seen from Türkiye
seen from Switzerland
seen from Canada
seen from Australia
seen from China
seen from Vietnam
seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
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seen from Brazil
seen from Slovakia
seen from Slovakia
seen from Yemen
seen from United States
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books i read in 2026:
"everyone who is gone is here:
the united states, central america, and the making of a crisis"
jonathan blitzer
"politics is a form of selective amnesia. the people who survive it are our only insurance against forgetting."
On Reveal’s new podcast “More To The Story,” how entrenched dysfunction gave Trump a window to radically remake US immigration.
I've been meeting women who are crying so violently they can barely speak. I'm meeting women whose hands are shaking, who look at me with kind of a vacant gaze. It's extremely upsetting to see.
Jonathan Blitzer, New Yorker reporter, on the family separation at the border
Immigration laws are dense and inflexible, but the lives they’re meant to regulate are inescapably varied and complex. Santos, who is thirty-six years old, lived in Minnesota in the early two-thousands. That’s where she met Calix, who is a decade older than she is; he had come to the U.S. from Honduras in 1990 and had since attained U.S. citizenship. The couple planned to get married. But, before they did, Santos was arrested for shoplifting, and then deported to Honduras, in 2009. Since she had overstayed the visa she first used to come to the U.S., the government barred her from returning for ten years. Calix, who is a carpenter, sent money to support her and the children and flew to visit them every few months. After Aleisha was born, Calix and Santos began working with a lawyer to get Aleisha legal status in the U.S., as the daughter of a citizen. But, again, their plans were interrupted. Last fall, Santos took a job as a poll worker in her small town in northern Honduras and reported a case of voter fraud. Men associated with the country’s main political party chased her out of town, then tracked her down in the city of San Pedro Sula, where she had fled. She decided to seek asylum in the U.S. “Before I left, we came to an agreement,” Santos told me. “I told Miguel that if I got deported back to Honduras, or got turned back along the way, then he’d have to move to Honduras. He agreed, even though he’d be giving up his work in the U.S.” Santos has a middle daughter, Rachell, who was born in Minnesota eleven years ago, and is thus a U.S. citizen. There was no reason for her to make the perilous overland journey, and she stayed behind with her grandmother. The plan was for her to come later, by plane, once Santos safely crossed the border. Rachell pleaded with her mother to take her along. “I want to be illegal like you,” she’d told Santos, before she left.
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One morning late last month, a few days after Rivera was transferred to the ICE facility in El Paso, another inmate—a Guatemalan woman—approached her with an idea. “She saw I was crying, and she said, ‘Here, take this phone number and try calling it,’ ” Rivera said. The woman had been separated from her one-and-a-half-year-old child, and she’d eventually found him with the help of an O.R.R. case manager in Chicago. Rivera didn’t have enough money on her phone card to call, so the Guatemalan woman lent her some. “I called the case manager, and asked if my son was with her,” Rivera told me. “The woman said to me, ‘Thank God it’s you. Jairo is here. I’ve been looking for his mom.’ ” Rivera began speaking with her son twice a week, for fifteen minutes at a time. When I asked her to elaborate, her face tightened, and she started to cry. “He’s not the same as before,” she said. “He used to be more active, more spirited. Now he’s sad all the time.” Rivera gave the number of the O.R.R. case manager to her mother and older son, who both live in Honduras. They all call Jairo every week. “That way, he’s not alone,” she said.
Jonathan Blitzer, In ICE Detention, a Honduran Woman Fears Deportation Without Her Son | The New Yorker
Keep him on ice
I am an officer of ze Leu as Clouseau would have said. Fake French accent. Tsss. I’m in Law enforcement. Well. Not quite. I failed the Police Academy exams. More times than I care to remember. So I passed the Migra exam. Piece of cake. Now? I have a uniform. I got a gun. It’s actually much better than the Po-leece, migrants never carry a gun. Not even the ‘coyotes’ do. Safe. I got lots of work…
His 2024 book, “Everyone Who Is Gone Is Here: The United States, Central America, and the Making of a Crisis,” underscores the parallels bet
Jonathan Blitzer's new book deftly explains the impact of decades of US foreign policy on Central America, but fails to move beyond the trou
