Aidan's Story: A Student's Life in Immigration Limbo

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“America is my home. I don’t consider Honduras my home, because, how could I consider a place my home where they’re very…hazardous to my life. I don’t want to be living in fear, or knowing that I could die tomorrow, just because people are very homophobic over there,” Aidan Caballero says.

Aidan Caballero’s family left Honduras for California for many reasons. In Honduras, Aidan’s dad killed a neighbor, pistol whipped his mom, and beat Aidan again and again. But worse, for Aidan, his uncle repeatedly sexually abused him.

“I was crying every night, I was crying to God, like please help me, and don’t let me be gay... At some point I started changing that and saying, ‘God, let things happen as they should, and just keep me safe,’” Aidan says.

While at UCLA, Aidan came out as gay. He’s quick to add that’s not because of sexual abuse. His worry now is of being deported to a country he no longer considers safe. So in 2009, Aidan applied for political asylum based on his fear of persecution in Honduras for being gay. Human rights groups have recorded at least 62 homicides in the LGBT community in Honduras since 2010.

“You have many people who are very religious and…will not … tolerate or respect people who are different from them. There’s no sense of survival,” Aidan says.

With pressure from the U.S. to take action, the Honduran government formally set up a unit in November of 2011 to investigate murders and hate crimes against the LGBT community.

“If anyone sees me hanging out with a guy, coming in, out of my apartment … people see all that stuff. And at some point, the truth comes out…maybe I might be walking home someday and be attacked…that happens every day in Honduras,” Aidan says.

Since 1994, the U.S. has recognized homosexual individuals as eligible for protection under asylum law. The asylum application means Aidan can’t go back home. So he must live 3,000 miles from his family.

“Hola Mami,” Aidan greets his mom.
“Hola, como estas?” His mom responds, asking how he's doing.
“Muy bien, como esta?” Aidan says.

Aidan hasn’t seen his family in more than two years. They probably can’t afford to come to his UCLA graduation next year. All he has for now are the 15-minute weekend phone calls to his mom.

“Que le quiero mucho. Se cuida,” says Aidan's mom.
“Ok, Ma. Le quiero mucho,” Aidan responds.

“Your order is $8.21 for a hamburger with grilled onions, a cheeseburger with grilled onions, fries and a medium drink,” Aidan says to a customer at the drive-thru window.

At one point, Aidan worked two jobs to raise $4,500 in legal fees. And now to afford tuition, he takes time off from working toward his philosophy degree to instead work the drive-thru window. Sometimes he thinks he sees a familiar face.

"I saw this little girl that looked like my little sister, right. And knowing that all my family is in Honduras, I just had to tell my crew workers, ‘Okay, I’ll be back.’ And I went to the bathroom, and I started crying, because to me, I just thought, I’m working here, I’m tired, I barely sleep, I want to be at UCLA, but I’m not, I want to see my family, but I can’t, I can’t leave this country because I could die, you know, in Honduras…All these things I don’t have because of a paper. Just one paper,” Aidan says.

One document that Aidan says may literally make the difference between survival and persecution.

“When I reflect on my life, I thank God that I’m strong and that I persevere and stuff like that. But sometimes I’m like, Jesus Christ, I could’ve like committed suicide… the way I see it is, I’m here for a reason, maybe it’s to make that change that is to be needed, you know what I mean …either as a professor or as a lawyer, or as a judge,” Aidan says.

Aidan was supposed to meet with an immigration judge March 1st. But for the third time, it was postponed one more year. In the meantime, he’s allowed to remain in the U.S. and continue planning his future.