As the vehicle approached the Tijuana border, Etelvina Lázaro’s son, sitting behind the wheel, asked her again if she was sure.
“I’ve already made up my mind,” she recalled telling him in Spanish. “I’m leaving.”
Lázaro, a 54-year-old grandmother, had lived with her family in San Diego for over 20 years. But after her husband, Margarito, was arrested by federal immigration agents in mid-July and then deported, she made the hard decision to leave her grown children and grandchildren behind and follow him to Mexico.
She is one of several undocumented immigrants who have decided to leave the country on their own amid President Donald Trump’s intensified efforts to crack down on illegal immigration.
The federal government launched a process in May dubbed Project Homecoming, urging undocumented immigrants to return to their native countries or face the consequences. Through the CBP Home mobile app, eligible individuals can register for voluntary departure and receive a $1,000 exit bonus, a flight home and an exemption from fines for failure to depart.
“Leave on your own terms. Avoid the jail cell. Avoid the humiliation,” reads an Immigration and Customs Enforcement post about “self-deportation” on the social media platform X.
A Department of Homeland Security spokesperson said Thursday that “tens of thousands” of undocumented immigrants have utilized the CBP Home app but didn’t provide a specific number.
Data obtained by ProPublica from DHS indicates that there have been about 25,000 departures via the mobile app — and a little more than half of them returned with assistance from the federal agency, according to the news report.
But it’s unclear how many, like Lázaro, have left quietly.
Etelvina Lázaro in her apartment for the last time on Oct. 2 in San Diego. (Ana Ramirez / The San Diego Union-Tribune)
Lázaro said she was unaware of such a process. Instead, she chose to leave on her own. In a way, she said, she is still hurt by what happened. Earlier this month, she had her son drive her to Tijuana, and from there, she flew to her hometown in Michoacán.
She left because she wanted to be with her husband, rather than out of fear of being detained. She said that fear went away when they were separated.
María Chávez, a San Diego-based immigration attorney, said two of her clients opted to self-deport after being detained outside the courthouse.
People have also been asking Chávez or other attorneys about the CBP Home app and whether those who have used it are actually receiving the $1,000.
“For the individuals who are detained, it’s because they don’t want to be detained. They’re not criminals. They’ve never done anything bad or anything that would warrant them to be detained,” she said.
In the other cases she has heard about, she said, “it’s more so about just being afraid of being caught and wanting to leave with their dignity intact,” she said. “They want to be the ones to dictate how and when.”
Also, she said, “There are people who are just leaving on their own and not even bothering to go through the app.”
Similar efforts have been made by previous administrations. In 2008, the federal government introduced a “Scheduled Departure” pilot program in some U.S. cities, including San Diego. The program ultimately ended after failing to generate interest.
The opportunity to say goodbye
Two days before Lázaro left, her church group at the Our Lady of Guadalupe parish in Logan Heights, where she and her husband were once sacristans, took a moment at the end of a meeting to hug her and say heartfelt goodbyes. It was something they never had the chance to do with her husband.
Etelvina Lázaro, right, hugs a fellow parishioner goodbye. (Ana Ramirez / The San Diego Union-Tribune)
Lázaro sat with her head bowed in the middle of the room while those around her put their hands on her shoulders and wished her well one last time.
“May she know that no matter where they are in the world, they will always be part of our community,” wished one of the parishioners. “May they never feel alone.”
“It’s sad to see someone who has been forced to leave,” said Deacon Javier Mozo, who has known the family for years. “But at the same time, there is also joy because she is a woman willing to follow her husband wherever he goes. That speaks to the love between them … humans may try to divide them, but God will bring them back together in any situation.”
The night after, at her San Diego apartment, she managed to fit part of the life she had built in the U.S. over the years into three suitcases and two large bags.
Etelvina Lázaro in an almost empty apartment with 20 years of packed belongings in several suitcases on Oct. 2. (Ana Ramirez / The San Diego Union-Tribune)
She glanced around one more time. The family photos that had once adorned the walls were now in one of the bags, frameless. Among them was a photo of her and her husband on their wedding day. She also packed two hats that her husband did not have a chance to take with him.
“It was very hard to make this decision,” she said, fighting back tears. “It hurts me because of my children. It hurts that we are going to be separated.”
Their lives changed the moment she received a call from her husband letting her know that he had been arrested by federal agents while on his way to his construction job. Her husband, who had previously been deported in 2008, agreed not to fight his case and to be sent back to Mexico.
Etelvina Lázaro rests her hand on a passport. (Ana Ramirez / The San Diego Union-Tribune)
Lázaro, who cleaned houses for a living, said that it didn’t take long for her husband’s absence to take a toll on her.
“I’m not the same person I used to be,” she said. “Sometimes I just want to go to bed and sleep. I don’t feel like doing anything.”
Her children encouraged her to go to Mexico to be with their father, assuring her that they would take care of each other.
“It’s sad. It won’t be the same anymore,” said her eldest son, José Peña. “I won’t be able to stop by and see my mom every day.”
At the same time, Peña said he believes it’s time for her to rest and spend time with their father.
Lázaro said that she and her husband plan to eventually move to Tijuana so that their children can visit them. Her husband plans to get back to work in construction.
Father Scott Santarosa of Our Lady of Guadalupe parish blesses a group on Oct. 1. (Ana Ramirez / The San Diego Union-Tribune)
The Rev. Scott Santarosa of Our Lady of Guadalupe said that the farewell gathering was intended to provide closure, which is something that not many immigrant families have the opportunity to experience.
“He disappeared,” he said of Lázaro’s husband. “We couldn’t say goodbye, and it left a huge hole in our people and in our community.”
Rebuilding a life together
Lázaro reunited with her husband in the rural town of San Francisco Uricho, Michoacán. They are staying with her mother, whom she had not seen in decades.
Etelvina Lázaro and her husband Margarito on their wedding day. (Ana Ramirez / The San Diego Union-Tribune)
In a phone interview last week, she said that the town of more than 2,000 inhabitants has changed a lot since she and her husband left in search of a better life. There are more houses and people. Still, she said, many like her migrated to the U.S. over the years.
She acknowledged the sadness she felt the night she crossed the border back into Mexico after being away for many years.
A week later, after having had time to process things, she says she feels she can, at least for now, adapt to living in her old town again.
