Two months ago, Mony Neth was on his way to work when U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents detained him for a decades-old criminal conviction that had stripped him of his green card as a teenager. The 42-year-old Modesto man was transferred to detention facilities in Louisiana, Texas and then Elk Grove, where he awaited deportation.
But two days before Christmas, Neth received unexpected news. “I heard them call my name and tell me to pick up all my belongings,” he said. “Right then I knew that I was coming home.”
Neth and another Cambodian refugee, Rottanak Kong, of Davis, were among 132 people granted clemency by Gov. Jerry Brown on Saturday, clearing them of the criminal convictions that had made them targets for deportation under the Trump administration.
Their pardons are yet another defiant move by Brown against the administration, which has aggressively targeted both undocumented immigrants and legal permanent residents with criminal convictions. And it revealed a new campaign by pro-immigration activists and attorneys who are asking governors across the country to pardon non-citizen immigrants in a last-ditch effort to buy these immigrants more time — and perhaps a second chance in the United States.
“His pardonings — particularly this year — are a reaction to Trump’s anti-immigrant policy,” Nate Tan, a member of the Asian Prisoner Support Committee in Oakland, said of Brown’s move. But Tan acknowledged that while Neth and Kong’s pardons may mean the men are technically no longer eligible for deportation, it’s hardly a guarantee.
This year, Virginia Gov. Terry McAuliffe, a Democrat, pardoned Liliana Cruz Mendez, a mother of two who lived in the suburbs outside Washington. Cruz Mendez, an El Salvador national who was in the U.S. illegally, was detained by ICE after being stopped for a blown-out headlight in 2014.
ICE deported Cruz Mendez anyway this past summer.
Immigration control is a federal, not state, responsibility, but attorneys for the two Cambodian men hope the pardons will eliminate the rationale for deporting them.
“The pardon has basically eliminated the conviction that led to the removal process in the first place,” said Jenny Zhao, a staff attorney for San Francisco-based Asian Americans Advancing Justice – Asian Law Caucus. “I think the governor does recognize that for immigrants the continuing consequences of criminal convictions are extremely severe.”
A spokesman for Brown on Tuesday declined to elaborate on the decision-making process for the pardons, saying, “The pardon documents speak for themselves.”
In his pardon message, Brown said Neth and Kong had paid their debts to society and now live “productive and upright lives.” He did not mention the men’s immigration status or the Trump administration’s deportation policies.
Zhao said the pardon doesn’t eliminate the immigration issues at hand. The men now face an uphill legal battle after they reopen their immigration cases in court to prove to a judge that they deserve to stay in the U.S.
ICE has agreed not to contest a motion to reopen Neth’s case, according to Zhao. A spokeswoman for the agency on Tuesday did not provide further details on the men’s cases and declined to comment generally on how pardons from governors affect an individual’s likelihood of deportation.
Non-citizens like Neth and Kong who are convicted of crimes are stripped of their legal permanent resident status — a fact many people don’t learn until they find themselves in deportation proceedings.
Neth was one of an estimated 100 Cambodian immigrants detained by ICE in October in never-before-seen roundups that shook Asian communities across the country.
The sudden surge in ICE activity appeared to spring in part from the Trump administration’s aggressive efforts to deport immigrants with criminal records, even under circumstances in which their home countries haven’t traditionally cooperated with U.S. deportation orders. In the past, immigrants in that situation have been allowed to stay in the U.S., but the Trump administration has been pressing Cambodia and Vietnam, in particular, to take back their deportees.
The result is that immigrants who have established roots and lives in the U.S. are suddenly being detained and shipped out.
Echoing a September statement from ICE’s acting director, Thomas Homan, agency spokesman James Schwab said in October, “International law obligates each country to accept the return of its nationals ordered removed from the United States. The United States itself routinely cooperates with foreign governments in documenting and accepting its citizens when asked, as do the majority of countries in the world.”
Cambodia in 2002 signed a repatriation agreement with the United States that allowed for a certain number of Cambodian immigrants to be deported each year. But only this year have deportations among Cambodians spiked at these levels, according to pro-immigration activists. They said an estimated 500 Cambodians have been detained nationwide since the memo was signed, compared to 100 in October alone, making these the largest raids ever to target the Cambodian community.
There are more than 1,900 Cambodian nationals residing in the U.S. who are subject to a final deportation order, of whom 1,412 have criminal convictions, according to the Department of Homeland Security.
Neth came to the U.S. at age 10 with his parents and three sisters, according to his wife, Cat Khamvongsa. Like many Cambodian immigrants, the family fled the Khmer Rouge communist regime, which killed or caused the deaths of about 3 million Cambodians.
The family settled in Modesto, where Neth got into trouble as a teen. Kong was convicted on felony joyriding in 2003.
Neth, 19 at the time, was convicted of receiving known stolen property; possessing, manufacturing or selling a dangerous weapon; and being in a criminal street gang. Because of his conviction, Neth lost his legal permanent resident status and received a deportation order in 2002 — the year Cambodian officials signed a repatriation agreement with the U.S.
But Neth turned his life around as an adult — the couple, who have a 16-year-old daughter, have been active in their church and help feed the homeless in their community. Neth is the sole provider for his family and for his parents, according to Zhao.
“Every one of us made mistakes, whether it’s big or small,” he said. “Unfortunately, I made a bigger mistake than most people. But I have learned from it.”
“People learn from their mistakes,” he added. “There’s nothing I can about my past.”
The Los Angeles Times contributed to this report.
