Refugees – By Another Way

Stop the Inhumanity!

Long before I went to the border last fall, the conditions and treatment of refugees there has been a deep concern to me. Near the end of last week, emails arrived at work saying there would be a gathering of Catholic leaders in Washington DC, to demand an end to the detention of children and separation of families on the border. “Stop the Inhumanity!” I agreed to go but did not agree be arrested in an as yet undefined act of civil disobedience.

Sunday, I was at mass and hoping that the homilist would tie the gospel story of the Good Samaritan into the situation on the border with Trump’s criminal detention of migrants and their children, and his immoral policies of separating families. Ours is a multi-cultural parish with a growing number of Latinex members.

We have a new pastor in our Church of St. Anastasia and I was hoping that that would mean more homilies that were adapted to the news of the day, rather than cookie cutter pieces of piety that can be rolled out word for word every three years as the lectionary cycles. The new pastor who was “in the house,” did not say the Mass, nor did the homily fall to the melancholy Sunday assistant who is a chaplain at the local Catholic hospital. It was a deacon who preached. I’m sure he felt he was contemporary in that he celebrated his time with the parish youth who had just returned from a two-week service trip to low-income families and churches (our neighbors in his homily) in the Plaatsburg, NY region.

But there was no connection made between the Good Samaritan and the families on the border. It is not the first time my hopes for a meaningful, contemporary homily were dashed. But God is not limited to the homily to get a message across.

During the Offertory, the music ministry led us in singing “Day of Peace” by Janet Sullivan Whitaker. I had never heard song, a favorite on my playlists, sung in any parish liturgy. The lyrics of the third verse made the connection that the homilist did not. The verse and refrain reads as follows:

I dream of a night when all the children
Slumber safe warm and fed
and rise to a day of possibility
Each one loved, each one free
Refrain:
I know there will be a day of peace
For this, let us all work and pray.

I was nearly brought to tears. Instead, I resolved at that moment to not only go to the day of action in Washington but I would also risk arrest.

Leaving for Washington DC

I left for DC Wednesday afternoon before the action was to take place. I was going to stay with my son and his wife who live in DC, giving me a chance to spend a little time with my 2-1/2-year old grandson, Patrick. I met my son on the Metro after work so we could ride home together. It was great timing …we were underground and missed the fast-moving downpour that hit when we were below ground. We arrived at their home to find Patrick, who has never been caged at the border, waiting for us outside as the rain was evaporating quickly.

We had a nice dinner, read some books together, and prepared for Patrick’s bed-time. I answered some his parent’s questions about the next day’s action but as an early riser, I am not awake much beyond the 2-1/2-year old’s bedtime. When I got to my bed, I saw that Patrick had put one of his stuffed toys in my bed and was told he did it “so I would not feel lonely at night.”

If only the president has as much compassion as a 2 year old.

My son and I traveled together in the morning to Union Station. He had a business day trip to Philly. I had some coffee at the station then walked up to the Lutheran Church of the Reformation where we Catholics who were willing to risk arrest would gather for some introductions and last-minute instructions. At the sign-in table I met Eli McCarthy, one of the day’s leaders. I had not met Eli before, but knew of his work with the Catholic Nonviolence Initiative just after their first meeting at the Vatican in 2016. Then I met a fellow Associate of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace, Denny Duffell, a deacon from Seattle and his son John. Denny was in town after a trip through New England with some family members. He was ending his trip in DC to attend a meeting with Pax Christi to discuss bringing the UN nuclear ban treaty more into the consciousness of Americans. We chatted a while then split up to meet some new people. I recognized and spoke briefly with two sisters with whom I would pray at the Isaiah wall outside the UN while the negotiations were going on for the Nuclear ban treaty in 2017. There were others whom I recognized but did not have chance to meet like Fr. Joe Nangle, OFM of the DC Assisi community. I’d read at least one of his books years ago. As we were preparing to leave for the press conference and rally outside of congress, we were Joined by Maria Biancheri of Catholic Charities of the Archdiocese of Newark who was our parish liaison when we were resetting a refugee family from Afghanistan.

It seemed that none of us were new to this work. Yet, when asked how many were risking arrest for the first time most hands went up. I had risked arrest before, during the Obama administration over the treatment of Guantanamo detainees, but was not arrested at that time.

We were brothers and sisters in faith. We had not just come together just seeking publicity. This was an attempt to use our powerlessness as citizens to get the out-of-control President to treat the migrant children with some measure of human respect. Hopefully as our action emerged it might cause some others to pay more attention to the inhumanity of detaining children in cages and tearing them away from their parents and guardians. We explore deeper powerlessness by getting arrested in DC.

We left the church to walk to the Capitol lawn.

The crowd continually grew as we gathered outside on the lawn of the Capitol. We had several speakers, the most moving was a mother from El Salvador, who spoke holding her 17-month old daughter about the fears of being at the border and of being separated. She was hoping to find sanctuary and the chance to stay in the U.S. with her child. Other powerful words were delivered by Sr. Carol Zinn, SSJ, executive director of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, with her resounding call for the time to STOP the inhumanity with which our central American brothers and sisters and children are treated at the borders.

It was very, very hot in the sun. In the heat I was nursing the contents of my water bottle so I would have some water left until we got to the Russell building. I was not sure they would allow water in the bottle, or the bottle itself into the building. When it came time to go into the Russell Office building to do the civil disobedience we were hoping for a much cooler setting.

Those not risking arrest gathered first, then we who would risk arrest were led into the rotunda two by two wearing signs with the names and faces of the children who had died on our border in custody of the CBP and ICE. We who were on the floor of the rotunda could look up to see the arches on the floor above filled with people watching, including faces we recognized. The support was incredible. After singing a few rounds of “We shall not be moved,” we started praying the rosary using words from migrant interviews as new “sorrowful mysteries” on which to meditate as we prayed the Hail Mary’s.

As we prayed, from the very first, my mouth became extraordinarily dry but I continued in the vocal prayer regardless.

When we started the Capitol Police, using the bullhorn, began the first of their three warnings. After the third warning to “leave or be arrested” the arrests started. Many others were removed before they got to me. A police officer approached with the plastic cuffs, he looked me in the eye and asked if I understood that if I did not leave immediately, he would arrest me. I nodded as I continued praying aloud. A green wristband was applied by the officer meaning I could no longer leave the room on my own. Later, another officer returned to cuff me and accompany me out to the street to the waiting Capitol Police buses.

On the street, in the sun again, we were patted down fairly aggressively. They took my belt, my fitbit, the water bottle, my hat, two photos of children who had died in CBP custody and anything else I had in my pockets. I was allowed to keep my ID, a metro card and enough money to pay the fine.

Having lost several pounds doing yard work in the heat, gravity was winning on the fight to keep my unbelted trousers above my hips. I had been chatting with the officer assigned to me who had come to DC from Ohio. He never took his hand off my arm, which seemed to be procedure. I shared my gravitational dilemma with “My” officer who laughed and shared that after a week of work at the Capitol, almost always outside in the sun, he often lost weight and his clothes did not fit by Friday. He told me a weekend of bar-b-que usually resolved his problem. Then he suggested stretching my cuffed hands down lower so my fingers could engage the tops of my pants and prevent any further descent. My shoulders complained but I managed to get to the waistband.

Further potential “exposure” charges thus resolved, I was led to the bus.

In the bus I was seated next to Denny, behind his son, and across the aisle from Maria. The bus ride to detention was thankfully not too long. I was in pain from my bad right shoulder which did not like the stretch involved with being cuffed behind my back. It was hard to situate myself to protect against a possible bump or sudden turn of the bus completing the tear in that joint.

We were detained at a warehouse, not a jail. There were at least 20 Capitol Police officers working the room. Multiple large fans were blowing to move the air, keeping us relatively comfortable. On arrival, another officer patted me down again which included sitting me down so he could remove my shoes, pat down my feet and shake the shoes to see if anything came out.

Finally, the plastic cuffs were cut off. I could not help but release a short yelp as the pressure on my shoulder was released. The officer thought he had hurt me and was very solicitous, but I explained that he was not the cause of the pain.

We were all then re-cuffed with our hands in front of us and led us to assigned chairs where we would sit for the next hours. Men on one side of the aisle, women on the other. We could not cross from one side to the other.

The mood was actually very cheerful. We had done what we had come to do and were happy, sharing smiles and some double thumbs up. The officers, while following procedure, realized we bore them no animosity and were no threat to them as a group. In fact, I was struck by the many smiles around the large room. Officers responded to requests for water by reaching into one of several large coolers to pull out ice-cold bottles of water and delivering them to those anyone who requested one. They even opened the bottles since the cuffs prevented enough dexterity for us to do it ourselves.

The water looked very good and I was thirsty, but I knew the women and children in the southern detention facilities had been told to drink water from toilets. I did not feel right asking for a cold bottle of spring water.

The cuffs were loose but still very uncomfortable. I kept looking down at the deep red marks left on my hands and wrists from the cuffs. I could not move my hands freely, but I had a chair to sit in. So many of the migrants had to stand for days with no places to sleep due to overcrowding in the camps.

I quickly lost track of time. They had taken everyone’s watch so we were all in the same boat. Seemingly after an hour or so they began to call us up one at a time to sit with and officer who read us our rights. I was asked if we would waive them so the officers could ask questions. I did so. The only questions I was asked were, “What is your birth date” and “What is your phone number”. All these one on ones took time. My only hint as to the hour was that the air blown by the fans had gotten much warmer, perhaps it was the high temp of the day? Maybe three or 4 PM?

Then back to sit again.

When almost all of us had been interviewed, the first of us were released. Someone would have their name called by a wide grinned officer and be told to go to a table on the other side of the room. A female officer there asked for the money to pay the fine. A thumb print was taken, cuffs removed, and a second officer would return the bagged belongings taken by the officers during the pat downs. A receipt for the fine was produced and then you were free to go.

As you turned to go up the short ramp to the exit door, the remaining crowd still handcuffed could not applaud, so they did the next best thing and would cheer: “Woo hoo! Woo hoo!” The response of those who were freed was to turn and bow to those remaining behind. A simple gesture of honor between those who were willing to put their bodies on the line to draw attention to the plight of innocent children and terrified parents on our borders.

Will our action make a difference?

The stone-hearted president is not likely to pay attention until the number of those willing to give up their bodies becomes embarrassingly large.

Perhaps we can motivate more people of faith to take similar risky actions and visibly grow the number of those will to take risks to see the children are set free.

And so…

I dream of a night when all the children
Slumber safe warm and fed
and rise to a day of possibility
Each one loved, each one free.
Refrain:
I know I will see a day of peace
For this, let us all work and pray.
Janet Sullivan Whitaker

THANKSGIVING DAY ON THE BORDER

I stopped in at Annunciation House at 7 AM on my way to the Centro San Juan Diego shelter where I work in search of coloring books for the bright-eyed young ladies who arrived among the ninety guests delivered to Juan San Diego (SJD) by ICE on Wednesday afternoon. No one seemed to be moving at such an early hour… it was a holiday after all, so I quietly left. On arrival at SJD I was surprised to see virtually all of the guests already at the breakfast tables. It seems that each of the seven houses in the Annunciation House network has its own character and personality.

The 90 central American migrants Ice released to us yesterday were added to the 30 or so whose sponsors had yet to complete travel arrangements from earlier in the week. Most families are a single parent with one child. A few parents have two children and I think there was only one or two couples with children. Our tasks at the shelter are to do intake, getting their information from ICE forms and contacting sponsors to decide how to have the migrant families join them. While they are with us, we provide food and shelter.

On a series of well-designed tri-fold boards, the progression of each family is tracked day by day.

Of the ninety migrants who arrived yesterday, 50 or more are already on the road, or in the air to join families. Some 16 more are due to leave by noon tomorrow before ICE releases another group to us.

The doctor visited yesterday and was back this morning to check on a young girl who came to us with pneumonia. She is the older of two children traveling with their mother. It should not be a surprise how many of the children are ill, with bad colds if nothing worse. So much coughing and sneezing, it is no wonder so many of the regular staff are sick.

The low light of my day was taking three families to the airport to find out that one of them had a confirmation code for a Greyhound bus rather than for an air flight. I accompanied the other two families to the TSA security entrance, and was chased from the security are by customs enforcement officers. So, I went to take the dad and his son to the Greyhound station only to realize I did not know where I parked my car. It is a rental, and I could not recognize it the way I would if it was my own. I must have walked three-quarters of the parking lot before I found it using the emergency button on the key fob. One can only imagine what was going through this refugee dad’s mind as he and his son were taken to the airport by mistake and then the driver cannot find his car!

A local parish brought their leftover turkey dinner for us and volunteers arrived an hour or two later to serve. There was lots of pumpkin pie!

I left SJD at 8 PM to drive two more families to the bus station. One dad and his 4-year old daughter are taking Greyhound from El Paso to Massachusetts. I hope we packed enough food drinks and toys for the ride.

Because I work closely with the shuttle driver and pass out the travel bags with foods for their journey’s, I am often at the door as families are leaving. I was caught off guard today when one four-year old young lady wrapped her arms around my legs and said “Gracias!” Her mother soon followed with some tears and a hug. They were not alone in sharing warm thank-yous and good byes. I am sure the gratitude was meant for all of the staff, but I was honored and deeply moved to be the recipient.

After leaving the bus station, on my way “home” for the evening, I stopped back at Annunciation House to look again for those coloring books. I do not want to see the light in the youngster’s eyes dimmed tomorrow if I have to say we have no “libre’ for crayons. The college age volunteer pointed me to the basement where, thankfully, I found a case of coloring books I could take—along with some more crayons.

Gracias a Dios!

Meeting Migrant Families in El Paso

The photo shows travel bags prepared for migrants heading to families across the United States.

Immigration and Customs Enforcement otherwise known as ICE has, under Trump, been releasing large numbers of migrant families, on parole, to the streets of El Paso, Texas. The Catholic sisters of Annunciation House here have been working for years providing hospitality shelters and a short transition for these folks, trying to get them on their way to family members and friends throughout the U.S. within 24-48 hours. These most recent large releases have overwhelmed their system as they now are running six shelters and are collaborating another seven. They issued a call for help from other congregations of women religious, and as a justice and peace facilitator for the Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace, I am able to volunteer two weeks.

The journey to El Paso to volunteer was anything but smooth, including cancelled and delayed flights and being stranded in Denver overnight for the second time this year. Even getting to the place I would be staying was delayed because of a fiesta in the area closed the roads. But as a sister-colleague chided me, I was only experiencing some solidarity with the migrants whose journey to El Paso was so much more difficult.

I had a good night’s sleep in the dorm room the first night, great prayer time in the early morning hours and started my volunteer work at Centro San Juan Diego Monday morning at 8 AM.

When ICE releases families, Annunciation house receives a text each morning indicating how many families will be released that day. The families are spread over the six shelters or assigned to some of the hotels the sisters now rent. Families start arriving at Centro San Juan Diego about 3 PM. After welcoming them with soups etc., intake begins by gathering critical information from their ICE paperwork. After intake, they are given hygiene kits and allowed to shower and pick out new clothes, Volunteers in the meantime begin calling sponsors. These sponsors may be family or friends anywhere in the U.S. and are asked to provide plane or bus tickets for the migrants and to call back when the tickets are purchased. This lets the volunteers and the families know how quickly they will be able to go on their way.

Dorm rooms are assigned, and meals served. Dinners are often brought by local parishes. The families remain in the shelter building or can play in a fenced in yard where they can enjoy the sunshine.

Travel bags with sandwiches, snacks and drinks are prepared for each family soon to depart. This was the work I was assigned Monday. Taking their information from their travel document prepared during intake, I could put a bag together for the family depending on how many were traveling together, the ages and sex of the children and whether they were flying or taking a bus. No full water bottles for air flight, and extra sandwiches for those traveling for days on a bus. Most travel without any money at all.

Each bag is a unique invitation to pray for the family receiving it. I pray they be nourished on their journey and find welcome wherever they go, and most importantly, that they know they are loved. I also prayed that they be treated as the unique, wonderful, warm and beautiful people they are.

I write this as I stay with them overnight. Soon I will wake two dads and their children soon for a 4 am pick-up by a volunteer driver who will take them to the airport. Another wake-up call to a family for a six o’clock drive to the Greyhound station by yet another volunteer driver. I’ll put out breakfast around 8:00 AM and be relieved about 10. Every hour has been a pleasure.

My one regret is my lack of Spanish. It is not that I cannot help without it, but I already miss the opportunity to have a chat with many of them, who invariably greet all of us with happy smiles, fist bumps, fancy handshakes, warm hearts and even a few hugs.

P.S. Photos of the families are prohibited.

Resisting…with love

The barbaric disregard for human and civil rights displayed by the current administration in the detention of migrant families and the separation of children from parents has met with swift and strong resistance from those who hold the right to life and the rights of families as sacred to our nation and civilization. This resistance has been, for the most part, completely nonviolent, but full of passion and not without anger.

What could prove to be a significant detrimental distraction to the good resistance that is occurring at the border and at detention centers around the country, is the story of several administration members being heckled at Washington area restaurants, and Sarah Sander’s case being asked to leave.

The incident has sparked a controversy which could threaten to take the heat off the administration’s policies and lies on the border, by allowing them to paint themselves as victims, and could also lead to acts of violence. Rep. Maxine Waters’ urging her constituents to similarly ostracize Trump cabinet members whenever they see them could motivate unwise acts as well.

Admittedly, Sarah Sanders is not a nice persona in her public role. “At the podium” she shows unmasked distain for both those to whom she condescendingly replies in the press and for anyone (especially any democrat) who does not like Trump’s “my way or the highway” solutions, constitutional or not, to problems real or imagined. Her grasp of truth is tangential on the best days. Anyone of her statements can be challenged with facts and evidence and they often are. But attacks should not be personal.

Calling out any member of the administration for their words and actions is fair game and can be helpful if done is a respectful way. But the request for her to leave the restaurant has already led to threatening tweets from Sander’s boss. A restaurant of the same name—but not the one that asked her to leave—was already assaulted with eggs.

We need to keep the discourse civil as much as we can. “When they go low, we go high,” is still good advice.

This is not a sign of weakness but of strength. If we want to be witnesses to the love of Jesus we need to act like Jesus. We have do not have a story about Jesus asking anyone to leave a table. Rather, his table fellowship was radical in that it included people from all sectors of society. We could use those occasions to engage in meaningful dialogue with those with whom we disagree. Until we do so, we will grow our divisions.

Today’s Gospel says:

“Do to others whatever you would have them do to you.
This is the Law and the Prophets.” Mt.7:12

When moved beyond the aspirational, these words are hard. They are even more difficult when you find a person’s actions to be rude, harmful to others, or even destructive.

That is why, in the next verse, the golden rule is referred to as the “narrow gate” that leads to life. (Mt.7:13)

The love that must motivate our resistance is not sentimental, warm-fuzzy love. It is a firm commitment to respect each individual as a human person, doing for them nothing less than what we ask them to do for others.

World Refugee Day 2018

We are outraged by the current treatment of refugees massing and being turned away at our southern border. The greatest offense comes from the abhorrent, immoral, abusive and destructive separation of children from their parents. The God who welcomes little children and who over and over again, tells us to care for widows, orphans and “strangers”. Will not look kindly on how our nation acts today—and none of us are innocent.

Today, on World Refugee Day, I put my outrage aside for a few moments to celebrate the refugees I have come to know and to encourage readers to follow the advice of Pope Francis to “Share the Journey” with refugees.

For almost 12 years I visited immigrants in detention in our NJ jails with First Friends. A few have been characters who I will not miss, but the overwhelming majority have been people whom I enjoyed sharing hours with speaking on a phone and looking through a plate glass window under the strict supervision of the jailers. About half of those who I met were deported, the others have been returned to their former lives. Although I visit only in New Jersey facilities, none of those I visited came from New Jersey. They either lived in New York City of were refugees who arrived at the Bergen County Jail from the borders where they asked for asylum. I have brought wives and children to the jail to say good-bye before deportation, brought parents to visit, given a few bucks to their —accounts and helped post a bond a couple of times.

The large majority of those I visited do not keep in touch and I understand because that time is one they want to forget. A few have kept in touch over the years through Facebook and phone calls, and one lived with us for nine months after his release.

I was also blessed by the four weeks I spent at a refugee camp in France where I met so many good people looking to start their lives in places where (relative) peace reigned.

Each of these men and women have helped open my heart and helped me to see how blessed we are in the US, and to realize the truth: that I did nothing to deserve my birth to a good Irish-American family in America. No one has anything to say about the country into which they were born or the color of the skin they will live with. We all have a right to live in peace. That realization helps keep me humbled and aware that I should be sharing the good news I have received.

Pope Francis, last September asked us all to “Share the Journey” with migrants and refugees. He recommends we learn four verbs to govern our responses to migrants and refugees who now number over 65.6 million worldwide. That number is still growing.

First, we are asked to welcome them, to make it easier and simpler for them to come to our country…working to put a stop to separation of mothers and children at the border is a start. Secondly, we are asked to protect them, an ongoing effort to defend their rights as newcomers. We do not want them detained indefinitely even with their children. Thirdly, to promote them is to create paths they can follow to achieve their potential as human beings. Finally, we are asked to integrate them into our society in a way that is respectful of, and does not cause them to lose, their own cultural identity,

Over the years, I’ve had many opportunities to share the stories of refugees so I am so happy to pass on the pontiff’s suggestions. You can read about some encounters of my friends and I in earlier blog posts such as The Tables Turned.

One practical way to “Share the Journey” is to sit down and “break bread” with migrants or refugees. You can do it in your home, or in a larger group, such as your congregation. Pope Francis hopes we will listen and hear some truth they have to share that we may need to hear. Get beyond discussing what we do for a living and how many children we have to sharing what our dreams and hopes are and what fears we have. If we are honest in our sharing, we will see that the hopes and dreams are the same. When real listening takes place, the walls that already exist between us begin to crumble and the need to build more walls becomes just a bad memory.

What is most exciting is that sharing the journey present an opportunity for “us and them” to become “we”.

One human family.

Happy World Refugee Day!