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In tiny Lumpkin, immigration detainees outnumber residents

Maria Campos sits in the back seat of a car with her grandchildren, her eyes welling with tears as the immigration center comes into view.

The seven-hour drive from North Carolina to the Stewart Detention Center in a remote corner of southwest Georgia has become all too familiar. One of her sons was held here before being deported back to Mexico last year, leaving behind his wife and children who accompany Campos now. Campos fears her other son will meet the same fate after being detained when police were called on a friend.

“I said, ‘Don’t tell me this,’” she recalls saying to the jail officer when she learned her son had be sent to Stewart. “I can’t think. I can’t talk. I can do nothing. My mind stays blank.”

Mario Campos, 52, stands in the kitchen of El Refugio, an organization that houses families visiting loved ones at the nearby Stewart Detention Center, before she visits her son, Sunday, Nov. 10, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. Campos' son was deported a year ago from the same ICE facility where another son is now detained. "It's mixed emotions," said Campos of having to return to visit. “I’m happy to see my son but I feel guilty I’m not doing enough,” said Campos. “I think in another state, another place, they have more help from the lawyers. We’re still praying.” (AP Photo/David Goldman)

The razor-wire ringed detention center stands beige and grey in the green outskirts of tiny Lumpkin, where detainees outnumber residents. The town has few available resources _ only three immigration lawyers work here full time. There are no hotels and many businesses in the downtown are shuttered. In the vacuum, a small network has sprung up to help the immigrants, offering them legal advice, places for the relatives to stay, even gas cards for the families.

Campos doesn’t have money to pay for a lawyer, so her son is representing himself. Campos, her daughter-in-law and two grandchildren, stayed at El Refugio, a house run by volunteers who help with food and gas.

Visits with her son make her feel helpless.

“This place is a horrible place because not all the lawyers want to go there and fight for our family members,” said Campos.

Marty Rosenbluth, one of two immigration attorneys who live in Lumpkin, knows how critical it is to have an attorney physically present for detainees.

Attorney Marty Rosenbluth puts his tie on before heading to immigration court at the Stewart Detention Center, Nov. 13, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. He recently bought a home in town with spare bedrooms to encourage attorneys to make the journey and attend hearings in person. “There's so much that happens in the court that, you know, body language, eye contact, all these other intangibles that, you just lose if you were telephonic,” said Rosenbluth. “But most important. I think it makes the biggest difference to the clients themselves." (AP Photo/David Goldman)

“There's so much that happens in the court that, you know, body language, eye contact, all these other intangibles that, you just lose if you were telephonic,” said Rosenbluth. “But most important. I think it makes the biggest difference to the clients themselves."

He recently bought a home in town with spare bedrooms to encourage attorneys to attend hearings in person.

The Southern Poverty Law Center’s Southeast Immigrant Freedom Initiative, or SIFI, has also stepped in to help. Two staff attorneys work in Lumpkin full time and are supplemented by volunteer lawyers who come for a week at a time.

The Stewart Detention Center sits surrounded by woods, Nov. 15, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

A resident leaves a meeting at the Stewart County courthouse on the town square, Nov. 12, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

A shuttered storefront is padlocked as the Stewart County courthouse is reflected in the town square, Tuesday, Nov. 12, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

The organization's phone number is distributed in the Stewart immigration court, and attorney Erin Argueta estimates they get about 100 new calls every month.

It’s difficult for detained immigrants to see or even speak to lawyers who live far away, and they have no access to email or fax and the phones sometimes don’t work or are expensive, Argueta said. Communications have to be sent by mail, which slows the process of collecting documentation, filling out forms in English and getting documents translated and notarized.

“It’s really hard for people at Stewart to carry on day-to-day life, never mind meaningfully prepare their case and gather evidence,” Argueta said.

Attorney Matt Boles, 27, with the Southern Poverty Law Center’s Southeast Immigrant Freedom Initiative, heads to immigration court at the Stewart Detention Center, Friday Nov. 15, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. Visitors to the immigration court pass through two sliding gates set into chain link fencing topped by loops of razor wire, the first gate closing behind them before the second opens. "When you go to court, it's not very welcoming because of the security measures. It's in so many ways a reminder of why I want to win so badly," says Boles. "I think that walking into that environment reinforces the desire to give hope to people and get them free to be with their families." (AP Photo/David Goldman)

Visitors to the immigration court pass through two sliding gates set into chain link fencing topped by loops of razor wire, the first gate closing behind them before the second opens.

"I think that walking into that environment reinforces the desire to give hope to people and get them free to be with their families," said SIFI attorney Matt Boles, who lives full time in Lumpkin.

Attorney Matt Boles with the Southern Poverty Law Center’s Southeast Immigrant Freedom Initiative, returns home, Nov. 13, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. Boles is one of only two immigration attorneys who live permanently in the rural town. "It's given me an appreciation for how difficult it is for lawyers to come here," said Boles of living in Lumpkin. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

When detainees are released, it’s often in the evening. If they aren’t fortunate enough to have family waiting for them in the parking lot, they’re driven 30 minutes away to Columbus and left at one of two bus stations in town.

“There is no set time of release so it’s difficult to formulate plans,” said Rita Ellis, founding member and chief financial officer of Paz Amigos, a volunteer organization that springs into action when bus station staff notify them that a new van load of detainees has arrived.

A detainee talks on the phone in his pod at the Stewart Detention Center, Nov. 15, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. It’s difficult for detained immigrants to see or even speak to lawyers who live far away, and they have no access to email or fax and the phones sometimes don’t work or are expensive, according to the Southern Poverty Law Center attorney Erin Argueta, one of three attorney's who work full time in Lumpkin. Communications have to be sent by mail, which slows the process of collecting documentation, filling out forms in English and getting documents translated and notarized. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

A detainee sits in a holding cell at the Stewart Detention Center, Friday, Nov. 15, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. The city’s 1,172 residents are outnumbered by the roughly 1,650 male detainees that ICE said were being held in the detention center in late November. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

A detainee waits for a visit from family who must communicate through a phone at the Stewart Detention Center, Nov. 15, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. Visitors sit in separate rooms when visiting detainees and no physical contact is permitted. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

A puzzle of the Statue of Liberty sits on a table in a pod at the Stewart Detention Center, Nov. 15, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. The detention center’s remote location compounds the difficulties faced by immigrants trying to fight deportation. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

The organization helps between 40 and 50 men a month, picking them up, feeding them and often putting them up in a hotel or in a spare bedroom at one of the volunteers’ homes. Donations of snacks, clothes and backpacks are handed out and phone calls are made to family members to arrange their travel.

“I think it’s a great gap filler to help the men transition from detention to being free and there’s that scary moment when they’re left in limbo and they’re unsure of where they are and how to get home to their family and friends,” Ellis said. “We provide that service to make sure they get where they’re going safely and with a little kindness.”

Campos, meanwhile, is still waiting for resolution for her son, who has lived in the U.S. since the mid-90s.

“My first son, my heart was broken because he’s not here. I don’t want the same for the second one.”

Lucia (asked not to use her real name) approaches the Stewart Detention Center to visit her brother-in-law, Nov. 10, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. Lucia's husband was deported a year ago from the same ICE facility where her brother-in-law is now detained. “You think the second time would get easier,” said Lucia. “But it doesn’t get easier. It’s the same emotions, the same anxiousness of what could happen.” (AP Photo/David Goldman)

Detainees walk through the halls at the Stewart Detention Center, Nov. 15, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

Pins representing the locations people came from who entered the doors of El Refugio while visiting family members detained at the nearby Stewart Detention Center are shown on a map at the organization's house, Nov. 10, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. In 2019, volunteers hosted 492 overnight guests at the house, according to the organization.(AP Photo/David Goldman)

A five-year-old boy, whose mother didn't want his name used, walks outside their car after they arrive to visit his uncle at the Stewart Detention Center, Nov. 10, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. The boy's father was deported to Mexico a year ago from the same ICE facility where his uncle is now detained. “He had never been separated from his dad. He was always there from day one," said his mother, Lucia, who asked that her real name not be used. “He would tell the immigration officer, just take my daddy out. I’ll be a good boy." (AP Photo/David Goldman)

A family waits to visit a loved one at the Stewart Detention Center, Nov. 15, 2019, in Lumpkin, Ga. Once inside, visitors must: sign in; remove shoes and coats and go through a metal detector; lock their car keys and phone in a locker; and hand over their IDs, which are kept by security personnel until they leave. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

Ariel Forcade, from left, Ancermo Rivero and Yasnier Palacio Nieves, all asylum seekers from Cuba, browse clothing in a donation room set up in the home of Rita Ellis, a founding member of the organization Paz Amigos, Nov. 6, 2019, in Columbus, Ga. When detainees are released, it’s often in the evening. If they aren’t fortunate enough to have family waiting for them in the parking lot, they’re driven 30 minutes away to Columbus and left at one of two bus stations in town. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

Andrea, 20, right, a transgender asylum seeker from Guatemala, goes over documents with Monica Whatley, Southern Poverty Law Center’s Southeast Immigrant Freedom Initiative program coordinator, as Bill Harlan, left, books her bus ticket after being released on bond from Stewart Detention Center, Nov. 12, 2019, in Columbus, Ga. In addition to being remote, Stewart’s immigration court is also known for its low rate of granting asylum claims. One of SIFI’s main legal strategies right now is to just get people out of on bond or parole so they can relocate to another part of the country where immigration court outcomes are more favorable, Whatley said. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

Yasnier Palacio Nieves, an asylum seeker from Cuba, walks past photos of Laurel and Hardy and Marilyn Monroe that hang on the wall of a local resident who opens her home to immigrant detainees released at night from the rural Stewart Detention Center, Nov. 6, 2019, in Columbus, Ga. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

Andrea, 20, a transgender asylum seeker from Guatemala, sorts through documents as she settles in for the night at the home of a volunteer after her bonded release from four months detained at the Stewart Detention Center, Nov. 12, 2019, in Columbus, Ga. Without any family in the area, Andrea would board a bus the next morning for the 23 hour bus ride to see her father in New York. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

Volunteer Laura Kessling uses a translation app on her phone to communicate with Cai Han, an asylum seeker from China, that was recently released on bond from Stewart Detention Center, Nov. 14, 2019, in Columbus, Ga. Kessling, a volunteer with Paz Amigos, finds accommodations in hotels or the homes of fellow volunteers for detainees who are released from the rural ICE facility at night at a bus station and have no local family or a place to stay. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

Jose Diaz, an asylum seeker from Cuba, right, and Cai Han, an asylum seeker from China, settle in to the hotel room they're sharing after their release from Stewart Detention Center, Nov. 14, 2019, in Columbus, Ga. The two men never met before tonight and were put up by Paz Amigos, an organization that helps between 40 and 50 men a month who are released from Stewart. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

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Text from AP News story In tiny town, immigration detainees outnumber residents by David Goldman.

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