Andry José Hernández Romero left Venezuela seeking refuge in the United States from political persecution and discrimination based on his sexual orientation. Instead, he ended up in one of El Salvador's most brutal detention facilities, then eventually fled to Spain to rebuild his life far from the countries that he says have failed him.
The 33-year-old hairstylist arrived in southern Spain in early February and is preparing for his first asylum hearing, hoping that Europe will offer the safety and dignity that eluded him in North America and his homeland. Speaking from Spain, Hernández said he feels secure for the first time in years.
"I can say I feel safe here, this is a place where I can be reborn, heal my mental health, let people know about my abilities as a makeup artist and find the happiness they took away from me more than a year ago," he told the Guardian in a recent video interview.
His ordeal began when the Trump administration deported him and 252 other Venezuelan migrants in March 2025, invoking the Alien Enemies Act of 1798 to sidestep normal legal protections. The group was flown to Cecot, El Salvador's notorious mega-prison for alleged terrorists, despite Hernández having no criminal record and no legitimate gang affiliation.
The detainees were subjected to psychological and physical abuse during months of incommunicado detention. Global attention focused on the group after images surfaced showing the migrants being roughed up, their heads shaved, lined up on the ground with bowed heads. They were accused of ties to the Venezuelan gang Tren de Aragua, a designation Trump used to justify the mass deportation.
Hernández's case officers pointed to crown tattoos above his parents' names as proof of gang membership. He had explained to immigration officials that he fled Venezuela because of persecution linked to his sexual orientation. His attorneys noted he had no criminal history. None of that mattered.
A federal judge ordered the Trump administration to reverse the deportations and provide due process. A court of appeals later blocked the judge from investigating whether the administration had knowingly defied that order. Hernández and the others remained trapped without a clear legal path forward.
After a prisoner swap last summer, Hernández was released and returned to Venezuela. He promised his family he would never leave again. But weeks later, officials from the vice president's office arrived at his family's door seeking to recruit him. He had hidden during the visit. The visit convinced him the government was preparing to surveil him.
When the political situation shifted dramatically in Venezuela months later, Hernández decided to try again. Delcy Rodríguez, the vice president whose office had come looking for him, was sworn in as acting president. Hernández knew he could not remain.
Spain offered a path. Venezuelans don't require visas to enter the country, and those fleeing persecution can request asylum. The Spanish government has welcomed migrants at a time when Europe and the United States are embracing harsher immigration policies. In 2025, Venezuelans filed more asylum requests in Spain than any other nationality. More than 25,000 Venezuelans sought asylum there through late April of this year.
Hernández has relatives in Spain and said he chose the country because of its reputation for openness to immigrants and LGBTQ communities. "I have heard that Spain is a country with open policies towards immigrants and the LGBTQ+ communities and that they don't experience discrimination," he said.
His lawyer, Lindsay Toczylowski of the Immigrant Defenders Law Center, has worked with asylum seekers worldwide for nearly two decades. She told the Guardian that never in her career had she encountered a situation where it was unsafe for a client to seek protection in the United States.
Hernández still carries the psychological weight of his detention. When someone taps him on the shoulder, his mind returns to Cecot. He wants to clear his name but sees no viable legal avenue to do so. A court of appeals has blocked further investigation into whether the Trump administration violated the federal judge's order.
Yet Hernández expressed no bitterness toward America as a whole. "I don't hold a grudge against the US. I can't judge an entire country based on the actions of a group of people like Donald Trump or Kristi Noem, but entering the US at this time doesn't guarantee I will keep my freedom and that is why I will continue to fight my case from Spain," he said.
Toczylowski believes it's legally important for Hernández to clear his name if he hopes to return to the United States someday. From a moral standpoint, she said, "he was accused with absolutely no evidence of being part of something that he has never had anything to do with. No one should be accused of something like that without any option to refute the allegations."
As Hernández waits for his asylum interview, scheduled for late this month, he expressed cautious optimism about his European refuge. "Recovering my happiness will only be possible at the right place with the right people," he said.
Author James Rodriguez: "This is what happens when you invoke a 226-year-old law to sidestep due process and slam innocent people in foreign hellholes based on a tattoo instead of facts."
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