In 1988, Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead said something that was never more true.
A reporter asked why he was so involved in the deforestation of the Amazon rainforest.
And willing to disrupt, picket, and protest.
And he said...
Somebody has to do something. It seems incredibly, in, in fact, it seems pathetic that it has to be us, you know.
And there you go.
Many here know of what I have been doing on my 'off time'.
Twice a month, driving from Colorado to meet up with my buddy in Arizona, a Catholic Priest, well seasoned with the plight of the vulnerable...and with bullet hole wounds to commemorate his survival from the death squads of El Salvador, where i first met him 32 years ago.
Thanks Reagan.
And then we travel south, to the border. Specifically a huge corridor in the Sonoran Desert, to leave supplies for our refugee brothers and sisters.
I'll not repeat what I've already previously posted, but the backstory can be found here.
www.dailykos.com/...
The sobering experience of finding a young brother deceased.
www.dailykos.com/...
So, since November, by necessity, I've segued into a new role.
Loved ones, sick with worry about the treatment of their parents, children, friends that are locked up in various detention centers...they want desperately to talk with them.
To see them.
But they can't, because they too will be checked for papers, and then they would be arrested, and they themselves would be behind bars and ultimately possibly deported to countries where for many, there very lives would be in grave danger.
So, someone has to be the go-between..to relay messages, both spoken and implied.
So what I've been doing is meeting these loved ones…
....these brothers and sisters…and visit with them.
And listen.
There's often tears.
There's always such worry. And such fear.
For themselves, for their loved ones locked up....but most of all, for their children.
There's almost always children.
Displaced because a parent or sibling is locked up and soon to be sent thousands of miles away.
And do I have to relay to you the anxiety and horror of a parent whose child is the one behind bars? Or in a cage?
Imagine it for ten seconds and you'll feel that ache of darkness.
I don’t discuss these matters on the phone with those on the outside, but always meet with them at the homes or sanctuaries that they are living or staying in.
They are thankfully not worried about this particular anglo, because it is always set-up by those under the auspices of the Catholic Church....whom they trust.
My friend, Father Alex* (not his real name) does much of the translating...though i am learning the nuances of the language exponentially.
They always show us pictures of a happier time.
They tell us of their hopes and dreams...and the hopes and dreams of those locked up.
They tell us of what they left.....violence, apathy, hopelessness.
No jobs and substandard education.
But the violence....Oh the violence.
And in each instance, i feel that i have taken for granted the rights and privileges and freedoms that i am accustomed to and that we hold dear...and are yearning to expand equitably.
Going through the detention centers is friggin’ maddening...but i have to keep cool.
Then there’s the Border Patrol camps, which are family shelters overseen by ICE or in ICE’s own facilities run by the Office of Refugee Resettlement (ORR) for so-called "unaccompanied" children, after arriving without any parents or being separated from them.
Seeing the conditions, the dehumanizations, listening to many of the correctional officers….most undertrained, undereducated, with their Slim-Jims, Maxim magazines, chewing tobacco and their smack talking….grrrrrrr…. still, i got to keep cool.
Many of them refer to me as ‘rabbi’, because of the yarmulke, and in these instances, i let it go because it allows me greater access.
Telling a child that his parents love them, will see them soon….they tear-up and cry.
They don’t have to tell me how scared and scarred from the constant dehumanization.
A few weeks ago, Alex and i were in a small West Texas town to speak with a young woman who was hiding and very scared.
Her husband and sister were taken by ICE.
She was staying at a very modest home with seven others.
The local Catholic Church was bringing them food, and helping where they could.
I thought it was seven, but i was mistaken.
Right before we left, to go relay messages at a detention center a hundred miles away, two youngsters came out of the bedroom.
They were brother and sister...sixteen and seventeen. From Honduras.
I had been to Honduras, with Alex, a few months back to meet the family of the young man that we discovered deceased, to pay our respects personally, and to get to know and understand the young man, aptly named Jesus.
We sat back down, and they sat with us, and we spoke.
Remember, Alex is a priest, and though he usually doesn’t wear his liturgical garments outside his services, he wears his collar on these missions because it helps those we interact with with trust.
And i always wear a yarmulke, which resembles to the uninitiated again, something somewhat trustworthy.
They were brought to the house yesterday afternoon, when a documented migrant brother spoke to them, and after talking with them, wanted them safe.
Their parents, with whom they were traveling with were captured whilst close to the border in the Chihuahuan Desert.
They managed to make it, on their own, across the border into West Texas.
Mario is seventeen, and his sister, Alaia, is sixteen.
Their clothes and heavier jackets were with their parents when they were taken. And their father held what money they had.
So with the clothes on their back is how i found them that day.
Alaia, which means Happiness, was wearing a Grateful Dead tour shirt.
Having seen many of the shows on that particular tour, i asked her about her shirt...because it could have been without significance and just something available for her to wear.
No, she treasured the shirt.
And for a moment, the fear left her eyes as we talked for a few minutes about the Dead...some common ground that members of “The Tribe” recognize in each other around the globe.
We gathered all the information we could about her parents, and the location of their capture.
Alex and i left to go the detention facility and relay the messages that we originally came to do.
The next day, we returned to tell the young woman what transpired...and Mario and Alaia were gone.
It’s often hard for young people to stay-put and they had left to try and make their way to their original destination of the Northern Colorado town where their uncle was living.
The stars must have been aligned, because we found them that afternoon, at a recycling center trying to raise a little money.
The four of us had dinner, and we got two rooms at a hotel for the night.
Alex and i discussed late into the evening, and came up with a plan if our young friends agreed.
In the morning over breakfast, the four of us talked it over and they agreed.
They would come home with me, and i’d situate them and help them set their bearings...and we'd visit their parents in custody to ease their fears about their children.
Because of the circumstance, Alex rented a car to get home, and the three of us drove the seven or so hours to my home.
I have extra bedrooms and they settled in.
The ten days that followed the three of us became close.
Mario wants to be an engineer.
And he sketched often, with pencil. And he played with my musical instruments.
Alaia spent much of her time outside with the animals, and playing the Grateful Dead from my collection and danced.
I joined her in that a few times.
She really enjoys cooking and is very good at it.
We spent a lot of time preparing and cooking lunches and dinners….and as a chef by trade, i showed them how to use a knife, and we went to the Farmers Markets to pick our food for our meals.
I took them to my restaurant kitchen and got them acquainted with the workings of a busy kitchen.
We went to an REI, and got Mario a couple of outfits, a backpack, some shoes of his choosing.
For Alaia, we went to a local boutique and she chose what suited her fancy.
Meanwhile, Alex located their parents.
Needless to say, they both were extremely worried about their mom and dad, and knew that they both would be besides themselves with worry about them and to let them know that they were safe....which Alex did as soon as he could.
And a priest from Denver located their uncle.
The night before i was to drive them up to their uncle’s, i invited near a dozen musician friends to come over and jam and we had a large dinner that Alaia and I prepared, and as i was bringing appetizers into the living room with my apron on, i realized that i had turned into June Cleaver.
Oh well, what do you do?
The uncle lives in a small but nice and clean townhouse, and was very appreciative.
We sat on his back porch and sipped a cocktail together, in a comfortable silence, not saying much.
We didn’t have to.
A friend of mine who is a chef and owns and runs a restaurant with a great kitchen, and is very understanding and kind, has given them both jobs at $15 an hour.
I bought Japanese knife sets for each of them, and gave Mario a guitar that he was fond of.
And for Alaia, a half dozen Grateful Dead tour shirts and tickets to the Dead and Company when they play in Boulder this July, that she actually leapt up and down when she saw them.
Another friend, whom i served overseas with, runs a small Waldorf- based school relatively close to them and happily agreed to help them with their English.
We’re trying to find a school of some kind for Mario where he could learn engineering, and we’ve located a culinary school that specializes in ayurvedic cuisine for Alaia.
This may seem like a lot...but it’s just trying to balance the horror of our governments policies.
And that many of us as citizens are a million miles away from those policies.
We do what we can when we can.
And though cliche...who’s helping/rescuing who here?
Honestly.
In the meantime, Alex and i and our allies and cohorts will see their parents again when we are allowed.
Most likely, they will be sent back to Honduras, but their children are safe.
Though at any time, if shit hits the fan, they too could be arrested and sent back as well.
That thought is sobering.
Because if that happens, God forbid...then i’ll up my game.
That’s my future Sous Chef and her groovy brother that you’re talking about.
Either way, this chapter is just beginning.
The one thing i implore you to remember…
And not take for granted…..
Freedom.
For years, Minneapolis Rev. Ry Siggelkow, his wife Marcia and their three children have been a sanctuary and home for refugee families.
They are inspirations, and i want you to know about them and how they’ve been serving our brothers and sisters.
www.startribune.com/…
Saturday, Feb 29, 2020 · 11:56:08 PM +00:00 · Tevye
I returned home, to read the comments and to reply….and i am so humbled by you brothers and sisters.
I am in tears.
Please know that i’m doing this for all of you as well, because your location and responsibilities precludes you from doing it yourself.
And i’ve been at this, usually overseas, for so long now.
We are all doing our part to help and to heal.
Solidarity, family!!