For two years now, Columbus Mennonite Church in Ohio has been Edith Espinal’s home. She went into sanctuary in October 2017, when Immigration and Customs Enforcement targeted her for deportation. She’d lived in the state for 20 years, has no criminal record, and had been checking in regularly with officials. None of that mattered to them, and when they told her to prepare for deportation, she went to the church for help. She’s been there since. On Tuesday, she got to share her story with a 2020 Democratic presidential candidate.
That candidate, former Housing and Urban Development secretary Julián Castro, was in the area for the latest Democratic presidential debate, and while Edith and her family invited a number of candidates who are also participating in the debate, they said Castro was the first to respond, and so far the only one to visit the mom of three at the church. “I’m standing in solidarity with her,” he later tweeted, “and against the cruel Trump immigration agenda that’s tearing families apart every day.”
Cruel is exactly right. After the asylum-seeker’s case was denied in 2015, officials ordered her to check in regularly with them, at first every three months, and then as frequently as every two weeks. What it also meant is that she then became an easy target once Trump unleashed his agents. “They were deporting the people they could find the easiest,” said attorney and Columbus Mennonite Church congregant Joseph Mas, “and the people they were finding the easiest were the people reporting to ICE.”
While Columbus Mennonite Church’s congregation “overwhelmingly” voted in favor of protecting her—she has an area there to sleep, as well as a mini-kitchen and shower—sanctuary has nevertheless taken a toll. When one of her sons had to be rushed to the ER for appendicitis, and then got into a car accident just months after that, she couldn’t visit him either time. “Now this is my life,” she said in January. “It’s very difficult to live in sanctuary because you feel very depressed, the first months, the first days. You don’t know exactly what’s going on.”
What Edith and her family also hoped to share with presidential candidates is that her case is in no way unique. Church World Service estimates that as many as 50 people may be in sanctuary across the U.S., though that number could be higher because some immigrants may be keeping their cases private, or have security concerns: while ICE considers churches, hospitals, and schools generally off-limits to sweeps, the agency has, dangerously and terrifying, began testing the limits of its own policy following Trump’s inauguration.
Homeland Security “is indiscriminately targeting ordinary immigrants who pose no threat to society,” immigrant rights leader Frank Sharry said at the time. “This includes the disabled and caretakers; moms and dads; and Good Samaritans and witnesses. In our name and with our taxpayer dollars, they are engaged in a massive operation to sow fear and separate families by deporting as many people as they can.” People like Edith. And Jeanette Vizguerra. And Juana Luz Tobar Ortega, who has been in sanctuary even longer than Edith.
“This moment can help me with my case to show the community exactly what is going on,” Edith said, showing the presidential candidate her living space and speaking privately before the two addressed a larger crowd in the church. She also felt Castro’s visit was also particularly special. “His family comes from immigrants,” she said, “and maybe in one moment he feels like my family, he knows our feelings.” Castro spoke of a need to “break up ICE,” and said from the stage that “I came here because I wanted to challenge our immigration system to do better.”
