On May 18, Judge Andrew Arthur tried another tack. He asked two fellow inmates from Jamaica to translate. That worked to a point, though Arthur was not always sure whose answer was being relayed to him.

One inmate-translator told the judge that police had failed to investigate the killing of Cotterel's brother "because of the political activity."

"Did he say that or did you say that?" Arthur asked.

York immigration lawyer Craig R. Shagin is frequently asked to take cases pro bono, but can only take a few, and chooses those he thinks have merit. He recently agreed to help Cotterel -- who lost his asylum bid -- with his appeal. He believes his client could be killed if he returns to Jamaica.

"These types of cases, you basically have death-penalty consequences while employing traffic-court procedures. It's very frightening," Shagin said.

------

Immigrants have every right to hire counsel or find pro bono lawyers to take their cases, noted spokeswoman Elaine Komis of the U.S. Executive Office for Immigration Review. And immigrant aid groups get government funding to inform detainees of their rights.

But few have the money to hire lawyers, and there are a finite number of immigration lawyers near York, which is two hours west of Philadelphia. So 84 percent of detained immigrants go it alone, according to Angela Eveler, director of the Pennsylvania Immigration Resource Center in York.

"The need for legal services in the immigration detention system far outweighs the capacity of nonprofit legal services organizations. It has become a legal and humanitarian crisis," Eveler said.

Judge Arthur, who presided over most of Cotterel's hearings, had called the American Civil Liberties Union on May 10 -- as he delayed another hearing -- to ask them to represent him.

The ACLU has a single immigration lawyer in York, Valerie Burch, who works out of her home. The ACLU agreed to file a friend-of-the-court brief that argues for the government to provide lawyers to disabled immigrants, based on fairness and disability law. The group has a similar class-action lawsuit pending in California that seeks to guarantee lawyers for mentally ill immigrants.

In Cotterel's case, they also want the government to provide a speech professional to determine whether an electronic device or other tools could help him communicate to the court.

"Mr. Cotterel found himself ordered removed from the United States at a hearing that he could not meaningfully participate in," the ACLU wrote.

------

Cotterel, a brawny man, has supported himself mostly as a farmer and fisherman -- jobs that don't require communication skills. In Jamaica, he lived with his brother for a time, until the brother was killed.

"He told me he never gotten government benefits. He has always supported himself," Burch said. "He takes great pride in that."

After exhausting exchanges between Cotterel, Arthur and the two inmate-translators on May 18, Cotterel disclosed that two brothers had been killed in what he deemed politically fueled violence. His family belonged to the Peoples' National Party, and one brother handed out government contracts, he said.

Cotterel said he himself was injured and scarred in a 1998 machete attack. He said he fears being killed.

The Immigration and Customs Enforcement lawyer, Jeffrey T. Bubier, was sympathetic, according to a hearing transcript.

"If I was him, I would be afraid of going back to Jamaica too, but I don't think he's established that more likely than not he's going to be persecuted on account of any political opinions," Bubier argued, citing the standard for asylum relief. "And (he) certainly hasn't established that the government of Jamaica is going to torture him."

Arthur concluded that Cotterel had testified credibly. But he was unconvinced of the political violence claim, and denied the asylum bid.

However, the judge seemed unsure of whether the "translators" amounted to a proper accommodation, and agreed to certify an appeal to the Bureau of Immigration Appeals.

------

This past week, ICE lawyers notified Shagin that they will not oppose the motion for another asylum hearing. The Bureau of Immigration Appeals will ultimately make that call.

Arthur had set bail at $1,500, but Cotterel's friends in Martinsburg, W.Va., have so far scraped together just $900.

And now, there's another hiccup to overcome: Cotterel was recently moved to state custody in West Virginia because he missed a court date in the robbery case while he was incarcerated in York. He has no prior convictions.

According to Shagin, the case stems from an argument that ensued when the landscaper, who was also Cotterel's landlord, came to the apartment and said he wasn't going to pay him.

"You take for granted how valuable the ability to speak is until you don't have it," Shagin said. "It's particularly bad if you don't have it and you're being accused. You're unable to give your side of the story."

Cotterel has now spent 15 months behind bars.

"You can imagine how hard it is to be in a criminal prison, and having a handicap," Shagin said. "It makes you very vulnerable."

Broken promises: Undocumented immigrants are an easy target for dubious services (Chicago Reporter)

Broken promises: Undocumented immigrants are an easy target for dubious services.

By: Maria Ines Zamudio / October 14, 2011

After spending 12 days in an immigration detention center, Mario De la Rosa received welcomed news about his pending deportation case.

Within three days of his release, Margaret Carrasco, who De la Rosa said introduced herself as an immigration attorney, went to the family’s house to talk about the case. Carrasco promised not only to cancel his deportation but also to help the entire family to obtain legal residency.

Carrasco said she would initially charge $500.

“She gave me faith and made me feel secure about the future,” De la Rosa’s partner, Clara, said in Spanish. “I saw her like an angel.”

On March 26, Carrasco represented De la Rosa in his first immigration court hearing. She later filled out a political asylum application and gave it to De la Rosa, telling him to hand-deliver it to the judge at his second hearing.

Carrasco failed to attend the May 6 hearing, saying she was sick. As instructed, De la Rosa handed in the application, but the judge summarily denied it for having no basis for political asylum.

The judge told De la Rosa that Carrasco wasn’t a lawyer and advised him to go to the National Immigrant Justice Center for proper representation.

“I felt really bad. I was frustrated. How is it possible that she deceived us like this?” De la Rosa said. “We left court thinking, ‘What are we going to do? I don’t have the money to pay someone else, and what if they do the same thing to us?’”

On Oct. 14, the Illinois Attorney General’s Office file a lawsuit against Carrasco alleging that she posed “as a licensed attorney” and “cheated immigrants out of their upfront payments and put them at risk for deportation.”

“Because the immigration process is so complex and consumers are often desperate for help, the environment is ripe for scam artists,” Attorney General Lisa Madigan said in a press release. “This defendant completely misled consumers who needed help, taking their money and putting them at great risk for deportation.”

De la Rosa’s story is one of the many cases of dubious immigration services exploiting helpless immigrants unfamiliar with the country’s judicial system.

Few researchers have been able to quantify the precise extent of the problem over the years. But a 2004 study published in the Georgetown Immigration Law Journal found that at least tens of thousands across the country are defrauded every year.

The Immigrant’s Legal Needs Survey, conducted in 1996, found that two-thirds of noncitizens rely upon personal sources of information to find a legal service provider, and that noncitizens who turn to notarios, or public notaries, are not fluent in English. The study also found that about half of those obtaining help from notarios are living in the country illegally and more vulnerable to fraud.

Despite the paucity of data, the issue has received attention of public officials. In 2004, for example, then-Gov. Rod Blagojevich signed into law a measure that prohibits a notary public, unless he or she is a lawyer, from accepting fees for immigration advice.

And, in June, the Federal Trade Commission, along with several other government agencies, launched an initiative to crack down on these crimes.

Anna Law, associate professor at DePaul University and immigration law expert, said immigrants, especially undocumented ones, are an ideal target for scam artists. “You are dealing with a vulnerable population,” Law said. “We are talking about people who don’t have a lot of money. The lack of education is also an issue.”

“A good lawyer will tell the client what the chances of winning are” before charging or taking a case, said Reid Trautz, director of the Practice and Professionalism Center at the American Immigration Lawyers Association. “Some want to take advantage. They will take the money even though the chance of success is small. A good lawyer will say, ‘There is nothing you can do. Save your money.’”

Since 2002, the office has filed 10 lawsuits involving fraudulent immigration services, including the one filed against Carrasco in October.

But immigration experts say most immigration fraud goes unreported.

“They are trying to avoid detention. They are not going to go to the police,” Law said, adding that they are afraid the person who defrauded them could alert the immigration agency about them.

Law said the chances for immigration fraud tend to increase whenever there’s a surge in deportation cases, as seen after the 2008 implementation of the Secure Communities program, which is designed to share fingerprints of those arrested by local law enforcement agencies with federal immigration authorities.

Since fiscal year 2007, the number of deportations jumped nationally by 35 percent to 392,862 cases in fiscal year 2010.

“The potential for fraud is always there because this area of law is so complex,” Law explained. “But every time there is a change in the law or a new policy, there are new opportunities for scam artists.”

For her part, Carrasco denies all the allegations against her. She says she only identifies herself as a legal representative. “I present myself as Margaret Carrasco; never do I say that I am licensed,” she said. “I make it very, very clear.”

But Carrasco’s business card could be confusing and misleading to immigrants. It has a Loyola Law School logo on the upper left-hand side, and underneath her name it reads, “Graduate of Loyola Law School Jurisprudence 2003.” It also mentions the Chicago Bar Association and the American Immigration Lawyers Association and advises in Spanish, “Don’t sign anything” to anyone arrested or under deportation.

The Loyola Office of Registrar confirmed that Carasco graduated in 2003, but she is not a current member of either the Chicago Bar Association or the American Immigration Lawyers Association.

She is not licensed to practice law in Illinois, according to Jim Grogan, deputy administrator and chief counsel for the Attorney Registration and Disciplinary Commission of the Illinois Supreme Court.

Carrasco said she didn’t get her license to practice law because after graduating from law school, she faced family problems, including the death of her brother-in-law. She said she doesn’t have to be licensed because she is only a legal representative and works with attorneys and nonprofits. She declined to state with whom she works.

“I know sometimes there is confusion because maybe in Spanish, if you have a degree, they call you licenciada,” she said. “I know it happens. I have a person here in Waukegan that I can’t tell you how many times I tell her, ‘I’m not an attorney,’ she always keeps calling me abogada.” Both words can be used interchangeably in Spanish to mean “attorney.”

But Carrasco was listed under “attorney name” in 40 cases at the Chicago immigration court between March 2010 and June 2011, according to records from the Executive Office for Immigration Review.

Eight of those cases resulted in deportation or “voluntary departure,” while the rest of the cases are still pending, the records show.

* * *

De la Rosa’s family moved to Waukegan in 1999.

“We came here hoping to find a cure” for their son, who is disabled and often has seizures, Clara said. “Now, I know that my son will never recover but I thank God that he is stable. If we had stayed in Mexico, he would not be alive.”

De la Rosa is the sole provider for the family. Clara stays home to take care of her son, who can’t speak or walk on his own and eats through a feeding tube.

“If I take him back to Mexico and it is sad to say, but the reality is that if I take him back to Mexico he will die,” she said.

De la Rosa’s trouble with criminal law began in 2003, when he was sentenced to a yearlong probation for driving without a driver’s license. This triggered a deportation proceeding against him, eventually leading to his “voluntary departure” to Mexico.

But then De la Rosa decided to re-enter the country illegally in April 2003 because his son was undergoing surgery. “I couldn’t leave them,” he said about his four children.

Then, on Feb. 11, De la Rosa was arrested for driving with only one functioning headlight. A Waukegan police officer asked for his driver’s license and proof of insurance. He had neither.

According to the police report, the officer also found an arrest warrant that had been issued against De la Rosa for violating the terms of his 2003 probation. His current attorney, Mony Ruiz-Velasco, director of legal services at National Immigrant Justice Center, said the violation was a result of his “voluntary departure,” which came three months before the end of his probation.

Clara said when she contacted Carrasco, the family was desperate. She got her phone number from a friend, who knew Carrasco through her work as an immigration activist.

Carrasco had been making a name for herself as an immigration activist in Waukegan. She organized a protest to oppose the 287(g) program, for which the Waukegan Police Department had applied to receive resources for enforcing immigration laws. She also led a campaign against a city ordinance, passed in 2002, that mandates towing the cars of undocumented immigrants.

Carrasco describes herself as one of the most outspoken immigration activists in Waukegan. She was a member of the Waukegan School District 60 Board of Trustees and ran for mayor in 1997.

Carrasco said her decision to advise De la Rosa to file for political asylum came based on the judge’s suggestion. “It was the judge who stated that day in court to apply for this form of relief, not me,” Carrasco said. She claimed that she could show the court transcript to prove her claim but, despite numerous requests, failed to provide it.

Once Ruiz-Velasco took over De la Rosa’s case, she told him he could file a consumer complaint against Carrasco and guided him through the process. He filed the complaint on Aug. 25.

Two years earlier, an immigration attorney also filed a complaint with the Consumer Fraud Division against Carrasco noting that she was an unauthorized practitioner of law and potentially committing fraud in and around Waukegan.

“Carrasco is performing an unauthorized practice of law and ultimately committing fraud by taking advantage of a disenfranchised segment of society,” wrote the attorney, whose name was redacted from the complaint.

The attorney also submitted a copy of a letter Carrasco sent to her clients promising immigrants the “American dream” of becoming a citizen along with a list of required information.

“She is mucking us … just because we are undocumented,” Clara said. “She’s just a scam artist.”

Other alleged victims of Carrasco say they are too afraid to file an official complaint.

In April, Carrasco charged a 43-year-old woman and a 28-year-old man $500 each to start the process of canceling their deportation proceedings.

The woman, who declined to be named for this story for fear of retaliation, described in tears how she was arrested by immigration agents for using someone else’s Social Security number. After she was released from custody, she contacted Carrasco, who went to her house to talk about the case and allegedly promised to cancel the deportation—and even apply for a humanitarian visa, she said.

The woman paid the $500, after finding a part-time job and saving the money for five weeks. On May 3, Carrasco went to her first court appearance, where the woman was ordered to go back to court on May 15, 2012. “After court, [Carrasco] congratulated me and said, ‘You see, everything is going to be fine,’” she said.

But then her friend called her to tell her that Carrasco was not a lawyer. The woman fell deeper into depression. She is taking anti-depressants and can’t sleep at night. She said she hasn’t been able to get in touch with Carrasco since the court hearing.

About filing a complaint against Carrasco, she said, “I’m afraid of the problems it might bring me.”

The man across town is in the same situation. He was arrested after he was accused of selling false identification cards. The criminal case was resolved when he pleaded guilty to a lesser charge and was sentenced to one year of probation. Then he was transferred to immigration custody. His wife paid Carrasco $500 to cancel his deportation case, but the couple said they haven’t been able to get a hold of her since then.

“I felt bad. I was counting on her,” he said. “I don’t have money to hire another attorney. If she did this to me, she will do it to other” immigrants facing deportation.