The Plight and Symbolism of Kilmar Abrego Garcia

By Kasturi Chakraborty

The Man, the Myth, and the Machinery That Swallowed Him

Editor’s note: The opinions expressed here are those of the authors. View more opinion on ScoonTV

I have spent most of my career chasing stories that live in the gray areas, the places where the law and lived reality rarely meet. The case of Kilmar Abrego Garcia is one of those stories; messy, uncomfortable, and, if we are honest, a little too revealing about who we are as a country right now.

Let’s start with the basics, because that’s where the confusion always begins. Kilmar Abrego Garcia is not a name you would have heard unless you are a court watcher, an immigration lawyer, or one of the unlucky souls who have had to navigate the world of American immigration enforcement. He is not famous. He is not infamous. He is just a guy who, for over a decade, did what millions of immigrants do: worked hard, kept his head down, raised a family, and tried to stay out of trouble.

And by most accounts, he did. No criminal record. No gang tattoos. No late-night mugshots splashed across the local news. Just a steady job as a sheet metal apprentice, a wife, three kids, and a mortgage in suburban Maryland. The kind of life, frankly, that politicians love to wax poetic about when they are courting votes. Was he perfect in every aspect of his life? No. But who is? If FOX News or MSNBC combed through everything you did over the last twenty years, what would your history look like?

So, how did a guy like Abrego Garcia end up shackled, deported, and locked in a Salvadoran mega-prison built for the worst of the worst?

The Evidence That Wasn’t

Here is where the story gets murky, and the system, as it often does, starts to look less like a system of justice and more like a slot machine rigged against the little guy.

The government’s case against Abrego Garcia boils down to two pieces of paper: a federal form and a local police “gang field interview sheet.” The latter is the kind of bureaucratic detritus that piles up in police departments everywhere. In this case, it was filled out after cops saw Abrego Garcia in a Home Depot parking lot, wearing a Chicago Bulls hat and a hoodie with dollar signs. He was with a few other Latino men. The officers, apparently, didn’t like the look of the group. No arrests. No charges. Just a box checked next to “suspected gang member.”

That’s it. That’s the evidence.

I have seen more rigorous investigations into missing sandwiches from the office fridge.

Due Process, Meet the Door

To his credit, the immigration judge who heard Abrego Garcia’s asylum case in 2019 saw through the charade. Judge David M. Jones, reviewing the government’s evidence- Abrego Garcia’s clothing and “a vague, uncorroborated allegation from a confidential informant”-wrote that he was “reluctant to give evidentiary weight to the Respondent’s clothing as an indication of gang affiliation.” Ultimately, the judge found Abrego Garcia’s testimony credible and documentation substantial, concluding there was “a clear probability of future persecution” if he were returned to El Salvador.

But in the world of immigration enforcement, court orders are sometimes treated as suggestions, not mandates. Earlier this year, ICE agents showed up, put Abrego Garcia on a plane, and sent him straight into the maw of El Salvador’s most notorious prison. The administration later called it an “administrative mistake.” I call it what it is: a bureaucratic mugging.

Let’s not kid ourselves about what’s going on here. The government needed a win. With the border in the headlines and illegal immigration a field Republicans love playing one, someone in Washington decided it was time to get tough on crime-preferably the kind with a foreign accent. Abrego Garcia, with his Salvadoran birth certificate and his conveniently brown skin, fit the bill.

Never mind that he had never been convicted of a crime. Never mind that the “evidence” against him wouldn’t hold up in small claims court. In the age of viral outrage and cable news soundbites, all you need is a scary label and a press release.

The administration even dredged up an old domestic dispute-charges dropped after counseling, his wife standing by him-to muddy the waters. It is a move as old as politics itself. When the facts aren’t on your side, smear the man.

Collateral Damage

While the lawyers argue and the politicians posture, the real cost is paid by Abrego Garcia’s family. His wife, Jennifer Vasquez Sura, is now a single parent to three kids who do not understand why their dad is not coming home. Their oldest son quit soccer. Their youngest asks every night if Dad will be back for his birthday.

I won’t stop fighting until he returns home, until I know that he’s safe,

Jennifer Vasquez Sura said in an interview. In a separate statement, she added, “Kilmar has always been a loving partner and father, and I will continue to stand by him and demand justice for him.”

This isn’t just about one family. It’s about the thousands of others who live with the same fear- that one bureaucratic slip, one bad day, one wrong cop with a clipboard, and their whole world could come apart.

So, is Kilmar Abrego Garcia a victim or a criminal? Legally, the answer is clear: he is a victim of gangs in his homeland, of a system that values headlines over justice, and of a government that forgot its own rules.

But the real question isn’t about Abrego Garcia. It’s about us. What kind of country do we want to be? One where due process is a punchline, or one where the law means something? One where we judge people by the color of their hoodie, or by the content of their character?

I have been in this field long enough to know that the machinery of government is slow to change. But I also know that stories like Abrego Garcia’s matter. They remind us that justice isn’t just an ideal- it’s a practice, one that requires vigilance, humility, and, above all, humanity.

Democratic Political Calculus

For Democrats, the political calculus here is straightforward. Rallying behind someone like Abrego Garcia allows them to reinforce their commitment to humane immigration policies, legal due process, and reform-minded governance. His case puts a human face on systemic dysfunction—one that aligns neatly with their broader messaging on justice reform, immigrant rights, and the moral obligations of a modern democracy. To voters, especially younger and more diverse blocs, Garcia isn’t just a person—he’s a symbol of everything that’s broken, and everything worth fixing.

Moreover, this isn’t a hard sell. Unlike more polarizing figures, Abrego Garcia’s story doesn’t revolve around ideological provocation—it’s rooted in tragedy, perseverance, and a glaring institutional failure. Supporting him doesn’t just check boxes for the base; it invites moral clarity, which in politics is a rare and valuable currency. For a party often criticized for being reactive rather than visionary, cases like this offer a clear narrative, one where compassion and the rule of law can share the same stage.

Still, we have to reckon with a darker truth: in this political environment, there are many Americans who don’t care about the details. For them, the story ends at the border. The fear of change, the pull of nativism, the exhaustion with institutional failure, it all converges into a blunt instinct: get them out. Paperwork, trauma, merit—none of it matters when the prevailing mood is suspicion over sympathy. And maybe that’s the hardest part of all. Not that someone like Kilmar Abrego Garcia can be wronged by the system, but that so many are willing to accept it. Not because they’ve weighed the facts, but because they’ve stopped believing facts matter at all.

Curtis Scoon is the founder of ScoonTv.com Download the ScoonTv App to join our weekly livestream every Tuesday @ 8pm EST!