Lights in the Night

Along Florencia Avenue there is line of pearls, a friendly glow in the dark night. For the first time ever, some of the streets in the community are now lighted at night. There is much more to do--less than a fifth of the community has lighting--but the community leaders smiled at this small victory.

I changed my predawn running route. I like to see where I am going. The light along the way seemed to calm the usually vicious dogs along this route. Perhaps it was because they could see my face and know that I meant no harm. Or maybe because they could see my skinny legs and knew that I could do no harm. That is the grace of a little light in the deep darkness.

Building Walls

(Produced by Nat Stone)

"You are the Salt of the Earth."

Each Wednesday afternoon, an hour and a half before their children begin returning from school, a group of between fifteen and twenty women gather in a neighbor's front yard. Only three of them read with any sort of facility. Although they love music and song, not a single one of them can carry a tune. They are acutely of aware of this fault, but sing their hearts out anyway.

Each time that they get together, one of the three women who can read shares the Gospel of the coming Sunday's Eucharist. In turn, they reflect on the reading, offering opinions that are at times strongly expressed and other times offered as a guestimate. Jesus can be confusing--this they readily admit.

This particular group has been at it for more than ten years now. They are friends, for they trust each other. They are sisters, for they live the same fate--poverty, too many children, not enough water, weariness--and joy in the midst of it all.

They are Church, for they care for themselves and for their neighbors, sharing out the little they have in times of trouble, offering shoulders for the burdens of life, and space for the celebration of life, all of this after the example of Jesus.

They salt our world, preserving it in hope, as it were, in this particular space, for what comes next.

Fear

We are more afraid of ICE than of Ike
Posted to the Rio Grande Guardian
September 11, 2008

BROWNSVILLE, September 11 - I have lived in the Rio Grande Valley's colonias for the past 15 years and have come to love the resilience and the energy that these communities contain and nurture.

The homes in the colonia neighborhoods are nearly all works in progress - visible testimonials to the Valley residents' tenacious hold on hope. Outsiders see poverty and misery; those of us who live here see the fruits of people working far harder than most other Americans to build something for their children and their children's children.

Works in progress, however, are often risky ventures. A working family doesn't always have the material resources to build the strongest homes and can't always locate their family's homestead in the best geographic space.

Many of our colonia neighborhoods are in flood plains, exposed to the whimsical wrath of storms such as Dolly. House blessings are particularly touching - some of my neighbors' homes are indeed depending upon some divine protection. Hurricanes are particular threats to our neighborhoods. All of us are all too aware that a storm like Gilbert would leave us but memories of what our neighborhoods once were.

We tenaciously hold on to hope, looking over our shoulders, every now and then, hoping that fate isn't creeping up on us unseen.

Hurricane Ike is being seen, and as it makes its way east and north, I have been speaking with my neighbors. They all vividly remember that day in May when Rio Grande Guardian reporter Joey Gomez discovered the Border Patrol checking for citizenship documents during a practice evacuation. The word spread quickly—during a hurricane evacuation, the Border Patrol will separate people according to their documentation.

I asked my neighbors, in light of Border Patrols' recent claims that they wouldn't "necessarily" be checking for documents, that if an evacuation was ordered, would they leave? Those families composed of legal permanent residents or U.S. citizens all told me "Yes indeed! We aren't crazy people." Those families composed of people with mixed immigration status - a grandfather whose application for residency is in "process," or a niece who had submitted a request for a visa under the Violence Against Women Act, or a family with children who are U.S. citizens, but whose parents are Mexican nationals - they all told me, every last one of them, "No way are we leaving." When I asked those neighbors why wouldn't they leave, they said, again, every last one of them, "We don't trust the Border Patrol. We would rather take our chances with Ike."

While I admire the bravado, it is clearly that - bluster bordering on foolishness. The families with small children are the ones whose eyes open wide as they consider their options - the tragedy of a catastrophic storm or the icy efficiency of our government's security apparatus.

This sort of worry would have seemed inconceivable 15 years ago - we lived in a different time, a time when someone's identity had to do with their character more than with their documentation. It seems to be that we have given in to terror, a terror so deep that as a nation we are willing to take actions which would place our poorest, most vulnerable families - yes, those with children - at risk.

Today’s memorial of September 11th will be another opportunity to reflect on what sort of national community we have created in the face of enemy attacks. Have we become a stronger people because of that experience - or have we become shrill in our fear? As this hurricane blows up the waters in the Gulf, it might well lift up the veil that covers some of the shameful realities of our national character - we have become a fearful people.

The hurricane will indeed be a tragedy and a disaster, wherever it makes landfall. And, as in all such events, heroes will emerge. People will share, generously, with those in need. Locally, and nationally, purses will open, helping communities rebuild. I pray that we are blessed with courage and wisdom - and much less fear. I put my own hope in that - tenaciously.

Photo by M. Seifert. The child is an American citizen; his mother has her papers in process. Would they be separated during an evacuation? I am not sure, but I do know that this would be no place for children during a hurricane.

Passports and Midwives

David Hernandez is a tough guy. He has done his time in the army and has stood by his family over the years. He grew up in San Benito, Texas, a small town just up the road from Brownsville. His mother is a sweet woman who is obviously proud of her son.

When Mrs. Hernandez was ready to deliver David, she did what so many working-class families down here do--she sought out a midwife. The "parteras" as midwives are called were much less expensive than doctors, and the experience a much more human one than that of a hospital.

Next year, in order for David to visit his extended family that lives in Mexico, he will need a US passport to be able to come back into the country. Some months ago, David filled out an application, paid his $112—and then got a letter from the State Department telling him that he needed to produce a bundle of secondary proof establishing that he was in fact a US citizen.

David did the paperwork. He got a second letter: the State Department had denied the application, but encouraged him to reapply, "once you establish your citizenship.”

David then went to the local immigration office and told them that he wanted to become a US citizen. They responded, “But you already are a US citizen. You were born here, and you have a valid birth certificate.”

But they couldn’t help him get a passport. That was another branch of the government. Moreover, David had committed the sin of being of Mexican descent, of living on the border, and of having been born with the help of a midwife.

In post 9/11 USA, David was now a suspicious person.

And he was being punished for it. House arrest. No Cancun for him, no visits to his cousins, no leaving the USA.

David said, “I have pledged allegiance to the flag every single day from kindergarten to high school. I traveled all over Europe on the basis of my Army identification card. And now this.”

Although women along the border have been using midwives for decades (one woman noted that she delivered more babies in a year than the local hospital), someone in Washington DC, apparently with too much time on his hands, decided that the para-professionals were untrustworthy, despite the fact that the State of Texas (the tightest state in the union) had long decided otherwise.

On behalf of David and thousands of others from our community, the ACLU filed a lawsuit against the State Department. When the whole mess finishes, I hope that we can all have a nice meal on the other side of the border.

We will, of course, have our passports with us.

For more information, you can see this website: http://www.aclu.org/racialjustice/gen/passports.html

Another interview is here:

http://www.aclu.org/multimedia/passport_seifert.mp3

School Days

A new school year opened this week, and so did the San Felipe de Jesus after-school tutorial program. All last week, mothers came by the parish office to pick up school supplies—pencils, notebooks, backpacks. A lovely group from the Catholic Daughters of Texas drove all the way from Roundrock, Texas with a van packed with things to share. Nearly thirty-five children pack our two classrooms, where they have a place to do their homework—and someone to check it for them. Most have parents who are not home until late in the day (everyone works down here); all of the children are proud of their work, excited to be back to school, and give us the gift of youth—unbridled cheer and boundless hope.

(Photo by Michael Seifert)