WHAT WE MEAN WHEN WE SAY "LOVE"

Sign at the Sisters of Loretto Motherhouse in Nerinx, Kentucky

My first reaction when I saw the sign at the Motherhouse, a sign that has stood for years, well before the current crisis for immigrants and DACA recipients, was to marvel at how it resembled the Black Lives Matter sign my congregation in New Jersey had posted, repaired, and reposted, numerous times, after it was defiled, run over, painted over, and destroyed. Each time, we chose to leave it up for a good while as an uncomfortable witness: this is how far people will go with hate.

In this deeply Catholic community, even the words of Christ can't be protected from vandals when it comes to hate.

Earlier this week, the Sisters of Loretto and the Dominican sisters of St. Catharine held a vigil in solidarity with DACA recipients and other victims of the mass deportations. Pansy and Pupcake and  I were encouraged to come. Then on Saturday night, they organized a dinner, at which the Lantinx community and allies were invited, and spread amongst the tables, where we were able to tell our stories while we were deeply listened to. Above is Sister Elaine des Rosiers, a special friend of mine, whom I met about five years ago at a Buddhist group I attend, chatting with Pupcake.

Pansy tells her story to the Sisters

It was one of the most lovely evenings I've had in quite some time. Have you ever been deeply listened to? If so, you know what it means. The gift of love, acceptance, community, prayers, camaraderie, hope and shared empathy has boosted Pansy's spirits immeasurably. Working together with the Dreamers has helped her feel less isolated.

I think she'd feel more encouraged by 500 gifts of $1 than by one gift of $500. She's well aware that people "love" the Dreamers, but for some reason don't "love" her or Big Daddy (Benjamin.) Why?

Members of the Democratic Women's Club at the Vigil

One of the Dreamers from our community speaks to the Press.

Pansy and Keeland (Pupcake) at the Vigil

Vigil at the St. Catharine Motherhouse.

One of the things we've talked about a great deal is how much the current situation is like the Holocaust, the Internment of the Japanese, or the Trail of Tears and forced imprisonment of Native Americans on reservations. If you think, "No, it's not as bad" ... please examine your thoughts. Just like in slavery, families will be torn apart. Just like in the Holocaust, people will be killed. No, not as dramatically, but in many ways, slowly and sporadically, as they are targeted by the cartels who prey on those who have been in the US for long periods. 

Our country has lured immigrants from Central America (and elsewhere) here with low-paying jobs, and have taken advantage of their work ethic, their desperation to feed their families back home, and their terror of returning to places that are overrun with deadly gangs and cartels. And yet, we turn our backs on them when our government decides to treat them worse than animals. Benjamin has been IN PRISON for seven months, although he has no criminal record. 

So, you are not in favor of this? You love all people the same? Even Black and Brown people?

Nine people have contributed to help Pansy's family in this crisis. It may not be as harsh as the hole in the sign, but it speaks volumes. What do we mean when we say, "love"?

Another way to help is to donate to Dollars for the Dream via United We Dream on Facebook. It will be so deeply appreciated. Even if you can't or won't, pause and think with gratitude on the freedoms you have every day.

Words

by John Keene

When you said people did you mean punish?
         When you said friend did you mean fraud?
When you said thought did you mean terror?
         When you said connection did you mean con?
When you said God did you mean greed?
         When you said faith did you mean fanatic?
When you said hope did you mean hype?
         When you said unity did you mean enmity?
When you said freedom did you mean forfeit?
         When you said law did you mean lie?
When you said truth did you mean treason?
         When you said feeling did you mean fool?
When you said together did you mean token?
         When you said desire did you mean desert?
When you said sex did you mean savagery?
         When you said need did you mean nought?
When you said blood did you mean bought?
         When you said heart did you you hard?
When you said head did you mean hide?
         When you said health did you mean hurt?
When you said love did you mean loss?
         When you said fate did you mean fight?
When you said destiny did you mean decimate?
         When you said honor did you mean hunger?
When you said bread did you mean broke?
         When you said feast did you mean fast?
When you said first did you mean forgotten?
         When you said last did you mean least?
When you said woman did you mean wither?
         When you said man did you mean master?
When you said mother did you mean smother?
         When you said father did you mean fatal?
When you said sister did you mean surrender?
         When you said brother did you mean brutal?
When you said fellow did you mean follow?
         When you said couple did you mean capital?
When you said family did you mean failure?
         When you said mankind did you mean market?
When you said society did you mean sickness?
         When you said democracy did you mean indignity?
When you said equality did you mean empty?
         When you said politics did you mean power?
When you said left did you mean lost?
         When you said right did you mean might?
When you said republic did you mean rich?
         When you said wealthy did you mean wall?
When you said poor did you mean prison?
         When you said justice did you mean just us?
When you said immigrant did you mean enemy?
         When you said refugee did you mean refusal?
When you said earth did you mean ownership?
         When you said soil did you mean oil?
When you said community did you mean conflict?
         When you said safety did you mean suspicion?
When you said security did you mean sabotage?
         When you said army did you mean Armageddon?
When you said white did you mean welcome?
         When you said black did you mean back?
When you said yellow did you mean yield?
         When you said brown did you mean down?
When you said we did you mean war?
         When you said you did you mean useless?
When you said she did you mean suffer?
         When you said he did you mean horror?
When you said they did you mean threat?
         When you said I did you mean island?
When you said tribe did you mean trouble?
         When you said name did you mean nobody?
When you said news did you mean nonsense?
         When you said media did you mean miasma?
When you said success did you mean sucker?
         When you said fame did you mean game?
When you said ideal did you mean idol?
         When you said yesterday did you mean travesty?
When you said today did you mean doomsday?
         When you said tomorrow did you mean never?
When you said hear did you mean hush?
         When you said listen did you mean limit?
When you said write did you mean wound?
         When you said read did you mean retreat?
When you said literacy did you mean apathy?
         When you said fiction did you mean forget?
When you said poetry did you mean passivity?
            When you say art do you mean act?

What You Don't Want to Know....

Seth and Pupcake after his birthday dinner

Keeland, whose nickname is "Pupcake," couldn't come to Seth's party at Chuck-e-Cheese because she's terrified of Chuckie. She's twelve, like Seth was before his birthday, and she's not autistic, but she has lots of learning disabilities and delays.So, she texted him and invited him to dinner a few days later at the Mexican restaurant. He was so excited!

They're alike in so many ways. The biggest one is that they are both "younger" than their numerical age. Some of her favorite Christmas presents, besides baby dolls, were some huge squeaky toys shaped like doughnuts, bagels, and other goodies. They were like anxiety-easing tools for her. She brought them over once, and when I peeked in to see how she and Seth were doing in the study, they were chatting away and both were playing with the giant pastries. 

Seth asked her to marry him, but we've had to explain that it would be much better to have a good friend than to try to have a girlfriend and scare her away! 

She loves school, even though the work is a challenge. I could see, when we stopped by at lunch time, so that Steve, our photographer on our Black History Project (see his work at Photos for Springfield Project ) could get a portrait of her, that she had a group of friends and was having fun.

c. Steve Pavey, Hope in Focu

It is understandable that Pupcake would have fears and anxieties. Her early years, before Pansy and Benjamin took her as a foster child, were chaotic and traumatic. I do not know all of the details, but I know she suffered neglect, abuse, and abandonment. Her biological mother was in and out of jail for drug-related issues and died just a few months ago from a drug overdose. I heard a man testify that he drove the mother to an assignation with a client and sat in the car with Keeland while the mother went in and served as a prostitute. The man who her mother was living with had been charged several times with domestic violence. This is why Pansy and Benjamin fought so desperately to have sole custody of her.

Pizza in Chicago!

When Pupcake, Pansy, Eric and I traveled to Chicago for Benjamin's hearing on asylum, I got to know Pupcake a little better. She'd never really traveled or been to a big city. Even though she understood the situation with her Dad, which is how she thinks of Benjamin, was difficult, she  hoped, as did Pansy, that he would prevail this time and Benjamin would be released. But it was not to be. She dressed up and fixed her hair with a pretty headband and was delighted when she saw him. She sat through the hours long hearing. She sat in the cubbyhole with Pansy where they were permitted to talk face-to-face (through a glass) with him. But I never saw her break down and cry or show despair. Either she didn't understand the impact of the setback, or she just had a numbness to the pain, or some of each.

Later, we were talking, and Pansy shared with me that among other diagnoses, Keeland/Pupcake had been diagnosed with Radical Attachment Disorder (RAD). It made sense that she would have this disorder, given what I knew about her early years. 

Still, she has a strong, albeit anxious, attachment to Pansy. She panics if Pansy is out of sight, and gets very worried about her is she doesn't feel well or if she is upset. 

Benjamin was a strong, steadying influence on Pupcake. He took her swimming and to other activities. She loves to be outdoors and he was out with her, working in his garden and in the yard. He's protective of her. Or, I should say, he was.

Because, by all indications, Benjamin will not be coming back to Pansy and Pupcake.

Like thousands of other immigrants, he's on the verge of being deported.

I know it would be easier for you to think that he must have committed crimes, or that he should have expected this, or that they shouldn't have gotten married. But the reality is that American farmers and companies created work for and hired people like Benjamin for decades because they are good, hard workers. The reality is that they came here and came back because they face danger or kidnapping at home. The reality is that Benjamin has no criminal record. Until this administration gave ICE the current orders, he would never have been deported.Stories Like Benjamin's

Have you ever put yourself in the shoes of a Mexican citizen living in a dangerous state? Have you ever wondered whether you'd try to go north to do better, live more safely, find a better way? The only "crime" Benjamin committed was trying to better himself. He's a great worker, community member, and church-going Christian. And our government, yours and mine, is spending tens of thousands to keep him in prison for months.  What is okay about this?

Another reality is that most Americans (who seems to have empathy for DACA recipients but not for people like Pansy... or as Benjamin told her, "No one cares about us. You're Black and I'm Mexican.") are going about their business without a thought for the inhumane and unjust treatment of families.

CLICK HERE FOR MORE

You can help Pansy, Pupcake and Benjamin. He's been incarcerated for six months. His health is failing. The appeals and legal challenges have cost thousands. Bills have mounted as Benjamin was the sole support for the family.  Even a small donation will help! They want you to know how grateful they are. CLICK HERE TO DONATE.

Deportation: One Man's Tragedy in the Age of Trump

Pansy Valdez

©Steve Pavey, Hope in Focus

When I returned from the hotel breakfast buffet, Keeland and Pansy were still sleeping on the bedroom side of the suite, but Eric was awake, looking at the news on his phone, and looking uncomfortable on the skinny sofa bed mattress we’d finally pulled off the broken springs and laid on the floor the night before. Benjamin’s asylum hearing, the reason we four had journeyed to cold and, now, snowy Chicago wasn’t until one p.m., so I suggested to my husband that he and I go somewhere for the morning.

          He got dressed and met me in the lobby, where I sat looking out at the still-festooned wrought iron railings and the shops across the way being dusted with a feathery snow. It was so evocative of Christmas, although we were now several days into January. But nothing about this was in any way festive. From the visit to the Valdez’ lawyer back in Kentucky with Pansy, to the time I’d spent reading the English version of the Documentos para Detenidos, I had a feeling that the odds were not good that Big Daddy (the name by which everyone in our town of Springfield knew Benjamin) would be released today.

          Indeed, even if by some miracle he prevailed with his plea for asylum, the Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) attorney could appeal, and was likely to, so the chances of him leaving seemed nil.

          Earlier, over coffee and generic omelet at the Marriot buffet, I’d skimmed the things to do offerings, and discovered the Garfield Park Conservatory. It wasn’t close, but it was free, so if we took an Uber, we’d be able to stroll there awhile and get some warmth and color on this bleak and foreboding morning.

          We both love plants and flowers. A major in Natural Resources, Eric knows much more about the scientific and botanical angle, but I appreciate the aesthetic and poetic properties of flowers, trees, and grasses. On this early January day, the Christmas display remained in a large hall, a massive creation of red and a smaller number of yellow poinsettias, interspersed with carefully chosen and placed charred wooden stalks, aptly titled Fire and Ice. I contemplated the destructive yet wondrous beauty of flames; Eric marveled that each of those limbs had to be charred painstakingly by hand. Perhaps meant to evoke the destruction and awesomeness of the recent conflagrations in the West, it filled a room with red and almost enveloped the viewer. In Buddhist thought, we might call this the jewel in the lotus.

          But it was our stroll through the desert plants that pricked my heart. We passed one plant after another: the allspice, the white zinnia, the Thompson’s yucca, all native to Mexico. I studied their leaves and spines, their colors, vibrant yellows and greens that must be a balm in Central America’s desert regions. All these plants, while indigenous to Mexico, can also be found in Texas, other South western states, and in Central America. No wall or border guard stops them from entering another country. In fact, here they are, in frigid downtown Chicago, being coddled and celebrated, in a museum. People admire and remark upon their qualities and unique abilities to adapt and thrive.

About a week after the hearings, I attended the AME Zion Church in Springfield, and this was the text. The sermon's title was What Are You Worried About?"

And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin:

And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, o ye of little faith?
Therefore take no thought,saying, What shall we eat? Or what shall we drink? or Wherewithal shall we be clothed?
..... for your Heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.
But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.
Take therefore no thought for the morrow for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Mt 6:28-34

I've always loved this passage, and when I heard it after Benjamin's trial, it resonated with my witness of his profound and unwavering faith.

When we returned to the hotel, Pansy and Pupcake (Keeland's nickname) were ready to go to the hearing. Pupcake came out of the bedroom wearing a sweet black and white dress with leotards and a hair bow in her pony tail. “I got dressed up for my dad,” she said proudly.

I didn’t know what Pansy had told her about the hearing, or if she knew that Benjamin was in jail. That is, in the general population, not in a special detention for undocumented immigrants or any such thing. But she probably did. Her birth mother had been in and out of jail, so even though she was immature in many ways, she knew a lot more than many twelve-year-olds. The thought of her being dressed up and excited and then seeing him coming in wearing an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs upset me. Still, I knew that being upset visibly would not help anyone. I tried to keep a playful, non-anxious attitude throughout the trip. Part of me still felt a foreboding about Big Daddy’s chances. O ye of little faith.

We took an Uber to the Immigration Detention Courthouse. Pansy had offered to cover the costs of the trip, and when I told her we’d pay for our expenses, she insisted. Hence, I tried to keep everything as inexpensive as I could. Neither she nor Eric quite understood how Uber worked, so when I explained that the fee went to my credit card, she offered to my pay me, but I told her not to worry. We’d settle later.

I’ve been in jails and detention centers, prisons and courtrooms before, as a minister, as a mother. I know that once you pass through the revolving doors or enter the lobby of the facility, your own freedom is circumscribed. You obey commands, you give up your rights, you will be submissive, or you’ll be ejected or imprisoned yourself. Pupcake didn’t seem distressed about this round of metal detectors and searches. I guessed she’d visited Adrianne, her birth mother, in jail.Even though she presented as much younger than her eleven years, she'd seen a lot. Adrianne had died of a drug overdose just a few months earlier. I am certain she never went through an airport. Everything about being in the city was new and astounding to her.

Led to the small room where Benjamin’s testimony would be heard, we took our seats. I sat next to Pansy, in view of the far door from which Benjamin would emerge. She wore a jewel green top which crossed at the bodice, and her usual assortment of rings and bracelets. Like Pupcake, she’d dressed up for her husband. In minutes, we saw orange, and Big Daddy was at the glass window of the door. For the first time in six months, husband and wife saw one another. I saw only the love and delight on Benjamin’s face. “Oh my, he’s so thin,” Pansy whispered, and I saw that she was holding back tears. She called Pupcake over from the right side of the room, where she had started to work on homework with Eric, and I moved then. I recall being relieved that Benjamin was wearing a sweatshirt-type hoodie which, while still orange, looked less prisoner-like than the jumpsuit alone. It took about three or four minutes’ preparation; Benjamin’s lawyer was sitting in place as was the translator, a young woman who seemed to know the guards, the judge, and the lawyer. We'd been told the judge might be on CCTV rather than in person, but I was surprised that the back of the TV was to us, and he faced only Benjamin, the lawyer, and the translator. The guard brought Benjamin in. He was being detained at Kankakee, IL, so he’d been brought here from about one hour away.

The testimony lasted for about an hour and a half to two hours. I lost track of time. The judge asked Benjamin a litany of questions, followed by cross-examination from the Immigration attorney. From where we were seated, we could only see Benjamin, the lawyer, the translator and the back of the marshal, who I assumed came from Kankakee. He wore street clothes, did not appear to have a weapon, and sat slouched the entire time, chewing and picking at his fingernails. This habit distracted me on several occasions. I wondered if he was anxious or if this was just a tic or habit he resorted to when bored. The viciousness with which he bit and tore at them made me wonder what shape they were in. But most of all, I thought about how tedious this was for him. 

Meanwhile, Benjamin was given ample time to tell his story. He endeavored to explain to the judge why he should be granted asylum. Asylum is not an easy plea. The plaintiff must show that he or she is in imminent danger of being killed or tortured if returned to their country of origin.

Here is Benjamin’s story:

Benjamin Valdez-Gonzalez was born in Veracruz, Mexico in March of 1960. He is 57 years old. He first entered the US in the 1990s but has been deported once, in 2007. He has lived and worked in the US almost continuously for more than twelve years. He’s never been arrested or convicted of a crime in Mexico, the US, or any other country. He’s been married to a US citizen, Pansy Coleman Valdez, for over eleven years. Pansy and her family have lived in the same town in Kentucky for generations dating back to slavery.

When Benjamin was living in Veracruz, he was shot through the chest by police in a case of mistaken identity. He was hospitalized for eight days, and he nearly died. This is important to understanding his primary fear of return, because the police in Vera Cruz are corrupt, as is the entire government. One only needs to read/watch the news to find out about this. His home town, Panuco, sitting as it does on the border, is one of the most dangerous. Veracruz is currently the most deadly and dangerous state ruled by the cartels, namely the Zetas. The legitimate fear Benjamin has is that he would be killed or kidnapped for ransom because he has lived and worked in the US for so long, and it is known that he has money, or has access to money, since he has a wife and other family members here.

He cannot depend upon the police for protection. They are corrupt. He cannot just live somewhere else. “It is the same everywhere,” are his words.

After listening to Benjamin tell his story, I felt briefly that the judge might have mercy. It was clear to me that he showed legitimate reasons to be fearful. Still, in the back of my mind, I thought about the guidelines I had read, and I knew that the threat had to be something more imminent.

And the cross examination verified this. The ICE attorney pressed Benjamin on several small discrepancies between his interview and this testimony he just gave. She then went on to hammer home the point that being shot mistakenly twenty-some years ago did not constitute or could not be the basis for an immediate threat. She pointed out that he could live and work elsewhere in Mexico.

And so we had our ruling. The judge never saw Pansy, who sat tall and focused upon her husband throughout the hearing. She was behind the camera. He never saw Pupcake, who moved back and forth from her seat near Eric and me to a seat next to her mom, wearing her pretty dress she’d chosen for her Big Daddy. He never saw my husband and me, and he certainly didn’t see Big Daddy’s community, his church, the way he has mentored and taught men in the jail with hymns and Bible lessons, his garden at home in Springfield, the tobacco farms on which he labored in the summer swelter or the fine work he has done as a foreman. He didn’t see how harrowing this is for Benjamin’s small family, especially for Pupcake, who will have no one to take her to the pool like he did, to run to when she’s hurt, or to call her “Princess.”

He just saw another name, another number, and he did his job. He did say he found Benjamin "credible."

After the hearing, Pansy and Pupcake were able to visit Big Daddy through glass in a room equipped with phones and cubicles. They couldn’t hug or touch, but they had a long time to talk and made the decision to file an appeal. Benjamin told Pansy he was happy, he was fine, and if he had to leave he would be okay. It was for her he was fighting the deportation. I think what he was saying is that if it was God’s plan, he would accept it. He’d find a way back.

A few weeks later, I was at my Thursday night meditation group. Our teacher, who is both Christian/Catholic and Buddhist, was talking with us about the head/heart metaphor. He said that the Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh’s first impression of Americans was that we are too full of thoughts. He talked about the Buddhist chant om mane pame hum, and how, while it is translated “the jewel in the lotus,” it is also referring to the heart, to the place that can only be reached by the journey of introspection and contemplative practice.

In the room in which we sit are many icons and representations from various religions and schools of thought, from a beaded curtain of the Mona Lisa to a print of the Lord’s Prayer in Aramaic. New to me was a bust of the Christ with his finger pointing to the sacred heart. It was much like those you can see in South America or on kitschy candles in Mexican groceries. The robes of Christ are open, and the wounded heart is revealed.

My thoughts went immediately to Benjamin. In his testimony, as he talked about the gunshot wound he received long ago, he added in (and the translator told us) “But I knew that God wanted me to stay alive.” The judge didn’t ask him how he knew that or what it meant. Just the facts.

The marshal chewed at his cuticles. Pansy sat stoically, still and erect, never taking her eyes from her beloved Big Daddy.

Nonetheless, he continued, “the reason I know that I wasn’t meant to die that day is because the police shot me through the left side of my chest where the heart is supposed to be. Do you want me to show you?” And he raised his hands toward his heart, and for the first time we could see clearly that they were manacled.

The judge indicated that he didn’t need to see the scar, and Benjamin continued: “You see, my heart is not on the left. My heart is on the right side of my chest. So God wanted me to live.”

PLEASE Share Links Below TO A PETITION FOR BENJAMIN's APPEAL & A YOUCARING FUNDRAISER FOR THE VALDEZ FAMILY..

FUNDRAISER CLICK HERE!

SIGN THE PETITION CLICK HERE!


FOLLOWING ARE LINKS TO STORIES ABOUT KIDNAPPING OF MIGRANTS WHO RETURN, the ZETAS in VERACRUZ, and the POLICE CORRUPTION IN MEXICO:

KIDNAPPING THREAT

THE MISSING and the MASS GRAVES

HUMAN RIGHTS WATCH

VERACRUZ UNDER COMPLETE CONTROL OF ZETAS

WHERE ARE THE CHILDREN