Uruapan, Mich. — Five years after fleeing their hometown to seek safety in the United States, the Coria-León family is back in Mexico – not by deportation, but by choice – and now faces an uncertain future in the country they once escaped. The family’s story, highlighted in a recent report in El País, sheds light on the phenomenon of “autodeportación” or self-deportation: migrants who voluntarily return to Mexico out of fear of hostile U.S. policies or despair of obtaining legal status.
For Sonia Coria (34) and Carlos León (36), the ordeal began in 2016 in Uruapan, Michoacán, when they found themselves targeted by organized crime amid rising violence. Threats to their family – Carlos’s brother was killed by a local gang – compelled them to pack up and head north with their two young children, then 8-year-old Naomi and 2-year-old Carlitos. “Nos fuimos por la seguridad de nuestros hijos” (We left for our children’s safety), Sonia said.
In early 2017, they managed to cross into Arizona on temporary humanitarian visas and subsequently applied for asylum in the U.S., hoping to start anew. They settled in Glendale, Arizona, living with an aunt of Sonia’s, and found humble jobs – Sonia as a cleaning lady and Carlos as a gardener. Their kids started learning English and adapting to American life. But then, in November 2016, Donald Trump won the U.S. presidency on a hardline anti-immigrant platform, vowing mass deportations. For families like the Corias, that election night was a turning point.
As El País reported, the fear of Trump’s impending policies weighed heavily on them. “¿Debemos regresar a casa?” Sonia asked her husband the day after Trump’s victory. They had heard Trump threaten to end asylum for people like them and deport those awaiting court dates. They were also unnerved by rising anti-Mexican sentiment and rumors of family separation (which indeed later happened to many). Though they had done nothing illegal and entered on visas, they feared losing everything if asylum was denied under a hostile administration.
After agonizing deliberation, in early January 2017, just before Trump’s inauguration, the Coria-León family made the dramatic decision to self-deport – to leave the U.S. voluntarily and return to Mexico. “We were terrified of being deported with nothing, so we chose to go back on our terms,” Carlos explained. They essentially withdrew their asylum claim and drove back to Mexico via Nogales just days before Trump took office.
That’s when things went from bad to worse. At the Nogales border crossing, Mexican customs officials stopped their vehicle – a pickup truck – and, seeing their Arizona plates and belongings, accused them of trying to smuggle the truck into Mexico without proper import paperwork. The family insists it was their vehicle, but they lacked proof of Mexican ownership. In a move that migrant advocates decry as common but unjust, the authorities confiscated their truck and even the $3,000 in savings they were carrying, under forfeiture laws dealing with contraband. “Nos quitaron todo” (They took everything), Sonia said. That left the family stranded at the border with just suitcases and no transport.
Eventually making their way home to Uruapan by bus, they returned to a city still grappling with violence. “We came back to the exact dangers we had fled, but now with nothing,” Carlos said ruefully. They moved in with Sonia’s mother in a small house on the outskirts of Uruapan, effectively starting over from zero.
Now in 2025, as detailed by the El País piece titled “La vida después de la autodeportación” (Life after self-deportation), the family’s situation remains precarious. Carlos picks up occasional work in construction and farming, but steady jobs are scarce due to local instability. Sonia sells homemade food and cleans houses when possible. But earnings are meager – combined, they make maybe 5,000 pesos ($275) a month. “It’s not enough, but we survive,” Sonia said quietly.
Their children, now 13 and 7, struggled to re-adjust to Mexican schools after being yanked out of U.S. classrooms. Naomi, the teen, says she misses the safety and friends she had in Arizona, and that it’s hard to concentrate in school when gang violence is in the back of her mind. Young Carlos doesn’t remember the U.S., but he sometimes asks why his parents left if life was better there.
The irony is not lost on them: they sought refuge in America but ended up back in the violent conditions of Michoacán, plus facing poverty since their resources were confiscated. “Nos encontramos reconstruyendo nuestra vida en el sitio que habíamos abandonado huyendo de la violencia” (We find ourselves rebuilding our life in the very place we left while fleeing violence), the El País article states.
Their story underscores how Trump’s presidency cast a long shadow on migrant decisions. They are among an unknown number of Mexican asylum seekers who preemptively left the U.S. out of fear between 2016-2018. Some advocates argue that if they had stayed, they might have won asylum or at least lived longer in safety. But others empathize with their difficult choice. “They were hearing that asylum seekers from Mexico had slim chances under Trump, and indeed many were denied,” said Eduardo López, a migration expert. “So they made a tragic calculation to self-deport to avoid worse outcomes.”
Now, the family’s outlook is uncertain. They hope to gradually save up to buy another used truck and maybe start a small business (Carlos dreams of a car repair shop). They’ve registered for government assistance – they receive the “Bienestar” payments for their two kids and an occasional local food aid basket. But the promised “federal protection” for returnees hasn’t materialized meaningfully. Mexico’s government has a program for repatriated migrants, but many self-deportees fall through the cracks, not officially categorized as deportees.
A poignant moment came when Sonia’s aunt in Arizona offered to sponsor them to return legally under a family visa. They considered trying for the U.S. again – the violence in Uruapan flared in 2022 with turf battles. But now with President Sheinbaum’s new government focused on security, they harbor cautious hope that conditions may improve enough in Michoacán to stay. “Nosotros queremos paz aquí” (We want peace here), Carlos says. Yet he keeps the aunt’s offer in mind as a Plan B.
For now, they take it day by day. The kids attend school, the parents work odd jobs, and they avoid trouble. When asked if they regret leaving the U.S., Sonia sighed: “At times, yes. But we thought we had no choice.” The concept of autodeportación is complex – it was their decision, but under duress from external pressures.
Their story has drawn sympathy after being publicized. Some local NGOs have stepped forward, one offering counseling for the trauma they experienced – both in Mexico and the stress of leaving the U.S. Another group donated a second-hand laptop for Naomi’s studies. It’s small support, but meaningful.
As the El País piece concludes, families like the Coria-Leóns remain in limbo: leaving Mexico out of desperation, then returning out of fear, they exist between two countries, not fully safe in either. Their dream is simply to lead a normal life in their hometown, free from the fear of gangs. “Ojalá pudiéramos vivir sin miedo aquí,” Sonia says – if only we could live without fear here. It’s a wish many in Michoacán share, and one that policies on both sides of the border will continue to influence in unexpected ways.
