Family pleads for son held in El Salvador’s mega-prison: ‘We are asking Trump to release him’

The Palencia Benavides family haven’t slept properly for a month, the same amount of time they haven’t heard from Brayan, the second son of Amine Este, from Colombia, and Erly, from Venezuela.

The last news about the 24-year-old came in the form of a list: his name was among the 238 migrants deported by the United States to El Salvador, accused of being part of Tren de Aragua, the transnational criminal gang of Venezuelan origin that U.S. President Donald Trump has declared a terrorist organization. The parents, who have been living for several years in a humble neighborhood in northern Bogotá, Colombia’s capital, are clear: “Our son has nothing to do with any gang. He is innocent, and we are asking Trump to release him.”

Before being sent to El Salvador, Brayan lived a life “like any other person,” says his older brother, named Erly like their father. They both worked in the construction and remodeling business. “We did deliveries and that’s how we were able to buy our motorcycles,” he says.

Still, it wasn’t enough: Brayan had the additional responsibility of providing for his daughter, now six years old. In 2023, he decided to migrate to the United States. He traveled by way of the Darién Gap, the jungle that separates Colombia from Panama and has for years become the most traveled route for people trying to reach North America

“He hurt his knee on the way, but thank God it wasn’t a big deal. The hardest part was further up, in Honduras: they robbed him, they took everything from him,” says Erly Jr.

In Mexico, Brayan got a job at an auto repair shop while he waited for his appointment with CPB One, the now-suspended U.S. program for migrant entry. After a few weeks, he decided to enter illegally, crossing the Rio Grande into Texas. U.S. authorities detained him but released him a few days later.

“He spent a year working in construction in Miami, Florida, with an uncle of ours. That’s where he started to get ahead,” Erly Jr. continues.

On January 30, Brayan was finally scheduled to appear before a court in Los Angeles, California, to determine his immigration status. He was detained there and spent a month in jail.

Erly Sr. says the last time he spoke to Brayan was on March 13, three days before he was sent to El Salvador.

“He had told us they were going to deport him, but he was sure they were going to send him to Venezuela. That was the big lie they fed him,” he says.

After a couple of days without news from him, the family began to grow suspicious.

“When we learned they had sent some planes to El Salvador, I suspected he was on one of them, but we weren’t sure until [we saw] the list,” says Erly Sr, in reference to the list published by CBS News on the March 20. There he was, at number 151: Palencia-Benavides, Brayan.

The Trump administration carried out the deportations under the Alien Enemies Act, a wartime law enacted in 1798 that provides for the expulsion of individuals without judicial review. Although a judge had issued an injunction to temporarily block its enforcement, the Supreme Court ruled last week that the administration could proceed.

Multiple errors have since come to light. The U.S. government admitted to wrongfully deporting a Salvadoran man who had legal protection, and a legal battle is now underway to bring him back. According to the program 60 Minutes, 75% of those deported — 175 people — have no criminal record.

So why was Brayan deported? His family insists he had no ties to criminal circles, nor did he have a criminal background in Venezuela or Colombia. The only explanation they can think of is his tattoos.

“He has them, and he does them too. He tattooed his chest and arm with images of his daughter and our mother — also flowers and some names. That’s why they’re linking him to Tren de Aragua,” says his brother.

A lawsuit filed by the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), one of the most prominent civil rights organizations in the U.S., claims that detainees are being targeted based on an arbitrary profiling system. The criteria? Being over 14 years old, being a Venezuelan citizen, and lacking U.S. citizenship or legal residency. If a person also has tattoos as common as a clock, a crown, or a star, suspicion of gang affiliation increases. Brayan has a tattoo of a clock on his right arm.

The Palencia Benavides family doesn’t know the exact reasons behind Brayan’s deportation. What they do know is that he’s now imprisoned in the Terrorism Confinement Center (CECOT) — the mega-prison built by Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele. The facility is notorious for its harsh treatment of inmates and is under scrutiny by human rights organizations for alleged human rights violations.

More than anything, the family just wants to know how to get him out. So far, they haven’t been able to contact Brayan, nor have they seen him in the photos or videos released by Bukele and the Salvadoran government when the deportees first arrived.

For now, the family continues to wait. Their most tangible hope for Brayan’s release lies with a law firm hired by the Venezuelan government. The firm, Bufete Grupo Ortega, has petitioned El Salvador’s Supreme Court to transfer the detainees to immigration detention centers and to ensure they are provided with basic rights — healthcare, food, and communication with their families — while their legal situations are clarified.

Brayan’s father says that Amine Ester has been in a state of shock for the past month. “You ask her something, and she doesn’t speak — she freezes. I try to talk to her, to calm her down, telling her we need to take care of our granddaughter,” he says.

The little girl believes her father is away on a work trip and is simply too busy to call. Before Brayan’s arrest, they spoke nearly every day.

“What [Trump] is doing isn’t justice,” says Erly Sr. “What he’s achieving is making everyone go on the warpath because he’s leaving them no other way to act.”

Sign up for our weekly newsletter to get more English-language news coverage from EL PAÍS USA Edition