海角大神

The day that Candice Marie Garcia Sanchez鈥檚 partner, Fidel, was detained in Salt Lake City as an undocumented immigrant, she realized life as they knew it in the United States was over.

But almost a decade later, the binational couple has turned the trauma of his deportation to his native Mexico into a social media adventure: reconnecting with home and starting anew. Now, as millions in the U.S. face the prospect of being sent back to their countries of origin, Ms. Garcia Sanchez鈥檚 Instagram and TikTok feeds continue to amass followers 鈥� 2 million and counting 鈥� seeking everything from practical advice about jobs to inspiration about life in rural Mexico.

鈥淥ur Life in Mexico After Deportation.鈥� That鈥檚 how Ms. Garcia Sanchez welcomes her 1.5 million followers on TikTok. In one post, she focuses the camera on her husband and one of her their sons sharing a meal together. 鈥淒eportation will always only be a part of our story, but not all of it,鈥� she writes.

In another post, she shows followers a slice of life very different from where she grew up in Utah. 鈥淗ello from Mexico. Let鈥檚 go buy some new curtains,鈥� says Ms. Garcia Sanchez, as she walks out her door and flags down a car announcing its wares on a loudspeaker. A man unfurls curtains in bright pinks, creams, and oranges from the back of his van.

It鈥檚 a fraught time for many immigrant families living under the Trump administration, which has pledged to deport 1 million unauthorized immigrants each year. Ms. Garcia Sanchez attempts to show them the beauty of what can come after the heartache 鈥� whether that鈥檚 buying fresh produce at weekly open-air markets, building a home, or adjusting to a new culture and language.

A helping hand

鈥淚 share as much as I can, because it helps. I wish I could have had something [similar] to watch,鈥� she says.

Her TikTok account, which she launched in 2020, exploded after the first post, in which she introduced herself and her family鈥檚 story. Within six months, she had garnered 100,000 followers.

Ms. Garcia Sanchez had never been to Mexico or applied for a passport before she and their son Diego traveled to Puebla state to see Mr. Garcia Sanchez after he had been deported in 2016. Like so many facing deportation who never lived their adult lives - or any part of their lives - in their native countries, he had returned to the town of shepherds and fava bean farmers that he had left as a teenager. (The Monitor is not publishing the name of the town for the family鈥檚 security.)

In the U.S., he had been working 12-hour days in construction while Ms. Garcia Sanchez was a full-time student, holding down a minimum-wage job. Mr. Garcia Sanchez did not initially believe his wife when she said she would leave the U.S. to be with him.

鈥淚t鈥檚 so different from what we lived in the United States, I didn鈥檛 know if they could adapt鈥� he says, sitting in what will be a bedroom in the home he鈥檚 building for his family. 鈥淪he knew what mattered most was staying together.鈥�

Some members of Ms. Garcia Sanchez鈥檚 extended family were opposed to her decision. They saw Mexico as a violent country offering no prospects, the place that millions of undocumented immigrants want to leave.

鈥淲hen I鈥檓 posting, I鈥檓 always thinking first about what people facing deportation from the U.S. and their families need,鈥� Ms. Garcia Sanchez says. But she says she also likes 鈥渂eing able to show people that what you see on the news about Mexico isn鈥檛 accurate.鈥�

No 鈥渞ainbows and butterflies鈥�

Cue TikToks, Reels, and YouTube videos of graduations, grinding corn into dough for tortillas, sharing what鈥檚 for dinner, and pouring the concrete floors in their soaring new home.

Back in Salt Lake City, Mr. Garcia Sanchez鈥檚 immigration status hung over them, and their lives felt like a constant sprint just to make ends meet. They arrived in Mexico with some $2,000 in their bank account. But life here, especially now that Ms. Garcia Sanchez earns a U.S. salary from her remote management consulting job and also makes money from the family鈥檚 social media accounts, has given them the luxury of time together.

Many deportees might face much more desperate economic conditions. And Ms. Garcia Sanchez is sensitive to the fact that the life she is documenting did not emerge overnight, as it might appear on social media. Her family had been in Mexico 鈥� looking for remote work, planning to buy land and build a home, and figuring out schooling for their U.S.-born son 鈥� for four years before going online.

鈥淲e didn鈥檛 land in Mexico to rainbows and butterflies,鈥� she says.

Ms. Garcia Sanchez鈥檚 posts under the handle laguerita70 are overwhelmed by comments from people drawn to the family鈥檚 story. Many of them are also binational, fearing family separation.

鈥淚鈥檓 considering making this move,鈥� reads one.

鈥淢y ex-husband was deported to Mexico back in 2009. 鈥� We had a 2-year-old that grew up without his dad,鈥� says another.

A different kind of influencer

Ms. Garcia Sanchez responds directly to messages and emails from people, mostly in the U.S., living through or fearing deportation. She edits r茅sum茅s and gives tips on finding work with American companies while living abroad.

鈥淪omething I say often is 鈥楽ometimes you have to take it one second at a time.鈥� I know the saying is 鈥榦ne day,鈥� but in this situation, it needs to be one second, because so much feels absolutely impossible鈥� following a deportation.

Since moving to Mexico, she has had two more children. On a recent summer afternoon, Ms. Garcia Sanchez piles the three kids into the car to buy decorations for an upcoming baptism.

Ms. Garcia Sanchez is just as upbeat in real life as she is online. She invites one shop owner to join her family for the celebration: 鈥淚鈥檒l send your wife the details!鈥� she tells him.

She doesn鈥檛 consider herself an 鈥渋nfluencer鈥� aiming to garner as many fans as possible. Instead she hopes one day not to wield such influence.

That would mean U.S. policy had changed, and families like hers would no longer face separation.