Washington DC, May 2025 — The case of Andry Hernández, a 31-year-old Venezuelan asylum seeker and openly gay barber, is igniting global outrage after he was deported to El Salvador under the Trump administration’s controversial gang crackdown.
Hernández, who sought refuge in the United States after facing persecution in Venezuela for his sexual orientation and political beliefs, was mistakenly identified as a gang member based solely on tattoos of crowns on his wrists — symbols linked to a traditional Catholic festival in his hometown, not to gang affiliation.
A Tattoo Misinterpreted as Criminal Evidence
According to court documents reviewed by BBC Mundo, Hernández was flagged as a threat by private detention contractor CoreCivic, which used a points-based gang identification system. The system assigns values to tattoos, social media posts, and clothing, among other indicators, in determining suspected gang affiliation — in this case, the Venezuelan group Tren de Aragua.
Hernández received five points due to his tattoos — two crowns representing the Three Wise Men Festival from Capacho Nuevo, Venezuela, a UNESCO-recognized cultural tradition. The symbols were misunderstood as identifiers of gang allegiance.
“If I had known the crowns would land him in prison, I never would’ve tattooed them,” said his tattoo artist, José Manuel Mora.
Secretive Deportation and El Salvador’s Mega-Prison
Despite having a pending asylum court hearing in California, Hernández was secretly transferred from Otay Mesa Detention Center to Texas, and deported on March 15 alongside 260 other individuals, primarily Venezuelans. They were sent to the infamous CECOT mega-prison in El Salvador, known for its brutal treatment of detainees.
He was deported under the revived Alien Enemies Act of 1798, which allows mass expulsions of individuals deemed a threat to US security. Hernández never got to present his asylum case or respond to the gang allegations.
“I’m Not a Gang Member. I’m Gay. I’m a Barber.”
The last known image of Hernández was captured by a photojournalist for TIME Magazine. The photo shows him chained, head bowed, as prison guards shaved his head. He was reportedly slapped and humiliated for proclaiming his innocence and identity.
“He cried out for his mother. Then buried his face in his chained hands,” said journalist Philip Holsinger.
Calls for Justice and Proof of Life
Hernández’s family and hometown community have held vigils and called for his release, wearing crowns in solidarity. Meanwhile, California Governor Gavin Newsom and four members of Congress have requested proof of life from El Salvador — but received no response.
“Some young people get tattoos of the kings’ crowns like Andry did. That was his crime,” said Miguel Chacón, president of the Capacho Three Kings Foundation.
Legal experts and human rights advocates are criticizing the gang scoring system as flawed, discriminatory, and lacking due process. The ACLU has filed lawsuits on behalf of Venezuelan deportees, challenging the use of tattoos and unverified data as grounds for deportation.
Read more on the background of the Tren de Aragua gang and how Trump’s use of the Alien Enemies Act is reshaping immigration enforcement in 2025.
When Andry Hernández got a pair of tattoos on his wrists with the words “mom” and “dad”, he chose to add two small crowns to honor the Three Kings Day celebration from his Venezuelan hometown, Capacho Nuevo. But years later, these crowns would become the basis for his detention and deportation from the U.S. asylum process.
After surrendering to U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) at the San Ysidro Port of Entry in August 2024, Mr. Hernández hoped to seek protection for political and sexual orientation-based persecution. He was detained and flagged as a gang member—specifically tied to the notorious Venezuelan gang, Tren de Aragua—based solely on his tattoos, according to court documents.
His legal team argues that a private contractor, CoreCivic, was responsible for using a subjective scoring system to identify alleged gang members. The scoring system, which awarded Mr. Hernández five points based on his crown tattoos, became the only documented evidence linking him to Tren de Aragua.
“That form is the only government document linking him to the gang,” said Lindsay Toczylowski of the Immigrant Defenders Law Center, part of the legal team representing Hernández. Rights advocates like the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) argue that this method lacks due process and conflates cultural or religious symbols with criminal behavior.
By March 2025, Hernández had spent six months in detention. Without being allowed to appear at his asylum hearing, he was deported to El Salvador’s infamous Terrorist Confinement Centre, known as CECOT. His deportation came under the invocation of the Alien Enemies Act by President Trump, who accused Tren de Aragua of controlling territory in Venezuela.
The only visual proof of his presence in the mega-prison came from photojournalist Philip Holsinger, who captured the arrival of deported migrants for Time Magazine. Holsinger later identified Hernández as the man crying for his mother while being slapped and shackled by guards, saying, “I’m not a gang member. I’m gay. I’m a barber.”
Hernández’s case has stirred public and political outcry. BBC Mundo has reported that California Governor Gavin Newsom and U.S. Congressional representatives have asked for his return and demanded proof of life, with no response from Salvadoran authorities to date.
A Broader Immigration Controversy
Trump’s 2025 immigration overhaul has been marked by aggressive enforcement, including large-scale deportations of Latin American migrants under the pretext of combating gang activity. Critics argue that the crackdown is ensnaring innocent people, especially LGBTQ+ individuals and political dissidents, in an overly broad net.
Andry Hernández’s fate remains unknown. His mother continues to plead for his safety: “I ask God to bring him back to me.”
The story of Andry Hernández is not just about immigration policy. It is about identity, prejudice, and the consequences of failing to distinguish culture from crime.
