Deported for a Crown: The Story of a Gay Makeup Artist and a Wartime Law

Imagine leaving your home country, fleeing persecution for who you are and what you believe, only to find yourself in a place you never expected, stripped of your rights and your future. This isn't a scene from a dystopian novel; it's the stark reality for many, including a talented makeup artist from Venezuela who found himself at the center of a controversial deportation policy.

The story of Andry Hernández Romero, a gay makeup artist from Venezuela, is a powerful, albeit disturbing, testament to the complexities and potential pitfalls of immigration enforcement. Targeted in his homeland for his identity and political views, Hernández Romero embarked on a perilous journey north, seeking refuge and a new beginning in the United States. Yet, instead of finding safety, he encountered a legal strategy that raised serious constitutional questions and left his family in agonizing uncertainty.

Seeking Asylum, Finding a Wartime Law

Hernández Romero's journey began in Venezuela, a country where being openly gay and holding dissenting political views could carry severe risks. Like many seeking a better life, he navigated treacherous paths, including the infamous Darien Gap, a dense, roadless stretch of jungle notorious for its dangers. His ultimate destination was the United States, where he believed he could finally find safety and pursue his passion as a makeup artist.

Upon arriving at a legal border crossing near San Diego, Hernández Romero was taken into custody as his case was processed. He had successfully passed a crucial initial step in the asylum process: a credible fear interview. This interview is designed to determine if an asylum seeker has a genuine fear of persecution in their home country. His attorney, Lindsay Toczylowski, believed he had a strong case for asylum, making his subsequent deportation all the more perplexing and alarming.

However, a different fate awaited. Instead of proceeding through the standard asylum channels, Hernández Romero, along with many other Venezuelan migrants, was subjected to a sweeping deportation policy enacted by the Trump administration. This policy invoked the Alien Enemies Act, a law rarely used and dating back to World War II, which allows for the removal of non-citizens deemed a threat during times of war or invasion, often without the due process of immigration hearings.

Tattoos as Evidence: A Stylist's Mark Becomes a Mark of Suspicion

What precipitated this drastic action? The source material points to tattoos. Hernández Romero, a vibrant individual, had several tattoos, including crowns on his wrists. His family explained that these crowns were a symbol of his cherished participation in the "Three Kings" festival, a cultural and celebratory tradition. However, U.S. authorities interpreted these symbols differently. They were flagged as potential indicators of gang affiliation, specifically with the Venezuelan gang known as Tren de Aragua.

This interpretation, however, flies in the face of expert analysis. Organized crime specialists studying Tren de Aragua suggest that, unlike other criminal organizations that rely heavily on tattoos for membership identification, Tren de Aragua's methods are different. Furthermore, the timing of some of Hernández Romero's tattoos coincided with a popular trend, and his family insisted they held no criminal significance. His identity as a makeup artist, often depicted with brushes and adornments in social media posts, further underscored his creative profession rather than any alleged criminal ties.

The reliance on tattoos and social media posts as primary evidence for such severe actions has been heavily criticized. In another similar case, Jerce Reyes Barrios, another Venezuelan migrant, had a crown tattoo linked to his favorite soccer team, Real Madrid, whose logo features a crown. The gesture in a Facebook photo, interpreted by officers as a gang sign, was explained by his girlfriend as a sign of appreciation for rock and roll music.

A Constitutional Crisis in the Making?

The deportations carried out under the Alien Enemies Act have ignited a fierce legal debate. Critics argue that the administration's broad application of this wartime law, particularly against individuals seeking asylum and without clear evidence of violent criminal activity, pushes the boundaries of constitutional rights. U.S. District Court Judge James Boasberg even ordered the administration to halt flights carrying migrants to El Salvador. Despite these orders, flight tracking data indicated that planes continued their journeys, making stops in Honduras before arriving in El Salvador.

The lack of transparency surrounding these deportations is equally concerning. The Trump administration released limited information about the Venezuelan migrants sent to El Salvador. While government officials asserted that the absence of criminal records did not preclude gang membership or dangerousness, internal documents obtained by investigative journalists revealed that an overwhelming majority of those deported had no apparent criminal convictions or charges. Most offenses were minor, such as shoplifting or trespassing, though a smaller number faced more serious accusations.

When questioned about the evidence linking these individuals to Tren de Aragua beyond tattoos and social media, a Department of Homeland Security spokeswoman cited "state secrets" and "ongoing litigation," effectively shutting down further inquiry. This invocation of state secrets privilege aimed to prevent the release of more detailed information about the deportation flights, further shrouding the operation in secrecy and fueling suspicions about its legality and basis.

The Unseen Consequences: Families Left in Limbo

For families like Hernández Romero's, the consequences are devastating. "One day he was there, and the next day we're supposed to have court, and he wasn't brought to court," Toczylowski recounted. They lost contact with him after his last phone call from an immigration detention facility in the United States. The fear of where he is, whether he's safe, and if they will ever see him again hangs heavy.

The situation is compounded by the fact that some deported individuals, like Kilmar Abrego Garcia, were later admitted to have been mistakenly deported. In one instance, a federal judge ruled that Abrego Garcia must be returned to the U.S., but the Justice Department swiftly appealed this decision. This highlights the potential for errors and the profound human cost when immigration policies are implemented with such broad strokes and limited oversight.

As the legal battles continue, reaching even the Supreme Court, the core issue remains: the balance between national security and individual rights. The story of Andry Hernández Romero, the gay makeup artist deported under a wartime law, serves as a critical reminder of the importance of due process, the potential for misinterpretation of evidence, and the devastating impact of policies that can upend lives without adequate transparency or recourse.

What Lies Ahead?

The future for individuals like Hernández Romero remains uncertain. While proponents of such policies emphasize national security, critics warn of a dangerous precedent. When wartime authorities are invoked without robust oversight, the potential for arbitrary detentions and deportations expands significantly. The hope is that legal challenges and public scrutiny will lead to greater accountability and ensure that immigration policies uphold both the law and fundamental human rights.