Rennison Castillo broke the law. He was punished for it. And he thought he had served his time. Instead, the last day of an eight-month jail sentence was the start of a seven-month nightmare that almost ended two years ago with Castillo – a Lakewood resident, Army veteran and American citizen – deported to Belize, a country he left as a child.

He spoke publicly about the incident for the first time earlier this month.

Immigration officials say his case was a rare mistake and that it has prompted closer scrutiny of citizenship claims. But advocates say it’s the kind of mix-up that’s bound to happen as the federal government aggressively moves to deport more criminal immigrants while limiting their access to the legal system.

It began in November 2005, as Castillo finished his sentence at Pierce County Jail. He was filling out paperwork and turning in his uniform when a jail employee told him federal officials had put an immigration hold on him.

“I didn’t think at the time that it would be any big deal,” said Castillo, 30. “After all, I’m a citizen, right?”

He is indeed, since 1998. But when Castillo finished the out-processing procedure a few minutes later, officials from Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) bound his hands and legs, loaded him into a van and took him to the Northwest Detention Center on Tacoma’s Tideflats.

Castillo concedes he’s not always been a model citizen – he pleaded guilty to felony harassment and breaking a no-contact order – but he is a citizen.

It took seven months for immigration officials to believe him.

“I admit I got arrested. I put myself in the spotlight, so to speak,” he said. “But for them to keep me there for seven months to find out I was telling the truth? Come on. That’s a little much.”

The problem stemmed from what Castillo’s lawyer called “a bizarre glitch.” The federal government issues an Alien Registration Number, or A-number, to each immigrant, much like a Social Security number. Sometime between childhood and when he was arrested, Castillo was erroneously issued a second A-number.

ICE officers processed Castillo’s newest A-number when he was detained. It showed no proof of a green card or naturalization. It took several months before anyone – federal officials, Castillo or his lawyers – discovered the other A-number.

“There’s no explanation other than it being a mistake,” said Andrea Crumpler, Castillo’s lawyer during this time. “I’ve seen it happen, but it’s so rare.”

Lorie Dankers, a spokeswoman for ICE, said the agency doesn’t track the number of American citizens it detains. It doesn’t have authority to hold American citizens, she said, and they are released immediately upon discovery of citizenship.

“It is very, very, very rare that this happens,” Dankers said. “And when information came to our attention that he was a naturalized U.S. citizen, we released him.”

Castillo arrived illegally in the United States when he was 7 and later received a green card; he doesn’t speak with an accent. He joined the Army in 1996 and served at Fort Lewis and in South Korea until his honorable discharge in July 2003.

He applied for citizenship in 1998. Later that year, he took the oath at the Immigration and Naturalization Service building in Seattle.

He wore his Army uniform to the event.

When he first entered federal custody, he tried to explain his situation to an ICE agent. He was a citizen, he told her, and he served his country.

“She just smiled at me like I was lying,” he said. “She told me that people say anything to get out of here.”

If he could convince officials he served in the Army, he figured, that would be good enough to win his release. A green card is required if an immigrant wishes to serve in the military. If Castillo had proved that he served in the military, it might have alerted immigration officials that something could be wrong in his record.

The branch of the federal government that oversees immigration cases, the Executive Office for Immigration Review, doesn’t provide a public defender. Castillo couldn’t afford a lawyer.

Crumpler, who then worked for the Northwest Immigrant Rights Project, was helping Castillo prepare his case before the court. But the Seattle-based advocacy group didn’t then have the resources to directly represent clients.

“We were doing rights presentations,” said Crumpler, now a public defender in Spokane, “which means we would meet with people and give them advice on what they can do when they represent themselves.”

Castillo appeared three times in the courtroom inside the Northwest Detention Center. Immigration Judge Kenneth Josephson conducted the hearings from Seattle via a video link.

The first hearing was short; Castillo asked for and was granted more time to hire an attorney. During his second appearance, on Dec. 21, 2005, Castillo first told the judge he was an American citizen.

“I (was) naturalized here in the Seattle INS building, your honor, while I was in the service,” Castillo said, according to a court transcript.

“Sir, you get documentation when you become a United States citizen,” Josephson replied. “Where is your documentation? You simply say I’m a citizen. You get a piece of paper.”

But the paper – the naturalization certificate – never arrived at Castillo’s home after the ceremony, he said. He later discovered it was sent it to the wrong address. And he never applied for a passport because he hadn’t planned on international travel.

The case resumed Jan. 24, 2006, after federal officials had a chance to investigate Castillo’s citizenship claims.

Josephson again was skeptical.

“I don’t think you’re a United States citizen, simply because you think that some paper was filed on your behalf,” he told Castillo.

The government’s attorney, Thomas Malloy, also asked Castillo if he had his Army discharge papers, which would prove military service. Castillo said the forms were in the trunk of his car, which was parked at his friend’s house. Malloy asked Castillo if he could arrange someone to deliver the document. Castillo said he could. Malloy then moved on to a different subject.

Several minutes later, the hearing ended. Josephson ordered Castillo deported to Belize.

“At one point, I just figured there was nothing more I could do,” he said. “I accepted that if I go, I go.”

Castillo appealed to the Board of Immigration Appeal in Washington, D.C. Crumpler helped him draft the petition to the court. At some point after Josephson ordered him deported but before his appeal was heard before the BIA, Castillo received several documents from the Army Human Resources Command. They showed a different A-number.

The BIA sent the case back to the Seattle court. In June 2006, Castillo was released.

Fifteen months had passed during his two lockups. Some friends of his had moved away. Others had died. He was never overly bitter at his situation; the guards were doing their jobs, he said, and he realized bureaucracies aren’t known for efficiency.

But the case prompted changes at the agency, Dankers said. She said officials scrutinize citizenship claims more closely and receive continued training.

“It’s not because we think we’re making mistakes hand over fist,” she said, “but more because we want to ensure we’re doing the job the best we can.”

Jorge Baron, the executive director of Northwest Immigrant Rights Project, said more mistakes happen as the Department of Homeland Security has made an effort to increase the number of deportations in recent years. ICE officials said in July that the number of immigrants deported from Washington, Oregon and Alaska increased by nearly 40 percent during the first nine months of the fiscal year. Deportations through the Criminal Alien Program jumped 26 percent in that time.

“The more the detention system and the more the whole process of enforcement happen, the more we get these situations,” he said, adding that he feels the system is tilted heavily toward deportation. “This case highlights the issues, but it’s not just about this one case. It’s about the problems that exist when you put people in detention and they don’t always have access to legal assistance.”

Today Castillo works as a processor, driver and installer for a tent and awning company in Tacoma. He said he’s learned from his mistakes, and that he’s trying to put the past behind him.

“There’s nothing I can do,” he said. “Even if they admit they were wrong, what is that going to change? They can say, ‘We detained you, we’re sorry. Mistakes happen.’ What good is that going to do? I’m sure I’m not the first person. I’m quite certain I won’t be the last.”

Scott Fontaine: 253-320-4758

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