How My Reporting on the Columbia Protests Led to My Deportation Highlight

When I was brought into the room, I encountered a young woman, in tears, begging the guard for information. He told her he had no information to give her and that none would be forthcoming. “That woman,” he said, pointing to a bundle of blankets in the corner, “has been here for four days.”After that I started to spiral. We detainees were banned from talking to one another. There wasn’t anyone I could communicate with, anyway—a barrier in the room separated the men from the women, and I was the only man. There was food—cup noodles mostly—and a vending machine with M&M’s and Coca-Cola that we could use “if we had brought cash,” one of the guards told me. The room was so cold that all of us were wrapped in C.B.P. blankets.