White and U.S.-born, Rodriguez got her surname several years ago when she married a Honduran who is now a legal permanent U.S. resident. This past year, she has watched as several members of her extended family have tried to immigrate to the U.S., only to be discouraged by government practices that are reflected in the legal papers given to them. Rodriguez has shared the documents with The Intercept .

With the so-called Migrant Protection Protocols program, or MPP, expanding along the southern border and trapping more U.S. asylum-seekers in dangerous Mexican cities, violations of due process are intensifying in traditional courts — and in newly built tents that physically separate immigrants from the judges who hear their cases.

Under MPP, U.S. officials send asylum-seekers back into Mexico instead of allowing them to stay in the U.S. while they develop their claims. Almost 50,000 people have been put into the program since early this year, and the number is expected to double in the next several months. “We’re getting more integrity into the system to deter those who don’t have valid claims from making the journey,” Acting Secretary of Homeland Security Kevin McAleenan said recently.

But an unknown number of people in MPP do have valid cases, yet are being discouraged from pursuing asylum, and they are being pressured to return to the dangers that they fled. Baja California’s federal delegate has said that about half the Central American migrants who’ve been returned to Tijuana and Mexicali have decided to go back to their home countries.

One of Rodriguez’s relatives worked in the government of a city in Honduras that has lately been rocked by political protest marches. Earlier this year, the man told The Intercept, protesters sacked his father’s house and then said they were coming for him. He filed a complaint, but the police offered no protection. So he fled with his wife and infant daughter in June. They crossed the Rio Grande near McAllen, Texas, called relatives to say they were safe, and immediately turned themselves over to Border Patrol agents.

Then they disappeared. Days passed, and no one in Honduras heard from them. In Fort Worth, neither did Rodriguez. After several days, the family turned up 1,500 miles away in San Diego, where they were flown by Customs and Border Protection. Then, under the auspices of the MPP, they were dumped into Tijuana.

This happened in early July, when MPP was not operating systematically in South Texas but was well established in California. Immigration rights advocates told The Intercept that they’ve heard of immigrants being transferred from Arizona to California for MPP, but not from as far away as South Texas. The family told The Intercept that they had experienced a mass transfer, with more than 200 immigrants on the plane with them.

The family was given legal documents called “notices to appear,” or NTAs, instructing them to show up in seven weeks at a court hearing in San Diego. Such documents are legally required to list an immigrant’s physical address so that an immigration court can send notifications as the case progresses. But the family’s NTAs list their address as “Facebook.”

Listing an internet platform as an address was perhaps an acknowledgment of where the family’s real address would be once they got to Tijuana: the street. Shelters in that city were full when they arrived, and so the father, mother, and 2-year-old immediately became homeless. They had no money or food, and the little girl got sick. At the end of their rope, the parents asked relatives for bus fare to leave Mexico. When their MPP court date came up in late August, they missed it because they were back in Honduras.

Two more of Rodriguez’s cousins, a man and his 6-year-old son, left Honduras this summer, ended up enrolled in MPP, and were kicked back across the border to the Mexican city Nuevo Laredo, across from Laredo, Texas. The State Department advises Americans against traveling to Nuevo Laredo, in the Mexican state of Tamaulipas, because it is considered very dangerous. The area is even riskier for migrants. The media has reported several instances of asylum-seekers seized from buses and kidnapped in Nuevo Laredo.

When the man’s wife, who was still in Honduras, found out that her husband and child were in Nuevo Laredo, she called Rodriguez, crying and begging for help. Rodriguez drove hundreds of miles south from Fort Worth to find her cousins.

In Laredo, she made her way to a Border Patrol station. “I’m concerned about my family maybe being dropped off on the street in Nuevo Laredo,” she told an officer. He was tall and friendly. “I’m telling you what I would tell my daughters,” Rodriguez remembered the agent saying. “Do not go there.” Terrified, Rodriguez steered her car into Nuevo Laredo and found her cousins in a Mexican government office, quaking with fear. She bought them plane and bus tickets back to Honduras. They abandoned their asylum claim.

After they left, Rodriguez looked at their NTAs. “350 Francisco Madero Street,” the address said, in Spanish. That is the location of a shelter in Nuevo Laredo. The father and child knew nothing about the place and had never been there.

A third family related to Rodriguez is from San Pedro Sula, the most violent city in Honduras and one of the 50 most violent cities in the world. The family, including a teenaged son, owned a clothing store there but were being extorted by the MS-13 gang. The gang was demanding $40 per week — almost half the family’s net earnings — and said that if they didn’t pay, they would be killed. MS-13 also wanted to recruit the boy, a middle school student.

The father filed a police complaint, and the family fled the country. They reached the U.S. in late August. According to CBP rules, they were supposed to be asked if they feared going back to their country. But the agents “never gave me a chance,” the father said.

Customs and Border Protection did not respond to questions for this article.