Here in Texas’s 3rd Congressional District, we pride ourselves on fairness, on standing up for the underdog, and on protecting the freedoms that make our country great. But what happened to Jerce Reyes Barrios—a Venezuelan soccer player and youth coach seeking asylum—forces us to ask if we are still those people.
The case of Jerce—yes, we must call him by his name—is not about Republicans or Democrats. It is about what we know is right and wrong. Let’s not forget that Reyes Barrios didn’t come here to break laws or cause trouble. By all accounts, he came looking for safety, fleeing the brutal Maduro regime that imprisoned and tortured him for speaking out. He entered the U.S. legally, asked for asylum through the proper channels, all in hopes of achieving the same American dream that many in our own community have sought for generations. But instead of finding justice, he was labeled a criminal based on nothing more than a tattoo and a hand gesture in a photo. Before his lawyer or family even knew what was happening, he was deported—not back to Venezuela, but to El Salvador, a country he had no connection to.
Imagine for a moment if this were your neighbor. Imagine if this were your coworker. Imagine if this were you.
We are a district that values personal responsibility, but we also believe in justice. We believe that people should be judged on facts, not assumptions. Yet Reyes Barrios was accused of gang affiliation over a tattoo of a soccer ball with a crown—his tribute to Real Madrid, his favorite team. He was targeted for making a hand sign that millions of us have made at concerts, sports games, and even in family photos. He was not given a chance to make his case, to defend himself in front of his accusers. Instead, he was shipped like a package to a prison known for its brutality and complete disregard for human rights.
As more details emerge, we have to ask ourselves: Is this the America we want to be? Is this what we voted for?
Many in District 3, from Frisco to McKinney to Plano, have deep immigrant roots. Our families came here for opportunity, for freedom, for a fair shot. But when due process gets tossed aside, when policies are so broad they catch the innocent alongside the guilty, we have to ask: Have we gone too far? Have we lost sight of what truly makes us safe?
Jerce Reyes Barrios’s story is more than a headline—it’s a warning. If this can happen to a soccer coach with no criminal record, who else could it happen to? When policies become so rigid that they erase basic fairness, who will be next? If we don’t stop and think now, will we recognize ourselves tomorrow?
