In his 31 years on the bench, retired Wayne County judge Michael Callahan saw plenty of liars, schemers and deceivers.
So when a convoy of eight armed ICE officers in six SUVs rolled up on his house this summer, claiming they were only there to put an ankle tether on his foster son, his radar went up. They had no warrant or court order in hand, and 83-year-old Callahan wasn’t having it, especially because his refugee son had lived freely in the U.S. for more than seven years, attended every required check-in with ICE, had no criminal record whatsoever, and held a solid, full-time job as a truck driver in metro Detroit. His mind raced.
Why was ICE here now, after all these years?
And why did they need eight armed officers in tactical gear with magazines, pepper spray and heavy duty body armor just to put on an ankle monitor?
“I came out of the house and stood in the middle of the ICE agents and asked, ‘Who’s in charge here?’ They pointed to one man,“ Callahan recalled, noting he turned to the head agent and said: “‘I’m a judge. I’ve been a judge for 31 years and this seems like it’s a little extreme.’”
‘They tricked us all’
Callahan, also a former Wayne County prosecutor and Catholic priest, has adopted eight Detroit children over the years, and fostered another eight refugees. He knows the law and understands the complex immigration system. Yet none of that seemed to matter on the morning of Aug. 2, when the country’s top immigration cops came for his eldest refugee son, scoffed at his judge status − they described him as a person “claiming to be a 3rd circuit court judge” in a follow-up ICE report − and insisted on speaking with the son.
Callahan protested in the driveway. Inside the house, his wife − a retired Ford executive − explained the situation to their son: 26-year-old Meschac Munongo of the Democratic Republic of Congo, a mild mannered, 6-foot-6 Golden Glove boxing champ who eventually agreed to come out.
“He said, ‘Mom, I don’t want to run the rest of my life, and I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I’ll go outside and let them put a tether on me,’ ” Susan Callahan recalled, choking up.
Once in the driveway, Meschac sat down on a patio chair. Two officers approached. A brief conversation ensued.
Then the handcuffs came out.
It was all a ruse, said the Callahans, who watched in horror as ICE officers arrested the young man they had vowed to protect, told his mom to back away, placed him in the back of a government vehicle and drove off. Some two weeks later, Meschac was on a plane to Cameroon, the Central African nation where the U.S. government decided he would live a new life, thousands of miles away from anyone he knows.
“He said that when they were in the car, the ICE officers laughed at how they tricked us all,” said Callahan, who is outraged, frustrated and heartbroken over what happened to Meschac, especially given what he went through to get here.
At 17, he crossed the Atlantic Ocean stowed in the hull of a 40-foot fishing boat with his two younger brothers to escape violence that killed his parents.
He then trekked across South and Central America and went days without food and water in the jungle of the notorious Darien Gap, where a convoy of 100 immigrants entered together − but only 20 came out alive, the family said.
Summer surge in ICE arrests, secret deportation deals
Meschac is part of a growing number of immigrants who have been targeted in a ramped-up deportation effort by the Trump administration, which oversaw a surge in ICE arrests this summer. According to the latest U.S. Department of Homeland Security figures, ICE arrested nearly 51,000 undocumented immigrants in August, setting a new high record for ICE arrests in a single month.
July held the previous record with 50,200 arrests, though the majority of those getting picked up − 73 percent − had no criminal convictions, according to the Deportation Data Project at the University of California, Berkeley, and UCLA.
Against the backdrop of these arrests is another White House immigration crackdown involving secret deals with countries that have agreed to accept deportees who are not their citizens, in exchange for millions of dollars. Though once a rare immigration tool, these third-country deportations have spiked under the Trump administration, which over the last year has sent more than 25,000 immigrants to 29 countries to which they have no ties, including ones with human rights violations, according to Third Party Deportation Watch, a deportation tracker run by Refugees International and Human Rights First. The U.S. has spent at least $42 million on these deals so far.
The tactic, though, has come under scrutiny.
On Sept. 18, the 1st U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in Boston struck down the practice of quickly sending immigrants to countries that are not their own, concluding these individuals must first have proper notice and a “meaningful” chance to challenge their deportation if they fear for their safety.
The Trump administration is appealing the ruling, which will likely wind up before the U.S. Supreme Court.
Meschac, meanwhile, continues to live in a constant state of fear and anxiety in Cameroon, a country that the U.S. State Department has deemed dangerous for travel. “Violent crime, kidnapping for ransom, armed robbery, and carjacking are common in Cameroon,” states the agency’s latest travel advisory, which includes the strict “Do Not Travel” warnings to the country’s Southwest, Northwest, and Far North regions “for any reason due to risk of terrorism, unrest, crime, kidnapping, and improvised explosive devices (IEDs).”
Still, this is same country that the U.S. last year brokered a confidential deportation agreement with, and had hoped to keep it quiet, if a letter on file in U.S. District Court is any indication.
“Given the highly sensitive nature of our discussions with the Republic of Cameroon, I ask that the Department of Homeland Security refrain from publicly discussing our cooperation with Cameroon on this matter,” U.S. Deputy Secretary of State Christopher Landau wrote in a Jan. 7 letter to then-acting ICE director Todd Lyons.
“Right now I’m scared,” Meschac said in a recent phone interview from Cameroon, where he’s been laying low in a $7-a-night hotel, agonizing over his situation.
“I know I didn’t do anything wrong,” Meschac said. “I didn’t have any criminal record. I was living the way America needed us to live. I was working by the law and I was not doing something bad.”
Meschac now spends most of his time reading in isolation in his room. He has no TV or radio, and has been quite sick in recent days, vomiting frequently and battling severe headaches and stomach pains. He is also afraid to venture outdoors. He said that a lawyer in Cameroon − who is helping him and other refugees − warned him that it’s not safe there, and cautioned him to be careful. He could get mugged, kidnapped, even killed.
“Everyday I’m crying, because I don’t know what to do,” said Meschac, who remains uncertain about what’s ahead. “America was like my home … I’m just praying God can help me.”
More than anything, he said: “I want to go back to America. I want to stay someplace I’ll be safe. I want to be with my family.”
Feds: We didn’t need a reason to deport him
Following his arrest in Van Buren Township, a handcuffed, shackled and belly-chained Meschac was taken to a Detroit DHS facility for processing. He was then transported four hours away to the North Lake Correctional Facility in Baldwin, a small town in northwestern Michigan.
The Callahans quickly hired an immigration lawyer, who filed an emergency request for a temporary restraining order in federal court.
But the government prevailed, arguing − among other things − that under a 2019 court order, Meschac was never guaranteed he could stay here forever, and that it could deport him without having reason to do so.
In a statement to the Free Press, a spokesperson for the Department of Homeland Security defended Meschac’s removal, saying he had been facing a “final order of removal” since July 10, 2019, when he was released from custody on supervised release. In other words, the government contends it didn’t need a reason to deport him; the court order was enough, regardless of compliance.
DHS also defended the ICE officers’ arrest tactics outside the Van Buren Township home, stating:
“Allegations that ICE officers approached Munongo’s home under false pretenses are FALSE. When our heroic law enforcement officers conduct operations, they clearly identify themselves as law enforcement.”
The Free Press explained to DHS that the Callahans never alleged the ICE officers did not identify themselves as law enforcement, but rather lied about being there just to put a tether on Meschac.
DHS did not respond to the trickery allegation.
Reporting by Tresa Baldas, Detroit Free Press / Detroit Free Press
USA TODAY Network via Reuters Connect
