A man now sits in a different prison - no longer in CECOT, the place of chains and darkness, but in Santa Ana. A facility with windows, they say. With air. With less fear. And yet he remains imprisoned. Not because he is guilty, but because a state has decided that truth is inconvenient.
Kilmar Abrego Garcia, deported from Maryland, speaks with a U.S. senator. He tells of cells shared with 25 men, of silence and fear. Of a staging designed to make his detention seem gentle. In reality, it remains arbitrary. The Salvadoran president posts pictures with cocktail glasses. As if prison were a terrace.
Chris Van Hollen, senator from Maryland, listens - and says what is obvious: This is not about immigration. It is about constitutional rights. About the right not to be forgotten.
Yet President Trump calls him a terrorist. Without charges. Without trial. And his administration defies the Supreme Court as if it were background noise.
The truth lies somewhere between the tear of his wife Jennifer and Bukele’s smile. A man was removed because his name didn’t fit. His face. His accent.
And in America, where law was once a promise — it is now a tool. One that is turned against those who do not fit the story currently being written.
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