[Immigration] Court

I wish that I would have jumped up and said,

"Look judge, I am not a lawyer and I do not know everything about this process. Frankly, I do not know if I am even allowed to be speaking right now. But, I do know a few things. I am here busting my ass trying to provide support to this woman seeking asylum in the midst of working three part-time jobs. But, this is not about me. It's about Antonia.

How is a single mother who gave up everything that she had to make the journey to this country, and is not legally allowed to work here, supposed to find a place to live, take care of her child, and on top of all of that, pay for a lawyer?"

After two hours of sitting in the court room waiting while other people's cases were processed, and struggling to stay awake in the midst of a very busy week, I was already feeling on edge when Antonia was called before the judge. I wanted to be able to accompany Antonia to the seat before the judge, but did not think that I was allowed since I am not a lawyer.

So, I watched from the general court seating as the judge asked her why she did not have a lawyer present with her.

She explained that she had contacted 12 lawyers, all of which told her that they were too busy to take on a new case, or that they would require thousands of dollars of down-payment before speaking to her.  The judge asked her if she could hire a lawyer before her next court date at the end of June, and she honestly replied, "I do not know." She was not about to cave to the pressure of the judge's questions. She was honest in reflecting the struggle she was having to find a lawyer, and the pragmatic reality that she may not find someone in another two months.

So, I watched from the general court seating as the judge proceeded to tell her that she had, had enough time to find a lawyer, and would now have to represent herself.

I felt frustration at this system that requires money to buy justice. I felt frustrated at this system in which you have to have a piece of paper from an educational institution worth tens of thousands of even hundreds of thousands of dollars to have a voice. I felt frustrated at this system that seemed to veil communication and knowledge from the common people by speaking in verbiage and through procedures unknown to the common person. I was frustrated that each lawyer Antonia and I spoke to either referred us to another organization or gave us trite counsel accompanied by the words, "but don't take this as legal advice." Was any lawyer really willing to put their skin in the game to help this woman and her daughter?

So, I watched from the general court seating as the judge began to question Antonia about her entry into this country.

"Did you present yourself at the border or did you enter this country illegally?"

I squirmed in my seat, knowing that the answer was simple and easy. She could answer it in one word, but just saying "Illegalmente". But, instead, she proceeded to answer the question as best she could.

Antonia shared that she fled violence in El Salvador with her passport and presented herself to an agent at the border.

She was right. She did present herself to an agent, which is what the judge had asked. The only thing was that the agent was not at a port of entry, but rather on the other side of the border wall after Antonia and her daughter crossed over.

So, I watched from the general court seating as the judge proceeded to ask clarifying questions.

Antonia stumbled through each question, struggling to answer as clearly or concisely as the judge required.

It makes me sad that I am not able to say something for this woman, who knows nothing about this system.

It does not dawn on me until I hear Antonia's honest and innocent answers to the judge's questions. She is not dumb, nor is she trying to take advantage of the system. It is the system that does not make sense.

I realized, Humans are not born with an ingrained knowledge

that there are countries and borders and that you are prohibited from crossing borders without the correct pieces of paper. That when you do cross, you have to do so through a specific set of gates, and you have to take to someone that has a specific badge.

I realized, Humans are not born with an ingrained knowledge

that some threats to one's survival will qualify them to seek refuge in another country, and other threats to one's survival will not qualify them to seek refuge in another country. That threats because of one's politics, religious beliefs, race, nationality, or membership in a social group will qualify them for asylum, but that hunger and poverty will not. Even when that hunger and poverty is largely caused by trade relationships and agreements with other countries, the lingering affects of colonialism and neo-colonialism, and the corruption of government officials and other powerful people.

I realized, Humans are not born with an ingrained knowledge

           

that to find refuge in another country you must be able to document the threats that you face and prove without a doubt the imminent danger that exists. That somehow you must find a way to capture these threats in writing, recordings, and eye-witness accounts, and that you must bring these things with you across thousands of miles of rugged terrain, through rivers and across desserts, and through the encounters with bandits, gangs, drug cartels, rapists, and corrupt policeman and private security. That you must somehow stick around the threat long enough, inquire from those whom you flee, their name, their associations, and the history of what makes them dangerous. That you cannot flee directly to where you are assured safety, but must try living elsewhere in your country first, risking being tracked down and killed, in order to prove that you do, in deed, need to find refuge in a new country.

Antonia has come to learn that there are rules and a process to cross borders, but after applying for a visa four times, and being denied each time, what other option does she have?

How is Antonia supposed to respond when asked if she crossed the border "illegally"? Why would the only option for her be "illegal"?

Does she even know that there are official Ports of Entry, but that because of politics in the U.S. today, she would be forced to wait outside of these gates for days, weeks or even months before her number in line was called? Does she know that the United States is violating international law and human rights by denying asylum seekers entrance to the country in this way?

I think we need to take a big step back and ask ourselves, are people actually bad for crossing the border "illegally"? Or, is it that our system is not inherently known and intuitive to the people outside of our country?

Every homo-sapien is trying to live their life, survive, and even flourish. At the most basic level, we all want to put food on the table for ourselves and our families, provide shelter for ourselves and our families, and live in peace, where we are not threatened and worried about being killed. We will do what it takes to find that kind of safety and security and flourishing.

As I sit in the courtroom,

I ponder, cannot there not be a way for services to be provided to her in exchange for payment down the road once she is safe and secure and settled?  

Cannot there be a way to think of this whole process in a more creative and effective way?

As I sit in the courtroom,

I wish I would have gotten up there to say these things, and I imagine that the judge would've taken offense to my speaking out of turn, my passion, and the word "Ass". I imagine him reprimanding me for my speech.

In that case, I might have said something like, "Hey judge, you might find my language offensive, but I find your language offensive, too.

I think it is offensive to say these people's names with such an appalling accent that the people being called do not even recognize that it is their name being uttered."

I would say, "Hey Judge, how is it that you are the person making these judgments that will affect the rest of these people's lives - putting them in situations that may mean Life or Death - when you know nothing about their culture and their way of life?

Judge, I understand that you cannot know the background and culture from everyone around the entire world. There are thousands of languages spoken around the world, and tens of thousands of different cultures, and every single person has a different life experience, but when the majority of the people coming to your court speak Spanish and come from a Latin American background, it seems like it would be nice for you to know a little bit more about where they come from. It would be nice for you to understand why this process makes no inherent sense to them. Not to mention the fact that our Southern neighbor is Mexico, nor that this ground upon which we stand used to be Mexico, that our state is riddled with towns and rivers and forests and mountains with Spanish names, and that a very, very significant percentage of our country's population speaks this language

Hey judge, you might find my language offensive, but I find your language offensive, too."

I would hope that after saying all this,

that a lawyer would be willing to take on A's case,

that we could put our heads together and think more creatively about how we can meet people's needs going forward,

that more people would step up and get funding to have pro-bono legal services for new arrivals to this country,

that immigrants to the country, after become stable and acclimatized to their life here, would be invited to "pay it forward" to a new arrival of this country by sponsoring their legal fees,

that immigrants would take pride in helping other immigrants,

that maybe, just maybe, we would put our heads together to create a legal system in which money does not buy justice, in which proceedings are accessible and understandable for all,

           

that people that were born in this country would take pride in the fact that we are a country of immigrants and people of diverse backgrounds,

that we would not be trying to exclude and reject each other, but

that we would welcome one another,

love one another,

and embrace one another.

The world is only as scarce and limited as we make it. I choose to live in an abundant world, full of opportunity and saying yes. I hope that you will do the same.

President Eli & Mexican Beer

Yesterday was my first day of canvassing for the Colorado Immigrant Rights Coalition Action Fund. We are preparing for the Denver Municipal elections on May 7th, where Denver citizens will be voting for mayor, city council members, and various propositions. I am currently working in District 8 - Northeast Denver - gauging what issues are getting folks out the door to vote, who they are planning to vote for, and above all encouraging and thanking people for doing their civic duty by voting. Basically, I’m getting to meet a lot of amazing people and have conversations about politics with them on their doorstep. It gives me life because I love hearing people’s stories and learning more about this city that I live in and love. My hope is that it also empowers the people that I talk to, to know that change is possible and their voice can and will be heard. Their votes can help elect a candidate that is representative of their values and fights for the good of the community. Over the next month leading up to the Municipal election, and the month after leading up to the run-off election, I hope to share some of the stories from the campaign trail, as well as stories from the past few years of my life, that are giving me life, informing my view of the world and this city, and fueling my fire for justice. I hope that these stories can also spark something in you, make you laugh, or open you to a new conversation.

President Eli 2050. Remember the name!

As I turned the corner on to the 28th block of Pine St., I was given a breath of fresh life. There stood a sister and brother playing basketball. Further down the block two boys rode side-by-side down the street, one on a scooter, and one on a skateboard. And even further down the block, a handful of kids played football in their front yard. I was taken back to the days of my youth playing on the cul-de-sac of Lost Elms Street with my neighbor Koby, running up and down the block, playing basketball and tag, jumping on a trampoline, and then heading home and sweaty and sticky as soon as the street lights came on. The days of Americans knowing their neighbors and kids being able to play outside on the street were not over. Pine St. was alive with the future of America!

As I headed down the block, I talked to the brother and sister about their favorite NBA teams - the Chicago Bulls and Golden State Warriors, and shot a basket. I airballed (sad face). Then, I came upon the boys skating down the block. They were curious about what I was up to, and asked if I was the “salesman guy.” “No”, I replied. “I am the get your parents out to vote guy. Have y’all heard of that guy?” They looked at my kind of funny, but were intrigued. I knocked on a couple more houses and then realized, Why don’t I talk more with these kids? It’s never too early to start talking to youth about the world they envision and the country they would love to see.

So, I asked them, “Are you all going to vote one day?” Dee, a young white kid that looks much like the actor in Macklemore’s music video for “Wings”, jokingly said, “Nah.” Then, both Dee and his friend Eli replied, “Yeah, I think I will do that one day.” I did not think the conversation would go much further, but then Eli, a young African American youth around 10-years old, piped up and said, “I’m gonna be President one day.” “Oh yeah,” I replied, “What would you do as President?”

Eli confidently stated, “I would ban plastic. It can’t be recycled and it is clogging up the ocean. By 2050 there will be more plastic in the ocean than fish.”

Yes, I thought to myself. These kids get it. They understand our relationship to the world and want to make a change.

“What else would you do?” I asked.

“I would get everyone to use metal straws instead of plastic ones. Metal straws can be reused and recycled.”

Through the course of the conversation, I also learned that Eli wanted to send Donald Trump to Africa. It did not seem to becoming from a place of anger, as much as it came from a realization that Trump did not hold the same values as Eli and his neighbors nor did he seem to be awake to the realities of the world, and Eli wanted to give him a new experience to him wake him up. I was impressed.

Eli’s vision of the future and poised speech moved me. This kid could legitimately be the president one day. He seemed to come from a family that embraces the values I would love to see in this country. They had opened the garage of their house to Dee and his family, who were homeless for the time being. Dee said that their previous landlord tried to charge Dee’s mother $7,000 a month to live there, so the family had to move out. Whether the numbers are accurate or not, the truth remains that housing is expensive in Denver, and long-time residents are our community are deeply affected by the shortage of affordable housing. This is something that both Eli and Dee know well.

Eli went on, “It will be Eli and Dee, or Eli and Geo, or Eli and Davon…” While he had not quite figured out who his Vice President would be, remember, Eli 2050.

Mexican Beer

There were a few cars in the driveway on the corner of Pine and 26th. Between the cars and the house, sat a few men. I could hear their Spanish conversation dance down the block as I approached the men. I shuffled between the cars and embraced the opportunity to speak Spanish, greeting the men by saying, “Buenas Tardes. Soy Joshua con la Coalición de Derechos de Inmigrantes de Colorado.” (“Good Afternoon. I am Joshua with the Colorado Immigrant Rights Coalition.”) “Inmigración?” (“Immigration?”) they questioned, with a straight-faced humor. “¿Eres la migra?” (“Are you la migra?”) I embraced the opportunity to joke with them, and got down on my knees and put my hands in the air, saying playfully and in all sincerity, “¡No, No, No! No soy la migra. Estoy el opuesto de la migra. Estoy aquí para pelear contra deportación y crear nuevas leyes que protege a los inmigrantes.” (“No, no, no! I am not immigration! I am the opposite. I am here to fight against deportation and create new laws that protect immigrants.”) They laughed at my theatrical display and welcomed me in.

“¿Quieres una cerveza, o un Sparkling Water?” (“Do you want a beer or sparkling water?”) they asked me. This was Mexican hospitality on display. Always open to welcoming in the stranger, to making the table a bit longer, to making the party bigger. I could not decline.

To receive a gift of hospitality is a gift to both the receiver and the giver. This is a lesson that cultures around the world know well, whether Latinx, Middle Eastern, or African. For many in the United States, it would serve us well to learn this tradition of hospitality. Anyways, back to the corner of 26th and Pine St....

The three men introduced themselves. First David, the owner of the house. “In English”, he said, “I am David”, said with an accent over the “a” as we do in English. “En Español”, he continued, “yo soy David”, with an accent over the “i” as is done in Spanish. David then continued, “Este es Juan Casas, o en English, John Houses. Y este es Pancho Rojo, o en English, Frankie Red.” We all laughed at how these Spanish names could so easily be translated into different names in English. Then, I asked the men which names they preferred more, the English or the Spanish.

I learned that David and his counterparts was from Zacatecas, Mexico. David had become a Citizen of the United States and ran a landscaping business, employing Juan and Pancho. As the conversation continued, I asked the men what political issues mattered to them in the upcoming Municipal election, and also in general. As I asked about LGBT rights, they couldn’t pass the opportunity to heckle each other, Juan and Pancho commenting on David loving men. After dishing each other a few immature, but affectionate jokes, David then straightened up to say, “Claro que estoy en favor de los derechos de LGBT. Cada persona tiene sus propios preferencias debe estar respetada. Cada persona puede hacer lo que quiere, y solo que pido yo, es que también respete a mi.” (“Of course I am for LGBT rights. EAch person has their own preferences and should be respected. Each person can do what they want, and I just ask that they respect me, too.”)

Through much of the rest of the conversation, Juan and Pancho remained quiet as David and I discussed policies related to healthcare, affordable housing, racial discrimination, and immigration. Then, I asked about raising the minimum wage, and all of a sudden Juan and Pancho jumped in, “¡Sí, sí!” (“Yes! Yes!”) they exclaimed. “¡Debemos aumentar el salario mínimo!” (“We should increase the minimum wage!”) They embraced the opportunity to joke with their boss (David) about wanting to get paid more. Pancho, jokingly said, “No tengo bastante dinero para un coche. Tengo que montar mi bicicleta.” (“I do not have enough money for a car. I have to ride a bike.”) He was not actually being serious, but David went with it. “No, estoy ayundandole. Estás ahorrando dinero porque no tienes que pagar gas. Y estoy ayudandote a ponerte más fuerte porque estás haciendo más ejercicio.” (“Actually, I am helping you. Now you have more money since you are not paying for gas. And, I am helping you get stronger since you are doing more exercise.”) I chimed in, “Y estás protegiendo al medio ambiente por usar su bici en lugar de manejar.” (“And, you are helping the environment by using your bicycle in place of driving.”) Pancho accepted these new perspectives with a joking naivete, “Ah, entiendo. En realidad, me estás ayudando mucho!” (“Oh, I get it. You are actually helping me a lot!”)

I laughed with these men that had been strangers just a few minutes ago, and was overjoyed by their company, hospitality, and the quick bond we had made on the corner of 26th and Pine St. As David mentioned that life in Capitalist America can be so busy and chaotic, it brought me joy to see that these men were resisting that individualistic dehumanizing tendency to work, work, work and pay no attention to the people around them. Through shared beers and conversation, jokes around lawn chairs in the driveway, these men celebrated life, and celebrated living in a country where they felt free; a country that, despite some faults, by-and-large celebrates diversity and inclusivity.

*some names have been changed to protect the identities of people mentioned in this post*