Brian and Anthony got married at an ICE facility in Folkston. Now they’re fighting for Brian’s release

On a Saturday morning in late April, Anthony Tantillo married the love of his life. Anthony had become engaged to Brian on Valentine’s Day a little over a year before, following two years of dating. They started saving money for a wedding that, they imagined, they’d hold on a beach, where they could invite family and friends.

The ceremony didn’t turn out as they’d hoped. Instead, Anthony walked through the doors of Folkston ICE Processing Center, an immigrant detention facility in South Georgia, wearing khakis and a polo shirt. Rather than taking off his shoes to walk on sand, he took off his shoes, emptied his pockets, and walked through a metal detector, then met his soon-to-be husband in the visitation room. Anthony brought along an Episcopal priest, who officiated the ceremony, and a lawyer who served as a witness. In the same room were nine other detainees being visited by their loved ones, plus a guard. 

Born in Mexico but raised in Georgia, Brian lived in the country under the protection of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA—an Obama-era policy that prevents the deportation of undocumented people brought to the U.S. as children by their parents. DACA protections, initially granted for two years, can be renewed in two-year increments, but Brian’s had expired about two years ago, Anthony said, leaving him in the country without legal status. 

He had also been on probation related to a misdemeanor charge for drug possession—less than a gram of an unknown drug. Though Brian pleaded guilty to the charge, Anthony said the drugs weren’t his (that’s why, Anthony said, he didn’t know what kind of drugs they were): Brian was working as a Lyft driver and thinks somebody must have left them in his car. In any event, authorities found the drugs after Brian was pulled over a traffic stop, and he had a criminal record as a result. Brian was attending probation appointments regarding his misdemeanor and “doing great,” Anthony said. 

But on February 19, just a year after the couple became engaged, officials came to their house in North Augusta, South Carolina, looking for Brian. Anthony was cleaning the bathroom and realized something was off; by the time he walked out, Brian was already in handcuffs. 

Since taking office in January following a campaign that promised mass deportations, President Donald Trump has prioritized arresting undocumented immigrants with criminal records—though plenty of people without criminal records, legal permanent residents, and even U.S. citizens have been detained by immigration officials. 

On the first visit that Anthony and Brian had at Folkston, the couple could barely speak, Anthony said: “Mostly crying. Our first conversation, we were really upset, very emotional, so it was hard for us to talk about anything.”

Now that they are married, Anthony is able to file a petition for a green card on behalf of Brian. As part of the process, which can take several months, authorities will review their application and determine whether the marriage is legitimate, and then approve or deny the application. For now, Brian’s future in the U.S. is uncertain.

Previously, if an immigrant whom the federal government was trying to remove from the country also had a pending green card application, the judge in charge of the removal might halt those proceedings—because the approval of the green card would render them moot. “Under the Trump administration, however, many immigration judges no longer grant those administrative closures,” says Steve Yale-Loehr, a retired immigration law professor who taught at Cornell University. “So Brian still could be removed, even though he is married to a U.S. citizen.”

Brian should not be deported immediately unless he has gone through a removal hearing overseen by an immigration judge, Yale-Loehr said, where it will be determined if he’s deportable or if he has an avenue for relief to stay in the country. Brian’s removal hearing is scheduled for the end of May, Anthony said.  

Another immigration attorney 285 South spoke with said that their marriage gives the couple a better chance that Brian will be able to stay in the U.S.—or gives them a pathway toward Brian coming back to the country even if he is deported, since he’s now married to a U.S. citizen. But as the couple navigates the legal hurdles of immigration detention, they are also grappling with the dynamics of being newlywed but separated. 

A bittersweet moment 

“My beloved speaks and says to me: Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away,” the priest read at the ceremony—a passage from the biblical Song of Solomon that Anthony had chosen. The couple exchanged their vows, promising to take care of each other in sickness and in health. The ceremony lasted less than ten minutes; afterward, Anthony, Brian, the priest, and the witness spent the rest of the hour-long visitation period just hanging out in the visitor’s room.

They haven’t seen each other since that day though; the day after the wedding, when Anthony returned to visit his now husband, he was informed that his visitation rights had been removed—officials at the detention center accused him of taking contraband into the facility, an allegation that Anthony denies. He told 285 South he was informed verbally, so he doesn’t know what contraband officials are referring to. Brian was placed in solitary confinement, Anthony said. 285 South reached out to ICE and GEO Group for comment, the private company that operates the detention center, but hadn’t received a response at time of publication. 

Apart from the emotional stress, this spring Anthony has spent eight hours every weekend driving to and from Folkston to visit Brian. Between buying gas, paying to stay in a hotel, and putting money on Brian’s commissary account—so his husband can make calls and buy amenities like shampoo—Anthony estimates that he spends about $800 a month. 

Compounding their expenses, the couple also retained an immigration attorney and are trying to get Brian out on bond. Bond requires a financial commitment by a sponsor, who puts money up to ensure that the detainee will appear at future court hearings after being released from detention. Anthony and his attorney are having a hard time finding a sponsor to serve as guarantor for the bond—Anthony doesn’t make enough money, and a family member recently backed out.

In April, Anthony launched a GoFundMe campaign to help manage the costs, pay for Brian’s green card application, and cover legal expenses. But so far he’s only raised a few hundred dollars out of a $5,000 goal. With a job as a cashier that pays $15 an hour and a side gig as a pizza delivery driver that pays even less, Anthony’s resources are stretched. 

Brian is a humble, caring person, Anthony says, who’s “ready to get out”—eager to reunite not just with his new husband but with a nine-year-old son from a previous marriage whom he’s accustomed to visiting every two weeks. “As soon as he gets home, I’m praying we’re going to have a formal, actual ceremony,” Anthony said. They’re still hoping for a beach wedding.