The first time Junior Avellaneda was able to see his father after nearly a month of silence behind bars, the man whom Lowndes County Jail staff wheeled into the visitation room no longer resembled the lively 68-year-old who, just weeks earlier, would rise at dawn to get coffee at the local gas station and greet friends and neighbors.
“He was an empty shell,” Junior recalls. “He couldn’t even lift the phone to hear me.”
That visit took place on May 4. Twenty-four hours later, Abelardo “Lalo” Avellaneda-Delgado was dead.
From that moment on, a spiral of unanswered questions, unacknowledged negligence, and official documents contradicting witness accounts and medical reports began to unfold: something doesn’t add up in the death of this elderly, non-violent man who died during an ICE transfer in Georgia.
Arrested on April 9 for an alleged probation violation, Avellaneda-Delgado entered Lowndes County Jail in what his family described as good condition for his age. According to official records, he had no known major medical problems. Yet, by late April, family members were struggling to get updates or permission to visit.
Only on May 4 did Junior finally see his father. His condition was so alarming that Junior left the jail in tears and immediately called his sister Nayely. The next day, Nayely went to the jail herself, demanding to see her father and asking if he was receiving proper care. Jail staff denied both requests, citing vague privacy rules.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the family, Lalo was handed over to ICE custody and placed in a van bound for the Stewart Detention Center, operated by CoreCivic, one of the largest private immigration detention contractors in the country.
On May 5 at 12:35 p.m., a 911 call from TransCor—a CoreCivic subsidiary responsible for the transport—reported that one of the five detainees in the van was unresponsive. “He’s not responding, not opening his eyes, not looking at us,” Captain Jamaya West told the dispatcher.
At 12:49 p.m., paramedics arrived. They found Avellaneda-Delgado sitting upright against the van wall, cold, stiff, with no pulse or breath. Medics moved him to the center of the vehicle to attempt CPR, but it was immediately clear he had been dead for some time. His skin color, rigidity, and fixed, dilated pupils confirmed it.
According to doctors consulted by the Atlanta Community Press Collective, these signs indicate Avellaneda-Delgado died well before the 911 call. “It takes about 30-45 minutes for a body to become cold to the touch,” explains forensic pathologist Kris Sperry. So the official version that he died during the ride is highly unlikely. His position—seated upright with his back against the van—also suggests no resuscitation was ever attempted.
Perhaps the most troubling detail is this: according to Webster County EMS records, Avellaneda-Delgado’s blood pressure was documented at 226/57, a reading classified as a hypertensive crisis — potentially life-threatening.
Coroner Steven Hubbard is unequivocal: “If that blood pressure was known before the transfer, he should never have been put on a van. He should have been taken to a hospital.”
Yet neither jail staff nor TransCor mentioned this fact. Both claimed the man was fit to travel. Lowndes County Jail insists Avellaneda-Delgado was in the medical unit just as a precaution because of his age. His family doesn’t buy it. “It’s a lie,” says Nayely. “If he had been in good health, they would have let me in. My brother wouldn’t have called me crying.”
Nearly two months after his death, no state or federal agency has formally requested the medical records from Lowndes County Jail, according to Captain Jason Clifton. Neither ICE, the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, nor CoreCivic has released a complete or transparent statement.
On May 17, the family buried Lalo in Valdosta. Neither before nor since have they received full official documentation, a clear medical report, or any visible sign of a formal investigation.
During a congressional hearing just days after Lalo’s death, then-acting ICE director Todd Lyons declared: “We have nothing to hide. We will be fully transparent.” Yet the official ICE death report does not include a cause of death or any medical detail.
The Avellaneda-Delgado case highlights the fragility of the U.S. immigration detention system, especially facilities run by private companies under federal contracts. To this day, ICE lacks a standardized medical oversight system. Transport companies like TransCor face no systematic external monitoring, and detainees’ families often have no timely access to their loved ones’ health information.
Moreover, under the Trump administration and continuing under Biden amid ramped-up arrests, deaths in ICE custody have increased. Lalo’s death is the first known in more than a decade to occur during a transfer, but it may not be the last.
“We want justice. We want to know what really happened to him,” says Sammy Avellaneda, Lalo’s eldest son.
Meanwhile, the family continues to share photos of Lalo smiling next to roadside animal statues in rural Georgia, or dancing at family parties. “He was a simple, generous man,” Junior says. “He taught us respect. He taught us to be present. He was a good father.”
In the absence of answers, their fight for the truth goes on. Because Lalo is not just a victim. He is the face of a system that failed to protect the people in its care.
