Innocent – How a Young Pilot in Ohio Disappeared into the Deportation System

Arturo Rafael Brito Goncalvez is 22 years old, a pilot in training, and from Venezuela. During the Christmas week, he suddenly found himself in detention. Arrested not during a check, not following a complaint, but during a routine appointment with immigration authorities in Westerville near Columbus. An appointment one attends when one has nothing to hide. Brito Goncalvez was taken away by officers of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement and brought to the Butler County jail. The accusation: that he had entered the United States illegally. His reaction was as simple as it was desperate. What had he done, he asked. What was his crime. The answer he received was brief: he had entered the country illegally.

The family firmly disputes this. They say Arturo Brito Goncalvez has a valid passport, a visa, a work authorization, and all required documents. Since their arrival in 2023, they say they have regularly checked in with authorities, as required. Our own research in multiple counties in Ohio likewise found no indications of criminal proceedings or convictions against the young man. He himself says he has never been stopped by the police and has never had trouble. The arrest took place as part of Operation Buckeye, a large-scale ICE initiative officially aimed at those described as the worst of the worst. In this net now appears a 22-year-old pilot who came to the authorities precisely because he followed the rules. The contrast could hardly be greater.

Brito Goncalvez’s sister Andrea says the family always keeps their documents readily available. Visas, permits, paperwork. Everything meant to demonstrate legal order. But in the moment the officers acted, these papers lost all effect. Legal status no longer provided protection. What became an act against basic rights turned into detention. Particularly grave for the family is the prospect of deportation to Venezuela. They say this is exactly why they fled. Because of political persecution. Because of concrete threats. Brito Goncalvez reports armed attacks in which shots were fired at him and his brothers from a moving vehicle. He says they tried to kill them. The danger is not abstract. It has names, places, memories.

When asked whether he is afraid of being returned to Venezuela, he answered simply that he cannot go back. Not out of convenience, but out of fear. For the family, the situation feels like a return to the state they tried to escape. Andrea Brito describes that their mother is suffering from stress and anxiety, just as she did in Venezuela. The cycle closes. At the same time, future plans are collapsing. Arturo’s flight school. His sister’s nursing studies. Their mother’s training as a paralegal. All of it now depends on a proceeding that has so far been conducted without any publicly named criminal offense. A legal battle has begun, a lawyer has been retained. But while files are being reviewed, a young man remains in custody.

The case raises questions that reach far beyond Ohio. What does it mean to follow the rules if they do not count at the decisive moment. What does legal status mean if it can be set aside when convenient. And what happens to people seeking protection when procedures no longer distinguish between administration and guilt. ICE has so far not responded to inquiries about the case, and by now all necessary assistance has been organized. For the Brito Goncalvez family, all that remains for now is waiting. And the fear that a bureaucratic process could send them back to a place where they believe their lives are in danger.