Josue’s body was found on April 17th, face down in a river in Honduras—his face brutally beaten and his money gone. He had recently received money from his sister in Houston to help him travel to join me in Magdalena de Kino, Sonora, Mexico, where we all believed he would be much safer. Josue Donaldo Reyes Santa Maria was a good man—a brother to many—and he was only 37 when they took his life.

I met Josue through my work with Building Bridges in Tijuana, where he served as my guide, connecting me with key shelters and organizations. He had come on one of the early caravans from Honduras, and later, we helped his teenage nephew join him on a second caravan.

Josue was a skilled construction worker, communicator, and immigrant rights activist. He had a remarkable ability to connect with others and to help those in need. During his journey, he even gave radio interviews to a community radio station in the U.S., describing the difficulties of the trip and the compassion they received from many communities.

As someone who had been deported at least four times, Josue understood the struggles of undocumented immigrants. He was part of a group of migrants fighting for their rights and helping others survive the journey.

One notable example of Josue’s work was when he helped us locate a heavily tattooed young immigrant who had left a gang and fled to Tijuana. This young man had little chance of asylum due to his gang history and tattoos. We were able to provide him with food, money, and a sleeping bag donated by a church in Claremont, California.

Josue’s story is a tragic reminder of the dangers faced by immigrants. There is a criminal element that monitors money transfer systems and uses the information to rob recipients. Every day, it seems, I hear of immigrants we know being beaten, raped, robbed, and sometimes killed.

While we fight the deportation of immigrants who have a right to a fair asylum hearing, we often do not know what happens to the women, men, and children who are deported. In most cases, we don’t know what has happened to them upon their return.

Family members often hope their loved ones will make it, find work, and soon send desperately needed funds. These deportation tragedies would break the heart of even the worst Christmas Scrooge. What little hope these families had is replaced by a dark black hole of despair. The remittances these workers send back help keep their families alive, prevent others from having to emigrate, and contribute to the economic stability of their countries of origin.

Our current White House immigration policies and actions are beyond inhumane. We must continue to fight this brutal and racist system.

Josue’s memory lives on in our hearts and in our work as we stand up for our rights—and theirs. He is present, still with us in spirit.

Josue of Honduras is dead now, but you aren’t.