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It’s said that the nail that sticks up gets pounded down.
It’s a harsh reality for Francisco Tizol, a father living in rural Guatemala. As a migrant worker in the United States and an entrepreneur in Guatemala, he has twice begun to lift himself out of poverty. Each time, threats of violence and extortion, endemic problems in his country, have pushed him back down.
While his story is unique, his situation is not. The surge in immigrants from violence-plagued Central American countries seeking refuge in the United States paints a bigger picture about the fears and ambitions that drive people to leave everything behind and make the risky journey to a new life.
Today, Tizol works as a pig farmer in a rural area outside Mazatenango, an area that tourists are advised to avoid and locally is known for drug trafficking. But Tizol’s story has taken him to Mountain View home to a number of people from his small community in Guatemala around the Bay Area and back.
He said he came to the United States to fulfill a dream he had since he was 16 to leave his country, where the social and political structures were still in tatters from a civil war, and build something better for himself and his family. After living and working in the Bay Area for three years, he got a frantic call from his wife, Erlinda Gomez-Lopez, in Guatemala. A man had called her, threatening to kidnap, rape and murder their two young daughters if they did not pay a steep price: 300,000 quetzals, or about $40,000.
Leaving his wife to raise their three children alone wasn’t an easy decision for Tizol. Speaking through a translator, he told the VoiceI that opportunities in Guatemala are few, and he had been left deeply in debt after taking out a loan to develop land he inherited as a cattle ranch.
He hired a coyote to smuggle him across the border, paying for three attempts. The first time he was caught and returned. The second time he was bused through Mexico and crossed through Texas. He had traveled with two others, splitting up for the night after they crossed the border. He hid out in a ranch, while the other two traveled on the road. They were picked up by U.S. Immigration. The next morning, Tizol met with his contact and headed to Mountain View.
Life in the Bay Area
Tizol said he chose Mountain View because many people from his community live there. When he arrived, his friend Marvin introduced him to the Day Worker Center of Mountain View. There he met Susan Sullivan, who taught an English class there. They became friends and he often sought her advice, he said.
Living in a two-bedroom apartment in Mountain View with five other men, Tizol found work as a carpenter and cleaner. After three years in the Bay Area, he was able to save money and pay off his debt. But his modest success, along with the land he had inherited back home, didn’t go unnoticed. “He appears rich to poor people; word gets out that he’s wealthy and people start extorting,” said Sullivan.
But while working in the Bay Area helped lift his family out of poverty, his wife and children were paying the price back in Guatemala.
Living in fear
The phone call she received was ominous: “Erlinda, listen, we know that Francisco is in the United States, you have two kids who study at El Colegio de Carmen. We know you just sold a parcel (of land). We want 300,000 quetzals,” recounted Gomez-Lopez, her voice quivering, sitting on the edge of her bed.
Gomez-Lopez said she panicked. They yelled expletives at her that she refused to repeat. “And if you don’t, do you want one of your kids to come back raped or murdered? We’ll call you back in two hours.” The ransom, for a family that earns about 7,000 quetzals a month, was impossible to raise.
In Guatemala, wealth is relative. In bigger cities likes Antigua and Guatemala City, the Tizol family would be considered poor, but in its rural home town, the family is comparatively well-off.
Gomez-Lopez said she felt as if her life had been taken away. She moved the girls to a different school and hired drivers to take them there. She never went alone to the market. She said she never felt safe.
With no idea who was making the threat, she said, she became distraught and paranoid, while still remaining busy running a small business and raising her three kids alone.
“Don’t give room to the enemy,” advised Olivia Gomez, a neighbor and longtime friend. Rather than pay the ransom, Gomez-Lopez and the children moved into Gomez’s house. They stayed there for two months, asking God’s help through prayer and fasting.
“The girls didn’t go to school for two, three, four … I don’t know how many weeks,” said Gomez-Lopez.
They changed their phone number, and the calls stopped, but the fear did not. Like many others in Guatemala, Tizol said, they didn’t believe the police would do anything and didn’t report the threat.
Small town life
Tierra del Pueblo, the small farming town where the Tizols live, is a short, bumpy drive from the center of Mazatenango. A long, narrow road with potholes is lined with small shops, including Tizol’s cafe, near his modest pig farm and his house. Teens in private school uniforms walk home, some stopping to buy ice cream or snacks at Tizol’s cafe. Young boys play soccer on the field adjacent to his home. Prayers are heard in the nearby Evangelical Church. By nightfall, families are locked up inside their homes, and in bed before 10 p.m. Late at night the silence is broken by the baying from packs of roving dogs followed by the crowing of roosters. But just beneath the surface of the seemingly peaceful countryside, there’s the constantly looming threat of violence.
The evidence is all around. One of Tizol’s cousins lives in a drafty, makeshift shack with no locks, next door to her brother, a former Nationalist who suffers from severe PTSD. Long scars on her arm are a constant reminder of the time he tried to kill her with a machete. Though he suffers from delusions, there’s no help available for him or protection for her.
Another cousin said he watched as his friend was shot in the head he survived only because the killer’s gun jammed as he pulled the trigger. Tizol’s father, a former Nationalist soldier, was murdered for speaking up and advising youth not to join either political party. Tizol said his mother fears the same fate awaits him.
Back home
After his wife received the threatening calls, Tizol said he returned home. With the money he made in America, Tizol was able to add on to his concrete house.
Among residents of Tierra del Pueblo, Tizol is considered a rising middle class man. It’s a town where many people live in shacks or squeeze large families into just a few bedrooms.
He invested his savings from the U.S. in land, started the pig farm and opened his cafe, where the family sells freshly made corn tortillas. Then, the threatening phone calls started again. At this point, Gomez-Tizol was two months pregnant with Diana, their fourth child.
“If you don’t bring us money, we will bring a bomb to your house,” Tizol said the caller told him.
This time, they thought they had someone to help them. The stepfather of daughter Wendy’s classmate befriended Tizol and Gomez-Lopez. He told them he was a police officer and could help with the extortionists. He advised them to negotiate a lower ransom of 45,000 quetzals, and said he would deliver the money for them.
The calls stopped, and eventually, Tizol said, they realized they had been deceived. Their new friend, Rene Aparicio Santiago Mejilla, had been working with the extortionists all along.
This time, they did seek help from the police, and unexpectedly, the local police came through. Court documents show that Mejilla was arrested and is serving time in prison, but Tizol said he fears for his family when Mejilla is released. Only four years remain of his eight-year sentence and revenge is common in the country. Tizol said he recently spotted an armed man outside his home and people familiar with Mejilla have warned him he would seek retribution. Tizol said he heard rumors Mejilla may be released early for good behavior.
So Tizol has begun downsizing his pig farm in preparation of the day his family might have to flee. He said he dreams of bringing his family to the United States, where people can trust the police to keep them safe, and it’s easier to earn a living.
But moving to the U.S. is fraught with obstacles and dangers. Tizol’s options are to hire a coyote to smuggle his family into the U.S. or to seek humanitarian visas and, ultimately, asylum. At Sullivan’s urging, he is trying to take the legal route.
“He was really frightened,” Sullivan said. “He didn’t know what to do. He called, worried about his wife and kids.”
She said she told him to register with the embassy and tell them the story. “At least you have your name in line. And, if it gets desperate, get a coyote,” she said she told him. “You hear these stories over and over again. Poverty, desperation, complete lack of a strong legal institution and ignorance. They still live in fear.”
President Barack Obama’s recent executive actions have temporarily loosened some restrictions on immigration, especially for families already in the United States, but it doesn’t appear to help families in Tizol’s situation. With an additional emphasis on border security, it will make it harder for immigrants trying to enter the country illegally.
Even with the well-documented threats against the family, being granted asylum is far from certain. Marilia Zellner, a immigration attorney who is not involved with Tizol’s case, said people who request asylum are required to either be in the U.S. or travel to the border. It’s a complex process.
“Most people who want to come to the U.S. have to present themselves at the border, request a ‘credible fear’ interview, get paroled into the U.S., and seek asylum here,” she told the VoiceI .
Despite the uncertainty, Tizol said he would prefer to get to America legally. Life, he said, is “respected there.”
“We don’t mean to leave, and move somewhere else, but this is the life situation that we have to face. And to be honest, I’m worried,” said Tizol.




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