I’ve compiled some quotes here from journalists on the subject of child separation at the US Mexico border.
If I seem nonplussed by this turn of events, which is not uncommon in this sense, consider this; I grew up in a home that was shattered by domestic violence. I know the pain of having parents who were not initially completely committed to the idea of having children at all.
But I never knew the pain of separation from a family member until I was unduly separated from my service dog at - guess where- the Arizona/Mexico border.
For the first time in over six years my seizure dog and I were separated, leaving me and my dog alone, injured and scared. It wasn’t until seven days passed that we were tearfully reunited again. This thought remains one I entertain shrewdly, for it’s still unpredictably upsetting.
However, my familial separation occurred just last year, in February, 2017. As an adult and in my home country, I speak the language, know the customs and probably take for granted lots of other things that would-be refugees escaping tyranny and violence aspire to themselves.
Just about the only idea that I rightly share with the immigrants is a common distrust of the Law of the Land on the American border. Sadly, I happen to know the horrifyingly sudden and violent lawlessness that exists along our southern border.
In our case and most certainly every case concerning the immigrant kids, they will face charges alone in what amounts to a wholesale charade of “justice.” Most likely these kids will be convicted and treated as adult cons, living with the stigma and self-doubt only one with a clean conscience may feel.
This is in keeping with the trump philosophy of creating long-term snags for those least equipped to deal with it; a criminal record creates a powerful incentive for employers to justify discriminating against immigrants through no fault of their own.
Now in my early fifties, I don’t mind foregoing the 9 to 5 and other hamster wheel pursuits that have only offered me a slim return on my investment of time and energy. Nor do I plan to run for office though, like Nixon and Clinton before him trump is further evidence one not need a clean criminal record to attain the highest office in the land.
I am a person who happens to have a highly obvious physical disability and am in average physical condition, with a protruding belly that belies my once-powerful physique. At first glance, I’m a pretty easy mark for a rogue federal agent, my generic term for a twenty-something kid trying to make a name for himself.
But my service dog and I survived our ordeal-what else could we do? But we’ll likely deal be dealing with the insidious after-effects of this trauma forever. And I say this as a grown man, able to eventually size up the situation that seemed to suddenly materialize out of thin air. In short, I had every practical advantage.
However, the immigrant families attempting to cross into America aren’t as fortunate as we were. We escaped the situation with our freedom (more or less) and left the horrible place that the Ports of Entry.
We crossed in our RV once at Lukeville, AZ about 25 miles south of Ajo, AZ and again at Mexicali. We also walked across once, into Juarez for some dental work. As pedestrians, we weren’t required to provide any documentation beyond my passport.
Despite current claims that Mexico is the world’s most dangerous country I was hesitant to leave its relative safety to return to the states. Perhaps it was my vague understanding of the macho American law enforcement culture that led to my gut feeling that dancer was ahead no matter which way we traveled.
But again, I’m an American citizen who speaks Spanish well enough to interact with just about anyone there. It’s the call of this cultural draw that kept me going back to Mexico time and again.
But because of the intense and rapid escalation of National Guard troops and other Americans who are enlisted to help this unconscionable practice of ripping immigrant families apart, I am too frightened to return to the border and into Mexico anywhere; I know what I might be in for because it happened once. Only a fool - or an extremely desperate person - would knowingly risk such a fate.
Again, I’ve no idea for what the immigrants who have fallen prey to Trump’s horrible policy of family separation at the border are feeling. But I needn’t be an immigrant to empathize with their plight and to do what I can to support them; only a civil human being.
Given that there is no family reunification plan, and also the different times in processing parents vs. their kids in detention may not see each other for days, weeks, months and maybe never.
I have immense respect for the immigrants who are trying to cross into the US in the face of so many unknowns and certain danger. Being thankful for my own freedom is cold comfort when I consider the suffering of the children and their mothers and fathers.
Those who are daring enough to try their crossing alone are among those I feel for most; it must be the most dangerous and terrifying way to cross for the same reasons my dog and I suffered. There are no witnesses to see what happens.
Some agents have it in them to rip families apart and to put others in chains, minors included. It’s possible that an agent, alone in the dark with a would-be lone traveler and free to create and interpret the law according to their judgment could easily make a traveler a free for all.
Still, I know only a little about the trials immigrants will face on their long journey. But I can only imagine what drives them to come to the Mexico/American border.
Eighteen months ago I spent an afternoon at an open, unfenced section of the Arizona/Mexico border. I was in what can best be described as a dry wasteland that couldn’t support life of any kind and, indeed there was little to be found.
Standing on the Arizona/Mexico border, wondering what the dangerous migration means to those for whom such a trip is a reality. Life and death literally hangs in the balance for even the strongest who have no choice but to go despite the risks.
I saw firsthand the torn and faded clothing lying in the very spot where they were left behind who knows how long ago. A boy’s shoe, worn through A little girl’s old denim jacket with flowers sewn on the trim brought to mind the same items their American counterparts would wear to school, unaware of the horrors the border crossers survived just to be there.
These items were left by the fortunate ones who made it that far. Who knows where their journey began?
Other items, such as quart-sized black plastic bottles shaped like the oil containers on our store shelves here were also found in large numbers.
The quiet, sun baked terrain is actually a potentially sacred site upon which someone’s dreams- or nightmares - hang in the balance. These mundane items are remnants of someone’s final, several hundred yards’ sprint to the Arizona border to what they believe is safety, if they can only make it through. But perhaps the most dangerous crossing awaits them at the dusty border road which is traversed by American CBP- Customs and Border Patrol- vehicles piloted by any agent.
Some of these agents may actually have a shred of a conscience and even a spate of empathy for the immigrants’ plight. But the exaggerated John Wayne-macho law enforcement culture there would never allow such an emotional expression. They’d immediately be labeled as “soft” and “weak.”
The apparent disregard and inherent disrespect for border crossers from Mexico was evident in every way with those dyed-in-the-wool anti-immigrant, pro-Trump agents. I remember feeling fortunate that these men, armed to the teeth with deadly weapons and a swagger to match were not after me.
Those agents I met and chatted with who patrolled that segment of the border seemed short on morals and what I saw as s clear inability to think quickly should the need arise.
And why not? According to them their job consisted mainly of keeping watch for “illegals” attempting to cross using the only cover available; darkness.
Dimwit may be a strong term but I call them as I see them. I left each conversation, which I managed to do one-on-one to hopefully get a true sense behind their thinking. After all, these people were restraining unarmed men, women and children and taking them to detention centers for processing.
Perhaps I’m conjuring an energy from these men but, even as an American I felt that anything was possible with them, no cruelty too great. And this was before I was wrongly accused of an incidental malfeasance by a colleague of theirs patrolling the Arizona/California border.
In this part of the desert there is no cover for would-be crossers. The placid sight, which clearly takes on a life of its own after dark conjured many uncertain outcomes for the unfortunate ones who are caught in the process.
Here’s the most recent quote I’ve found in the news regarding the emotional and developmental disruption for the most vulnerable of all immigrants: Children.
“There is no one-on-one care," said Fox. "There is not an adult who is the child’s caregiver who is buffering that child’s stress and to whom that child looks to for safety, protection and security.”
- Nathan Fox, a child development specialist at the University of Maryland
It’s worth noting that these displaced and terrified children are facing an emotional backlash that may take them a lifetime to realize the extent of the damage. Anxiety, depression and suicide are natural outcomes of such childhood trauma though each person’s resilience will differ. Still, there’s nothing positive to be gained here.
*Please note that I’ll be updating this post with additional quotes as they become relevant to this subject.
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