It is with an incredibly heavy heart and very mixed emotions that I share what I saw in Juarez. But not all of what I saw can be shared. In fact very little of what I saw can be shared, especially visually. First and foremost, the safety of the over 17,000 migrants who have been returned to and are thus stranded in Juarez, and who are in incredible danger, must be protected. This must be an absolute priority for all who cross over. Human kidnapping, trafficking, and worse (if there can really even be anything worse) are immense concerns and issues in Juarez. Because of this, the identities of the migrants themselves, those working with them, and information about shelters are not for us to share. But I trust that you are capable to read the words shared by those who go over, and then visualize in your mind the suffering they are trying to portray.

The most important thing to take away from this whole mess is that this is an unnecessary and outright inhumane humanitarian crisis that our government created. We are responsible for the overwhelming suffering happening there and throughout many Mexican cities all along our southern border as well as in the countries of Central America. The history of United States policies in Central America has caused the instability, violence, and poverty from which so many people are fleeing and then arriving at our doorstep asking for us to let them in. It is the very least we can do.

The most urgent issue that needs to be addressed (and there are good, kind, unselfish people giving all they have and more to address the many aspects of this overwhelming crisis) is that it is getting cold, real cold; and many, many people are not prepared for it and are already suffering because of it. We must work with those here to get warm clothing to them so they can get the clothing to the people living in the tents and in the shelters. Tonight it is below freezing and some are still in shorts, tee shirts, and flip flops. I’m not kidding you. Walking among tents flapping in the wind, seeing young children, teenagers, and adults trying to stay warm in any way they could, was incredibly sad to see. I saw three teenage girls wrapped up in a makeshift blanket trying to stay warm. I gave a young girl in a tee shirt, the flannel shirt off my back because her arms were covered in goosebumps. No matter how fast and hard she rubbed her arms up and down, the goosebumps remained. Long johns, flannel shirts, hats, warm coats, sweaters/ sweatshirts, gloves, socks, long pants, blankets are desperately needed… like yesterday.

When I helped at the Expo in Portland this past summer, when the asylum seekers from the Congo and Angola arrived, there was a look of sheer exhaustion on many of the mothers’ faces that stood out to me. I saw that same look on the faces of many mothers today. But I also saw intense sadness and fear. One little boy, maybe 5 years old?, had frostbite on his face from when he was in what is called, the icebox, before being put in detention. We have heard of these icebox cells, hieleras as they are called. We have heard that they are obviously cold and that those who are put in them suffer greatly. What we didn’t realize, or at least I didn’t, was that these cells must be well below freezing for a young child to get frostbite. Who on Earth puts children (and adults) into iceboxes anyway? Who came up with this sick, twisted idea? Steven Miller would be one of my guesses. There were people who share about being given the chance to go back to the US for hearings or meetings on their asylum status but were afraid to because they didn’t want their children to go back into the iceboxes. It appears that is where they are put upon arrival to the United States. There is nothing, absolutely nothing that can justify such torture. Because let’s be clear here, this is state sponsored torture that is designed by, condoned by, and carried out by our government.

And these “bad hombres”, that our racist and ignorant president likes to call them… are incredibly beautiful people. If we, the most powerful nation on the planet, has to build up our border against toddlers, mothers, and others suffering from such desperation, well we are just delusional, confused, and messed up. We are being lied to, big time. Over and over again I found myself wondering where is the media on all this? Where are our big news outlets? Where are our United States representatives? Why aren’t they covering this? I was ashamed to be a white United States citizen as I sat talking with volunteers, shelter directors, nuns, and professors who are struggling 24/7 with this humanitarian crisis that was carefully orchestrated and is now taking place in their city.

At one of several shelters we visited I stood between two women from Central America making burritos. I was much taller than both of them. While I struggled to communicate with them because I don’t know Spanish (which I must remediate this problem!) they smiled and taught me to roll burritos the right way. We laughed and slowly relaxed around each other. Their young daughters were very eager to say hola to the unusual looking white ladies who spoke funny. They were kind and patient and even though they were living in such extreme duress, they had a lovely sense of humor. I can still hear their shy giggles. This short moment of our day will stay with me forever and to be honest it makes me incredibly sad. How did we come to this place and time that we hurt such lovely, innocent people in the name of Homeland Security? The anger I feel at knowing that we have been lied to and manipulated to believe these lies so we can build up our military at the border and our detention complex is at times overwhelming.

We came back to El Paso before dark because it is very dangerous after dark. But those lovely people who are so scared and vulnerable couldn’t leave. They have to stay in their tents or shelters or who know where else, while living in fear of kidnapping and while they struggle with the cold and hunger. Coming back across our border, going through check points, seeing fully armed military was also beyond sad. People who live here say it didn’t use to be this way.

Please call your senators and representatives. Ask them to put an end to MPP (Migrant Protection Protocal which is an ironic name because there isn’t any protection anywhere) and reopen our border. Ask them to end the use of inhumane iceboxes. Ask them if they’ve been to the border lately. My guess is a visit to Juarez and Matamores would be well worth their time.

May those living under such intense stress find humane relief and may we all do something to help them.

Mary

While in detention, a child at the Tornillo camp explained to the teacher that the quetzel bird can’t be caged or it will die. The children too, can’t be caged or their souls will follow the same fate as this bird; and the children knew it. The resplendent quetzel (painted above) is the national bird of Guatamala. It is a beautiful bird that lives in the tropical mountains of Central America. It is the perfect symbol for this moving art exhibit on display at the University of Texas in El Paso. Like the bird, the children can’t be caged. Their hope and love are stronger than the tents they were kept in.

As we moved through the exhibit, the symbolism and art work was explained to us in wonderful detail. We learned that this bird, who needs to be free to live, symbolized the simplicity of what the children, who are seeking acceptance and entry into our country, wish for. The art work, and thus the children who created it, takes your breath away through its beauty, love, and hope. Yet, here they were living in tents away from their families. After months of fleeing unimaginable violence and/or the extreme poverty and starvation due to the effects of climate change, they fled. They fled their homes. I try to imagine what it would take for me to grab my children in the middle of the night and flee my home. I struggle with that thought. These children and families then travel thousands of miles through dangerous and difficult terrain to reach our southern border. They made it. They have done what international laws, which have been in place since the end of WW II, allows them to do. They ask for asylum because they fear for their lives. For many this, arrival at our border, is when their journeys are the most dangerous and difficult. Asking for asylum at the southern border of the richest, most powerful nation in the world, and who proudly boasts openness and religious morality, they are then most likely to be treated with intense inhumanity by our border patrol. There are of course some documented cases of kindness, but not many. The first stop for many after crossing our border are the ice boxes. These cages have many people in them and they are kept very cold. There is only one reason for subjecting traumatized people to this. Jeff Sessions explained it all very clearly to us. The cruelness is intentional and used as a deterrent. They are often kept there for days, overcrowded, sleeping on concrete floors, and with mylar blankets that make loud crackling sounds and which are not warm. Many children are taken from their families and sent to detention camps. That was a common story of the children who were held at Tornillo as well as other camps and facilities around the country. Now things are different and as hard as it is to imagine, they are even worse. Breaking international laws yet again, those seeking asylum are not allowed into our country unless they Mexican nationals and a few other exceptions. But even they are returned to Mexico to wait in extremely dangerous situations until they can plea their cases. We took one of the most inhuman policies in our country’s history, family separation, and made it worse. And then the men in charge openly bragged about it on national TV.

When first approaching the exhibit there is a mock set up of a tented area with bunk beds similar to what was at Tornillo. The intent is to put us in a similar looking setting to help us see what it was like for the children. The children’s paintings can be seen through the opening of the tent. While walking through the tent opening and looking at the art work, something amazing jumps out at you. Most of the paintings and 3-D creations are beautiful and full of love and hope. Some communicate a strong sense of honor. How is it possible that these children who were taken from their families and living in a horrible place after witnessing such trauma and violence, are able to hold onto so much love and hope? It was astonishing and heartbreaking to see.

Thank you Yolanda for a beautiful, moving, and important exhibit.

May we all work to help those children and their families find peace in their new homeland.

Mary

When Bill Clinton won the presidency in 1993, I celebrated. After a decade of republican rule I was relieved to have someone who would work for peace and justice for all. I really believed that. With all my heart, I believed that.

I put Bill and Hillary Clinton on a pedestal. They could do no wrong. I was young, in my early 30’s and naive. When I heard about Rwanda and Bosnia I wondered why he wasn’t doing something to stop the genocides. But remember, I had him on a pedestal so I didn’t question too hard or for too long. I’m ashamed of that now. When I read about NAFTA and the notion of deterrence, I didn’t question. I trusted he knew a lot more than I did. Then there was Monica Lewinsky. I felt it was “mutual” and that it was between Bill and Hillary and Monica. It was none of my business. But remember, I had him on a pedestal so I didn’t question too hard or for too long. I’m ashamed of that now. Now I see the choices that were made and I see the power differences. None of it was Ok.

Fast forward to Barack Obama. I celebrated when he won too. I put him up there on that pedestal as well. Him and his lovely wife and beautiful little daughters. After eight long years of Bush, Cheney, and Rumsfeld, I thought the wars would end. The climate would take center stage. I was wrong again, but I didn’t question too hard or for too long. Remember, I had him on a pedestal. I am ashamed of that now. Obama’s history of drone usage could match that of any war hawk president. His immigration policies were as ruthless and inhumane as any republican out there. But I didn’t question. I told myself there must be a reason. There must be something I didn’t understand. I was no longer so young. Then in my 50’s I should have known better, questioned more, spoke out. But I didn’t. Remember, I put him on a pedestal.

Well now we are in a historic time with the lowest, most immoral, corrupt, racist president in our nation’s history occupying our White House. Now I feel free to question hard and long. I speak up. But if I am to have learned from my decades of mistakes, it is clear that I need to be honest as well. I need to kick away any pedestals I may have people on and I need to look, to question, and to see. I also need to honestly reexamine what I saw and believed before. For if I don’t, I will repeat the same mistakes again.

Looking back on the mistakes of those I idolized doesn’t mean that I categorize them in the same box as the current occupier of the White House. I don’t. There is no way to put anyone in the same category as our current president. It does, however, mean that I see and acknowledge and am open to recognizing any unquestioning loyalty that I may have so it doesn’t happen again. There is not one Democrat running for president sitting up on that unquestioned pedestal. While there are positive aspects in most of them, though not all, I am forcing myself to see them honestly with all their human flaws and possible less than good intentions. History is meant to teach us, but only if we are open to its lessons. And yes, of course anyone is better than the current occupier. That’s a given.

Citizens of our country are having some very difficult conversations right now. As we should. The time demands it of us. It demands us to think critically, to question each other respectfully, and to listen. To deeply listen. We cannot allow ourselves to make the same mistakes again.

This post is dedicated to Carol Anne. Thank you Carol Anne for your years of work, for seeing, for working to ease the suffering of so many, before many of us even allowed ourselves to see it. I can only imagine the sacrifices you and your family have made for your work.

Mary(ellen)

“Are those tents that the children live in?” That was one question from a high school student learning about Homestead and our family separation policies for the first time.

In October we, Central Mainers to End Family Separations and Child Detentions, are hosting an art exhibit at Waterville Brewing Co. The artwork is from the Tornillo child detention camp in Texas. It is now closed. The children painted, drew, created works of art depicting their home countries and life in detention. We are so honored that Waterville was chosen to house this exhibit. As part of the opening reception, a performance by two high school girls will be given. It’s short and it’s powerful. Hannah, one of the actresses and the young high school student I was rehearsing with, authored that above quote.

As Hannah and I read through the script for the first time it became clear to me that she didn’t really understand what she was reading and thus what she had volunteered for. Hannah is an actress and a good one. She is in all the school plays and has been for several years. So after our first run through I asked her if she knew what the skit was about. She kind of knew about some of it (I don’t want to spill the theme!). So we talked about family separations and child detentions occurring along our southern border. She had no idea. She asked where they take the children, so I showed her the above picture. Hannah silently looked at that photo for so long, trying to put the pieces together of what it was representing. Her innocent and curious line of questions was something that every adult hearing of this for the first time should ask. Here’s what I remember from her questioning, “Who goes there? How old are they? How many kids live there? Do they stay there long? Are people nice to them? Do they want to be there? Oh of course not, they must miss their families. Do they? Do they miss their families? Are those tents that they live ?! (realization of what she was witnessing slowly settling in). This is horrible. I can’t believe we are doing this. Why? Why are we doing this? Why are so many people coming here? Where are their families? Where do they take them? When do they get out?” After her questions were done, a few moments of silence then, “Let’s practice some more.”

As we practiced again, with Hannah’s new and deeper understanding, it felt different. I could hear the urgency in Hannah’s voice. “You don’t have to do this,” I told her. She insists she does. When we were done, Hannah helped me set up our corner standing. Her mother showed up and the pride on her mum’s face was obvious. “This is so important,” she said to me. “Thank you for teaching Hannah.”

Mission accomplished. Come. Come see our exhibit and Hannah’s performance on Oct 12 from 4:30-6:30. There will be a silent auction as well. Money will go to 2 organizations doing amazing work along the TX/Mexico border.

Please don’t look away. Raise your voice. Come to our opening.

Mary(ellen)

It has been a month since returning home from the country’s largest, for profit, migrant child detention facility. Homestead, as it is called, sits on the edge of a swamp at the southern tip of Florida. People from across the country have spent months standing in solidarity outside the facility. 

You may wonder why someone would care about what is happening along the edge of a hot Florida swamp. Yet, there have been three Maine women who have made the long journey to Homestead with the goal of seeing what is happening on our watch and with our tax dollars. And what we saw haunts us. 

Back on a snowy winter’s day I began organizing and helping folks who wanted to bear witness get to Homestead. Having communicated with all who signed up, I had a clear understanding of what witnessing entailed. It seemed logical that I would be emotionally prepared to make the journey. Yet, when I pulled up to the iconic gold building with flags flying in front and saw the witness camp, it became clear that I was not in the least bit prepared.  

For three days I battled the intense heat as I set up camp, held signs, talked with people seeking information, and stood on ladders communicating with the detained children on the other side of the fence. The paralyzing sadness while standing on ladders to see children, many of whom were taken from their families, took me by surprise. Witness stood tall with large cardboard hearts and shouted into the camp where the children played soccer. While we waved and yelled, “You are loved,” and “You are not alone,” the boys, mostly teens, waved back and made heart signs with their hands. If you have a teenage boy at home, you know that they don’t make heart signs, but these boys, so far from home and all alone, do. With great gusto, they do. While I have seen this exact scene played out many times on video clips, I hadn’t thought through the deep grief that came from this. As I stood, holding back tears,I found myself wondering, “How did we, as a country, get to this place where we take kids from their families and put them in such awful facilities?” 

Little did I know that the most difficult part was still ahead. As deeply emotional as standing on the ladders was, it was the walk around the perimeter of the camp that took my soul and crushed it into such tiny pieces that I still haven’t been able to put them back together again. While walking with another woman, who is also from Maine and had already been there for weeks, I learned about the many isolated and chilling areas of the camp. But we didn’t anticipate stumbling upon young children’s clothing floating in a pool of muddy rainwater. Speechless, we stopped. Seeing random pieces of children’s clothing so disrespectfully discarded hit us hard. The feelings that overtook us were exactly what one would expect when coming upon something sacred. What we witnessed was deserving of our full attention emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. While neither of us knew the exact history of what we came upon, we knew without speaking that it was the result of deep inhumanity. Overcome with sadness, we silently walked back to camp and continued on. 

This is a photo of the discarded children’s clothing found in an isolated and abandoned parking lot of Homestead.

The central tenet of every major religion revolves around the belief that we should care for those who suffer, especially children. Yet, as a nation, we are not summoning those deeply held religious values to respond to the overwhelming suffering along our southern border. 

Since returning from Homestead I struggle to make sense of how we could be a country who takes children from families and locks them up in such cavernous tents. It became clear to me that this moment in time is of incredible historical significance, one in which we will be remembered and judged. It deserves nothing less than the unified speaking out by each and every one of us. 

Mary(ellen)

The silence from our elected representatives, some of whom I admire, has hit me very hard. We would think that taking kids from their families and putting them in tents or cages as well as losing many in the system would initiate an outcry not only from our citizens but from our representatives as well. Sadly, we would be wrong. And it’s not just here in Maine or the USA. My son says that as he moves through Europe he sees the same thing there. Lots of talk about “crazy Americans and their guns and lack of health care” but silence on immigration and locking people up in subhuman conditions. Guess it hits too close to home for them as well as they also are unwelcoming to those fleeing violence and climate change induced starvation. So when my phone message Friday afternoon started with, “Hello Maryellen, Angus here,” I nearly died.

I admit that I have always had a soft spot for Angus and it’s understandable that folks such as those who have worked hard at turning Bath Iron Works into a post weapons, green jobs creating facility will struggle to read that. But it began 20 or so years ago when laptops came into my middle school science classroom. While fellow teachers were livid about them, I was ecstatic. The possibilities! Laptops changed how I taught science and how kids interacted with science concepts. It was a huge, positive, and wonderful shift. I still hold onto the vision and courage it took to push that transformative initiative forward.

When the phone call first came, I was setting up our signs at our weekly corner spot where a wonderful and dedicated group of us stand to lift our voices against what our government is doing along the southern border. Since I didn’t recognize the number I didn’t answer. When the voice mail ding came and I listened, my heart skipped a beat. Later that evening I returned the call but Angus wasn’t available.

Saturday morning around 9:30 his call came again and we spoke for over 30 minutes. Let me just say that whether we agreed with each other on everything or not (we didn’t), immense credit is due here. After all Angus doesn’t know me. He’s home on vacation. It was a beautiful Saturday morning, perfect beach, mountain, or lake day. And he called me. He personally picked up his cell phone and called me.

The beginning of the call was Angus telling me about his recent trip to the TX border. While I am grateful that he went, I was a little put off by what sounded to me like talking points. He sounded nervous. Talking about taking kids from their families should make us all sound nervous, so I understood. This is happening on his watch after all. There were times I wanted to interrupt and interject my differing perspective, but I listened. And I’m glad I did, because it allowed me to learn where Angus was coming from and why. He is obviously a logical man. He shared about the overwhelming logistical difficulties of so many people crossing our border. I get that. It’s real. What I wanted to hear from him however, was how he saw this as a humanitarian crisis on a grave scale. While he said, repeatedly, that he saw it that way, that wasn’t really what I heard in his voice or in his words, yet. He did mention dealing with where the problem starts, in their home countries. We both agreed on that.

Listening to Angus, I thought it sounded like he thought he was talking to someone who really didn’t know the issue well. It wasn’t until he heard that I had volunteered at the Expo and had gone to Homestead that the phone call shifted and became a conversation between two people. That conversation went on for another 30 minutes. It was relaxed, honest, and productive.

It’s been 24 hours since our call and a few things are staying with me. As I think about the congressional folks, mostly women but not all, who have come back from the border camps it becomes apparent how they often struggle with containing their emotions when they speak about what they saw. Personally, that feels like the correct response. Maybe it’s because I’m a woman who struggles as well to discuss this without crying. Why are so many women able to put themselves and their families in the place of these families so easily? When I think about the children and families we have harmed and continue to harm I feel a deep kick to the gut that is hard to control. It is easy to see my own two children in their place and it instantly becomes overwhelming. If we would not want this for our children then we should not allow this for any children.

As our conversation continued, I told him of several accounts of children who were harmed, intentionally and cruelly, by Border Patrol. Our conversation shifted to the agencies who are carrying out these policies and my deep concern over whether they should be. There is a dedicated woman from Maine who went to help in Texas for a few weeks at Annunciation House. She speaks Spanish. Her blog shared heart wrenching accounts of how poorly people were treated when in Border Patrol detention and how humanely they were treated at the transition house she volunteered in. I shared some of her accounts with him. This Border Patrol cruelty isn’t new information. We see it on the TV and the internet and we hear of it from those who come back after volunteering on the border. We know this to be true. We discussed why we don’t have humanitarian organizations on the border to do this work. Organizations, such as the Red Cross, who successfully and humanely do this type of work world wide. Like Jared Golden, Angus agreed that he had never thought of that and it was something that needed to be looked into and would be a welcomed and much improved change. With that our conversation ventured into the notion of intent. The intent of the policies and those carrying them out in these camps as well as with the ICE raids. We discussed the Expo in Portland, which has housed over 250 asylum seekers who arrived via bus from the southern border. They too have been traumatized by the circumstances that forced them to leave their homes and the journey that followed. The Expo is certainly not a fancy set up. Upon first glance you might even think it was a horrible solution. But if you stay long enough, and listen closely enough, as I did and as Angus said he did, you detect the difference. The people running the Expo care deeply about the well being and safety of the families in their care. That is not true at Border Patrol facilities/camps/tents/cages at the border. At the Expo, volunteers are encouraged to come help. That is not allowed at our facilities at the border. The Expo has hot food prepared that is familiar to the families. That is not true at our facilities at the border. The Expo keeps the families together. We know all to well that this is not true at our facilities at the border. The Expo provides hygiene products that are needed. That is not true at our facilities at the border. The Expo provides translators. When I write “facilities at the border” it is government sponsored and/or paid for facilities that I am referring to, not Catholic Charities, Annunciation House, and the other wonderful programs that are operating with the intent of providing services with humanity and who are doing their very best to help those in such dire need. These facilities/programs are what we should be looking at and magnifying. But then we all know that the core of our policies is cruelty.

When we were preparing to end our conversation I asked Angus to prioritize this issue (and climate change) and to please not look away. He promised me he would. It is important that we all continue to call and contact him and his offices in an effort to hold him to his word. So please, call all your representatives. Write to them. Go to their offices. If they hold coffee houses or town halls while they are in their home states (like they should) go to them as well. Don’t let up. Demand they break their silence and work to end our inhumane immigration policies. And while we are at it, tell them to Abolish Ice. We lived without ICE before 9/11, we can certainly live without their cruelty again.

Mary(ellen)

“My capacity to tune in to the energy of love gives me the words I need when I’m ready to speak up…” Author unknown.

See the people in this photo? There are many photos just like this one. Photos around the country of everyday people, busy people, who all feel so strongly about what our government is doing that we stop for 1 hour each week to stand on a corner with signs. 1 hour, exactly. Then we all say our goodbyes, go back to our lives, and look forward to our hour together the following week. And none of us wonder why we do it. We know why. It’s the right thing to do when we see evil happening around us.

As we were standing today the conversations ranged from discussing the experiences standing on the corner last week while I was at Homestead, the asylum seeking families still at the Expo Center in Portland, our families, visitors who are visiting, recovery from surgery, good places to eat, etc. We sing to the guitar played by one of us. Cars drive by and enthusiastically beep and give thumbs up. When that happens someone blows in a trumpet or rings a cow bell. Every once in a while someone yells something mean or ignorant; we ignore it.

We also discuss how we are at the very least raising awareness and creating solidarity. People stop and ask questions. Some say thank you. Some say they will join us sometime. But today something a tad different happened. A man walked by and took close up and personal photos of us and our signs. He had a baseball cap on. As I watched him, cautiously, I noticed he was struggling. He was obviously emotionally overwhelmed. He walked by and then stood with us. Next time I looked up he was gone. He reminded us that what we do matters. It matters because we are individuals raising our voices because we can. And we should. We are raising our voices for those who can’t. I found myself wondering if he knew someone who couldn’t.

So many times I hear people say, “What can I do?” Here is my answer to you. Make a sign and stand on a corner. If you’re really lucky you can find a friend to stand with you. But if you can’t; stand alone. Others will join you. Your voices will rise up and drown out all the hate that so often takes over the air waves. For that one hour, love and acceptance will win. Imagine all the voices on all the street corners rising up to drown out the hate, the greed, and intolerance. Just do it.

Here’s a photo of me four months ago when I did just that. I made a crappy sign because I just couldn’t stand it anymore and I stood on a corner, alone, week after week. It was rather spiritual actually. It was important to me. It allowed me to give voice to the kids separated from their families and held against their will in inhumane prisons. It allowed me to give voice to their pain.

It didn’t take too long before a friend joined me and now we have a lovely group who dedicate an hour each week standing together on the corner. An older woman once asked me why. For the children. That’s why. But it’s also for me. For my soul. It is one small thing I can do to keep my soul intact.

Hope you join us on a corner near you. Trust me, you will be so glad you did. Click on this blue link to find a corner near you or start your own.

For the children who are still being separated from their families and who are being held in concentration camps all across our country we stand.

Mary(ellen)

“Never underestimate the power of a small group of committed people to change the world. In fact, it is the only thing that ever has!” -Margaret Mead

We learned early Saturday morning that Homestead is empty, the children are gone. This is a direct response to the unending work and dedication of many people working together to shut this place down. From the amazing and determined witnesses, to the congressional representatives who continually worked to get answers and bring attention to this place, to those working around the country in any way they could to shut Homestead. So why are we feeling so confused and sad?

You would think the witnesses around the country would be jumping for joy, yet we are not. While we celebrate the action of closing Homestead child prison down, which really is nothing short of a miracle, we feel, as Joshua Rubin put it, “empty”. Where are the children? Where did they go? Is anyone keeping track? Do their families know where they are? These are the questions that haunt us.

It’s been 5 months since I began helping remotely with shutting Homestead down. It’s been a week since I’ve stood on the ladders at Homestead and held signs there. A week since I’ve stood shoulder to shoulder with some of the most dedicated, brave women I know. And five months of working with some of the most determined, morally focused people I have ever had the privilege to work with. And yet, here I sit on a lovely Sunday morning with my dog at my feet feeling sad. Incredibly sad.

As I spent yesterday morning trying to process the news that the children were gone I found myself instinctively drawn to FaceBook, much as I have for the past five months. Many posts greeted me with messages about celebrating our victory in that the kids were gone from the hellhole the world came to know as Homestead, to much well deserved praise to those who have gone to witness especially those few souls who altered their lives and stood there day in and day out for months. I learned first hand how incredibly difficult a task that is. As I read the following words of the artist who’s art inspired a movement I found my self shaking my head in total agreement and concern for those who are still there bearing witness. Witnessing takes a toll on your soul and they have been there for months. Now, I wonder, how do we support them while they do what so many of us have already done, manage to work their way back into life?

“It is part of the witnessing. It damages you. It haunts you. It possesses you. Homestead is dark and evil. It seeps into your pores. It is intense. It takes a toll.” Alessandra Mondolfi

Our work is not over. Sadly, it’s not. There are still thousands of children, including those who were at Homestead, who are in shelters around the country, many of which we don’t even know where they are. I feel this work will be harder to name as there are so many of them and they are spread all over the country. All part of the plan. Those making money off of this do not want another Homestead, where witnesses and representatives call them out on their evil and bring it into the public’s vision. But we will rest. We will regroup. We will strategize how best to mobilize a country to end family separations, shut every last one of these places down, and reunite the children with their families.

Some stood up once, and sat down.

Some walked a mile, and walked away.

Some stood up twice, then sat down.

“It’s too much,” they cried.

Some walked two miles, then walked away.

“I’ve had it,” they cried,

Some stood and stood and stood.

They were taken for fools,

they were taken for being taken in.

Some walked and walked and walked –

they walked the earth,

they walked the waters,

they walked the air.

“Why do you stand?” they were asked, and

“Why do you walk?”

“Because of the children,” they said, and

“Because of the heart, and

“Because of the bread,”

“Because the cause is

the heart’s beat, and

the children born, and

the risen bread.”

Daniel Berrigan, SJ

Rest my dear friends who braved the south Florida weather and the daily emotional toll of communing with the children of Homestead. We will rise again together, arm in arm, hand in hand, and with heads and banners held high.

Love and utter respect to those who shut Homestead down,

Marye(ellen)

I woke up this morning to Joshua Rubin’s horrifying account of Homestead and the incredibly unsettling photo of fully armed police standing next to girls inside Homestead facility. It made me close my computer feeling that this essay is so meaningless in the big picture of what is still happening at Homestead. But after a cup of coffee I decided, that no, we all need to continue to give voice to our experiences in case it resonates even with just one person. So with that in mind…

Saturday was to be an early day. Meet Debbie W., the morning witness, at 8:00 at the SouthDade train station and drive down with her to Homestead. Debbie witnesses from 8:30-11 every Monday – Friday. She sets up camp, waves to the kids, and documents what happens before the other daily witnesses arrive later in the morning. She shares many of her early morning videos on the Target Tornillo: Witness Homestead FaceBook page. (If you are not following that page, please click on that blue link and follow it. It has the most up to date info you can get on Homestead.) Debbie is a retired principal and she is an invaluable witnesses.

Once we arrived we went about setting up camp and putting up cones to reserve parking spaces for the extra folks coming because of a planned press conference. Debbie has setting up camp down to a science. I noticed that while it was no small task, it was easier than end of the day dismantling because the sun wasn’t around to this side yet. She luckily sets up in the shade but it is still very hot and a very large task. Because of her determination and dedication camp gets set up everyday.

This was a big deal day since the congresswomen in the photo above were coming to tour the camp and then hold a press conference. This was to be Congresswoman Debbie Mucarsel-Powell’s 7th visit to Homestead camp. As you can imagine she is nothing short of a true hero to the witnesses here. After we set up camp, people started arriving. Faces I recognized from Facebook were there to finally meet. It was wonderful meeting Anna, Carrie, and Enrique as well as a few of the Dedicated Democrats who come witness every single Wednesday. But as wonderful and exciting as all this was, the heat was a persistent backdrop and I was once again feeling sick and fixated on making it through the morning and the events that stretched out before us.

As I was putting up signs, a large black SUV pulled up along side of me. I thought it was Homeland Security and wondered what I had done wrong. I was on the right side of the street so what could it be? The passenger side windows both rolled down and there were Debbie and Veronica! Huge smiles on their faces and thanking me profusely for being there. They wanted hugs and to shake my hand. I respectfully declined because I was already gross, covered in sweat, bug dope, sunscreen, mud and who knows what else. But I was tickled pink to be so close to these amazing women who I admire so very much. They pulled in behind the fence and were quickly out of sight. As more people continued to arrive we were all watching to see when Debbie and Veronica would come back out. A bit of a while went by when we saw a white van transporting them and their staff to the other side of the street, the main camp entrance. About an hour and a half later they came back out and held their press conference in full sun. Even in the blaring heat, they looked strong and determined. Yet there was a visible hint of sadness. How could they not be unnerved by what they just witnessed inside? I got shaken up every time I looked across the street at the iconic image of the Homestead sign next to the two flags and the cavernous gold building behind them. Our minds wonder what lurks in such an evil place. Yet many others come and go looking like nothing is happening. Are they numb from all their entries? Are they shut down to what this place houses, children taken from their families? Or is it the response of greed that allows them to not see and feel? We may never know.

Rather than describe the press conference, you can watch it here (Debbie) and here (Veronica) and I strongly recommend that you do, especially if you are unfamiliar with these women and the work they do. They lay out exactly what is happening. I’ve watched it twice already and find I pick up something new each time. I happen to be behind the women as they speak, in the back with the pink baseball cap and the umbrella. Initially we were under the shade of a large tree when someone asked us to go stand behind the congresswomen. Never waste a photo op I guess. No signs were allowed though. As I stood there a young man come up next to me and said numerous times, “God bless you for this umbrella; thank you.” He had on a long, well pressed white shirt and long pants. I believe he was part of the crew with Debbie. I was happy to provide a little bit of relief to someone else who appeared to be struggling as much as I was.

I did not make it through the entire press conference. I sadly retreated to the lovely tree in camp that serves as a memorial for the children who have died in border patrol custody. Charlie set it up and it’s quite moving. I sat there with ice on my head, literally, and watched from afar. It was there that I met a local woman, Jennifer. We talked about witnessing and how important it is to her to come when she can. She is a mom and comes on weekends. She said the heat affects her too and she needed to leave after the press conference but that she would come back at 4:30 to help take down camp. Bless her soul.

After the conference was over and some camp tidying up I said my goodbyes and Debbie and I left. Debbie’s shift was over and she was my ride. Everyone was hot and spent and it was very anticlimactic. Something that was quite obvious was that one minute there were so many people there and the next everyone was gone and we had left Tina there to continue on. Thank you Enrique for staying with Tina. I felt sad and guilty that we were leaving. Is this what happens after all big events? The most dedicated of witnesses are left to deal with the aftermath, alone? And yet, we too left. With heavy hearts, Debbie and I stopped to sit in some AC for a while and to get some lunch. I had the best rice and beans I’ve ever had even though it was a fast food place. I guess I was hungry and incredibly sad. This trip had not gone as expected. Not the least bit.

Once Debbie dropped me back off at the train station it took quite a while for a train to arrive. I guess being that it was Saturday they don’t run as often. On that train ride back to Miami I tried to untangle the emotions I felt and was rather unsuccessful. I finally gave in to the tears. I spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to cool my body down and forgive myself for not doing the things I came to do such as stand on the ladders more, give Tina and Charlie some time off, take better care of camp, and take Tina and Charlie out to dinner and have an icy cold drink with them. Life often does not go the way we plan.

As I sit here, 1,500 miles away writing this I am overcome with thoughts of Homestead. I had read about that. About how “reentry” into our worlds was difficult. It’s all true. How do we gracefully leave all that behind and not continue to be there helping? If anyone has suggestions I will gladly take them.

Thank you beautiful witnesses who alter your lives to stand up for and with the kids day in and day out. You are my heroes.

Mary(ellen)

Final reflections coming tomorrow.

Day 2 – I didn’t ask for a ride. I figured that since I coordinate the arrival of witnesses I should figure out how to do it without a car. I should experience public transportation so I could wisely advise others how to do the same. I also didn’t want to ask for help from people stretched so thin and who struggle to function while spending so much of their days in an unhealthy environment. So I took public transit from Miami to Homestead.

It began with an Uber. $15 later it was a transfer to a train that went well enough. $5.75 later it was onto something unfamiliar, a Metro bus. A man told me I needed bus #38 so that’s what I boarded with my pass. My pass didn’t work and the driver took off without me. 30 minutes and a new ticket later I boarded another bus #38. 3 hours later I was dropped off somewhere in Homestead. But before I was dropped off, I asked the driver which stop I get off for the child detention camp. “Child detention camp?” she asked. She had never heard of it. Sigh. So as I walked around a while trying to orient myself I thought, “No problem, I’ll just order an Uber. “No Ubers in your area,” was what my phone told me. In total defeat, I contacted Witness Camp and a half hour later a very tired and hot Tina came and got me.We both looked and felt like we had seen better days. We grabbed the mail and then a lunch and headed to camp. Lesson learned, public transportation is not how one gets to Homestead. Rent a car.

My second day in Homestead was when I learned first hand the power of south Florida heat. I wanted to be a good witness. I really did. I didn’t want to be a tourist, someone who comes and takes a few selfies on the ladders and then heads out. While that has its purpose for those who do that, such as learning about Homestead first hand, I wanted more. I feel that many who come to witness are surprisingly overwhelmed with the emotions that come from this place. By being here, even if only for a very short time, they do learn what is happening there and thus are able to educate others, and that is very good and very important. But as someone who has been working with witnesses remotely for months, I wanted to be more. I wanted to help. But within a short time of my arrival I had a headache and my stomach was yelling obscenities at me. I tried my best but I barely remember standing on the ladders, helping with camp, taking photos, and taking camp down. What I do remember was the heat and how my body angrily and defiantly revolted.

There is something that happened though that I do remember and need to record here. As I was holding a sign on the corner (I do love holding signs on corners) a car pulled up. I don’t remember what kind. I was hot. When the man rolled down the window I saw it was an older man with a Latin accent. He said, “You know that is closed down and empty right?” He pointed to the 17 year old area. I told him I did not know that and how did he? He informed me that he use to work there, a few years ago. So he knows things. He said, “They are gone. And not to their families. They have been sent to other facilities because that is what they do.” He continued to explain that when the kids’ stays gets too long and when people might begin to notice, they get shuffled to another place and kids from other places get shuffled here. He asked if I knew that. I told him I did not know that. He said that they are closing this place down. So I asked about all the employees, that there are still so many and some look like new hires. He said that is part of their game. When they are closing a place down they don’t want employees to know or else they would all quit at the same time and then what would they do. So they hire like 100 new people and fire 50. So it looks like it’s all still going strong. But eventually they fire everyone when the last kids are gone. Then he assured me that the guards treat the kids well. I pray to god he is telling the truth about that. He told me their food is not good though. They serve them tacos, rice, beans three times a day. He said that is Mexican food and the kids are not Mexican, that they are from Central America and that is different. He informed me that they may look Mexican to people like me but that they are not. He said their clothes are not good either, especially their shoes. Nothing of good quality. Cheap. Falls apart easily. With that, a bus full of workers pulled up behind him and he said he had to go and he drove away. I did not get his name or contact information. It was hot, really hot, and my body was shutting down big time. I also worried that if I seemed too interested or asked too many questions he would stop talking. I reported this to Charlie and the other witnesses. We have passed this information on to a few others who may be able to research it more.

A little while later it was time to take down camp. Oh my freaking word. Let me just say this. If you are planning on witnessing at Homestead, of course please take care of yourself. Drink a ton of water and find AC during the afternoon hours. But also, for the love of god, come back at 4:30 and help Tina or Charlie take down camp. It was an overwhelming task even for the two of us. It was incredibly hot. We were exhausted. The sun was blaring down on us. I don’t know how anyone does it alone. I really don’t.

That’s when one of the biggest regrets of my witnessing happened. The girls. The girls were out. “Let’s go see the girls,” Tina said. I know from communicating with her that this is always a highlight for her because it happens so seldom. I thought I was going to be sick and told her I couldn’t. And we left. Without seeing the girls. Without showing our love and support to the girls. I am so freaking sorry about that.

Tina drove me back to the train in her beat up car which sounded like it was on its last legs. 1/2 way there the AC broke. She dropped me off and with that, back to my daughter’s I went. Defeated. Truly and utterly defeated, and worried about Tina making it back to Homestead.

When I got to my daughter’s, I threw up, took a cool shower, and threw up again. She gave me a cold mint julep and I wondered, “How on Earth will I make it through another day?” Yet my daughter assured me that, “Tomorrow will be another day.” Imagine that. A daughter encouraging her mum. She understood how important this was to me. Please understand that my daughter has been through hell and back, more than once. While I do not have her permission to share her story I want you to understand that. She has been my number one hero for years. And here, in her home in the heat of south Florida, she did what she could do. She took care of her defeated, witness mum. She fed me. She cleaned up after me. She made my bed. Like all of us, she did what she could and I appreciated it more than anything. But as much as she did, to make her mum ok again, with extreme dread I thought about, the heat.

Witnessing is hard. But it’s important. It is beyond important. It is what we need to do to see, to truly see the harm our government is causing. The pain we are inflicting on scared, traumatized people. And Homestead is just the tip of this massive inhumane iceberg.

So please go to witness at Homestead. If you can’t, consider how you can support those who do. My number one suggestion would be to donate to help the witnesses who are on the ground everyday. They need your help. Please donate what you can to help them… here. Or go to their Amazon wish list and purchase something from their list that will make their life just a tad bit easier. Send Amazon Wish List item to: Charlie and Tina, 3020 41st Terrace #116, Homestead FL 33033. (For either of those donations, just click on the blue words and you’ll be directed to the appropriate links.) Then call your congressional representatives. Demand they go to Homestead. Ask them what they are doing about the ratcheted up crimes against humanity that are happening in our country under their watch.

“Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone. Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone. . . ” Maya Angelou

Thank you again to all who bear witness here or other places that put children who we’ve taken from their families in the dishonest and racist name of national security.

Day three reflection coming soon.

Mary(ellen)