Voluntary Deportation Chaos: Immigrants Want Out, But U.S. Sends Them in Circles

The U.S. government’s new promise: if you want to leave, you can — no handcuffs required. But for many undocumented immigrants desperate to go home, the reality has become a maze of missing paperwork, digital dead ends, and government silence.

Self-Deportation? Not So Fast

Desperate to avoid forced removal, some immigrants are taking matters into their own hands, hoping to use the Biden administration’s CBP Home app—a new digital tool meant to streamline “voluntary departure.” But stories are emerging of confusion, lack of guidance, and bureaucratic hurdles that make leaving the country nearly impossible.

Take Jairo Sequeira, who dreamed of reuniting with his family in Nicaragua. He followed the rules, filled out forms on the CBP Home app, even got an official confirmation email.

But at the airport, Sequeira was barred from boarding because U.S. authorities had confiscated his Nicaraguan passport years before.

The airline wouldn’t budge, and Jairo’s journey home ended at the gate. “I never thought that would happen at the airport,” he said, suitcase still tagged for Managua.

Government officials tout the CBP Home app as a success, but refuse to answer key questions. How many people are using it?

What happens to those who can’t recover vital documents? How do you “leave voluntarily” if you can’t get a plane ticket?

Promises of Help — and a $1,000 “Exit Bonus”

In March, the White House rolled out Project Homecoming, offering undocumented immigrants a choice: depart willingly (with help and even cash) or “face the process.”

Supposedly, those who sign up get government assistance with travel arrangements and documentation, plus a $1,000 bonus upon arrival in their home country. But the fine print—and real help—remains elusive.

Immigrants and advocates say the assistance is theoretical at best.

“They said they’d help, but I still can’t get my documents,” said Sequeira, who’s spent weeks trying to get a new passport from Nicaraguan officials, only to run into more red tape.

A Waiting Game — And Growing Distrust

The process can drag on for months. Titza Escobar, a mother of three from Nicaragua, tried to self-deport after suffering domestic violence in the U.S.

She sought help from police, immigration offices, and a local consulate, but was told she needed documents she never had. It took a network of activists to even start the process, and she’s now waiting on paperwork that could take months to materialize.

Others, like Venezuelan families, face even higher barriers. With no consulates in the U.S., getting a passport—or any ID—is nearly impossible. Immigration lawyers warn that the app is new and untested, and many people are simply too afraid or too distrustful to use it.

“Most who leave, do so quietly—without the app and without help,” says attorney Christina Wilkes.

A System in Limbo

For many, self-deportation was supposed to be an exit ramp. Instead, it’s another bureaucratic maze — with no clear end in sight. WhatsApp groups and online forums are filling up with frustrated voices, all asking the same question: If the government wants us gone, why won’t they let us leave?