Recovery and Reform: An Ex-Gang Member’s Story

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Congress approved a full-year continuing resolution on March 14 that will fund mass deportation while gutting domestic spending. The economic and humanitarian costs will plunge the most vulnerable communities into turmoil while stripping away essential services for all. Systemic failures will continue to spiral while children, U.S.-citizen or not, will be hit the hardest.

Robert Hernandez, the founder of Guanatos GDLSUR in Mexico, supports people who fell victim to similar systemic failures in their youth. He runs a Guadalajara-based shelter that supports deportees and returnees from the United States who were previously affiliated with gangs or served time in prison. He’s a certified addiction counselor who’s studied leadership, mental health, and crisis intervention—but his greatest asset is his lived experience.

Robert was brought to the United States as a child, but after years of living among racial injustice, police violence, and gang activity, he got caught up in gangs himself. After living in the U.S. for over 30 years, he was deported for a felony conviction.  By that time, he was a legal permanent resident and father of U.S. citizen children.

His story illustrates the generational damage that could result when systems fail our most vulnerable communities and their children – and the need for the U.S. government to reject the tradeoff of domestic funding for mass deportation.

A Kid from Compton

Robert was born in Mexico but has no childhood memories there. All his childhood memories were in Compton, California where his single mother brought him at an early age. Looking back now, he recognizes his mom tried her best, but he remembers the anger he felt for not having his “pops”, and knowing that if he wanted something, he had to get it himself. Despite showing promising signs as a student, he didn’t finish high school. Like many of his peers, citizen and noncitizen alike, he was exposed to gang life as a child. He saw it as a means of protection from police violence, which he personally experienced, and violence from other gangs. It also offered an escape from economic hardship.

If he had grown up in a middle-class home in a different zip code, maybe he would have fulfilled his potential and gone to college. Instead, he grew up in one of the most violent neighborhoods in the United States at the time, surrounded by economic insecurity and lacking guidance. In the late 90s his time in the United States came to an end. He was convicted of a felony and served 10 years in prison. After serving his time, the U.S. government deported him to Mexico.

A Rude Awakening

Robert didn’t know what to expect upon his return but felt a sense of curiosity knowing he could finally see the land he had heard about all his life. But his homeland didn’t feel like home.

His tattoos and broken Spanish made him easy to identify as a deported gang member and a constant target for harassment from police. He was a victim of abuse from crime groups that tried to get him to join, a common trend for deportees with limited options. English was prohibited in shelters due to fear of criminal colluding. To make matters worse, he had trouble getting his Mexican identification documentation, a process that took five years. He longed for his culture, his family, his neighborhood, the weather, and the way people spoke. The accumulation of these difficulties and the lack of support resulted in severe depression, coupled with drug and alcohol abuse. This downward spiral following deportation is common for deportees who struggle to adjust to their new life.

In 2007, Robert hit rock bottom and took steps to control his addictions. In the process of recovery, he had to reflect on his past and it troubled him. It was a defining moment for him. He could have resorted to old ways but decided instead to accept his faults and seek a new life in Mexico outside of the gangs—the only life he had known. He also decided at that moment to make his life’s work to help others in his situation find an alternate path too. After lifting himself out of rehab, Robert decided to become a drug addiction counselor himself, and at the age of 40, he opened his own rehabilitation center.

A New Type of Shelter

Opening the shelter didn’t come easy. Robert had to show people that he was the real deal. After three years of sobriety and reform, he had earned enough confidence and credibility for people to believe an ex-gang member could start a shelter for others like him. He opened the doors to Guanatos GDLSUR in 2010.

The shelter incorporated much of what Robert had learned through his recovery process and training, including the 12-step program and spiritual and psychological reform. But Robert also brought a unique touch to his program. Instead of hiding their language and Chicano culture, they were encouraged to be themselves. Residents were also encouraged to use other methods of recovery, like sports, arts, mechanics, and studying. No payment was required—you “cannot charge to do God’s work,” as he would say—but there were several requirements to remain in the shelter like finding a higher power or purpose, learning to trust one person with your entire truth, seeking mental health support if needed, and maintaining your physical health with good habits and group contributions.

Robert found that the people he was helping had faced similar challenges in their childhoods. The majority grew up experiencing economic insecurity in single-parent homes or with parents who were emotionally absent or violent. It’s common for shelter residents to call Robert their first mentor, a father figure, and in some cases, the only person who has ever shown them love.

A point that Robert emphasizes is the importance of meeting people where they are and not telling them that they were wrong. It takes about six months to start seeing progress. In that time, shelter residents start sharing more of their past, accepting responsibility, and growing the ability to trust. The goal is never to make residents free of faults. It’s to slowly get them to accept, forgive, and move forward. In moving forward, they learn they are capable of more than they ever thought they could, diving into healthy habits, and enrolling in G.E.D. classes.

Much has changed since the shelter opened its doors. Robert has found new ways to honor the Chicano lifestyle by starting Chicano Fest in 2023, an annual celebration of the Chicano culture they were once criticized for. And Robert works with a growing number of community partners like the Rhizome Center for Migrants, a legal aid clinic that provides post-deportation legal aid services, as he plans the next one.  As he gets closer to retiring, he’s considering how to continue the shelter’s work for the next generation.

What We Can Learn from Robert’s Story

It may feel unnatural to have sympathy for Robert and the residents of his shelter given their former gang affiliation. We’ve been taught to throw away humanity for people like them despite research showing that gang membership is often the result of a person’s environment. When a child grows up in economically depressed conditions with limited educational and mentorship opportunity, they are more likely to steer away from bright futures, citizen or not.

There is no perfect solution to reforming the U.S. immigration system, but the first step cannot be worsening conditions for all children in the United States. Gutting funding for domestic programs to carry out mass deportation is not making us safer, it is laying the groundwork for generational trauma and hardship that leads to more violence and instability.

Robert and the residents of his shelter do the hard work of accepting their past, learning from it, and taking steps towards a better future. Policy makers should follow suit by accepting the failures of an enforcement-first strategy, learning from it, and taking steps toward a better future by strengthening systems of support instead of tearing them down.

FILED UNDER: California, Deportation, México