Postville, Iowa – When Gabriel Calicio was released from prison, five months after being arrested on immigration charges at the nation’s largest kosher slaughterhouse, his only possession was the prison-issued blue jumpsuit he was wearing.

Calicio, 23, was one of 389 people arrested during an immigration raid at the Agriprocessors slaughterhouse here six months ago. He was one of 270 of those workers who were put in jail for five months, charged with stealing the Social Security numbers used to acquire their jobs at the kosher meat plant. And he was one of 18 imprisoned workers who were released on probation from a federal courthouse in Cedar Rapids on October 14.

A judge ordered the 18 former workers to stay in America rather than be deported, so that they could testify against former supervisors at Agriprocessors. The Agriprocessors plant in Postville has shut down its operations while filing for bankruptcy, but for Calicio and the others who were released, a new ordeal has begun. During the past six months, they have endured an unusual and harrowing journey through the United States immigration enforcement system. And the journey is not over yet.

When the workers were released in Cedar Rapids, they had nothing more than what they were arrested with on the day of the raid. In order to travel from the courthouse in Cedar Rapids to Postville, where they were assigned to live until they testify, they had to rely on rides from volunteers at St. Bridget’s Catholic Church in Postville. The judge who ordered the workers to testify, upon request of the local United States attorney, provided no financial support for them, so St. Bridget’s has been left with the job of feeding and housing them.

Bob Teig, a spokesman for the U.S. attorney’s office in northern Iowa, which is responsible for these cases, acknowledged that the men were released with an understanding that the church would take care of them, but he declined to comment on their circumstances.

Six of the men live in a two-bedroom apartment on the first floor of a building on Lawler Street, Postville’s main drag, where the church covers the rent. They spend most of their days shuttling between their apartment and St. Bridget’s, waiting to be called to testify in a case about which they have been given little information.

“We don’t know the truth right now – but they say we have to testify against someone,” said Jonas Ordonez, a 31-year-old Guatemalan whose hair was tousled and who had an anxious, attentive look on his face when he spoke with the Forward. “We just wait.”

As the six men sat around their sparsely furnished apartment on a recent Sunday night, they spoke publicly for the first time about their experiences over the past six months, and their fears of what is still to come.

Full Story: http://www.forward.com/articles/14565/