09/17/2024
This picture reminds me that at this time 9 years ago, I and others from our staff were volunteers at a family detention center in Dilley, Texas, near the southern border. The term “detention center” is a bit euphemistic. It was a private for-profit prison for women and children who were seeking asylum in the U.S. and had surrendered or apprehended at the southern border. We called it “baby jail.”
We were there to help them prepare for their “credible fear” interviews. That is, if they could show a credible fear of persecution in their home country based on their membership in certain protected classes if returned, they could stay and apply for asylum and the opportunity to stay permanently in the U.S. for protection. This project staffed by volunteers lasted for several years; the facility was recently finally closed.
For just a week, we saw the mothers and their children one after another all day long and listened to their stories. They were mostly from the northern triangle, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras. Those countries were largely ruled by gangs and drug cartels. The authorities would not protect women from domestic and gang violence. The stories of beatings, r**e, extortion, and torture were horrendous. They traveled often by foot, children in tow, hundreds of miles north to seek sanctuary in the U.S. On their way, they were abused, robbed, intercepted by Mexican authorities, but they still came and somehow made it here, only to be imprisoned.
The prison conditions weren’t great, especially considering these were not criminals. But they were treated that way. Security was heavy. We couldn’t even give gifts to the children, like crayons, toys, candy, etc. Armed guards watched over us as we met with the mothers and their children. We couldn’t take pictures or take our phones in.
The children ranged from playful to comatose. Most were clearly suffering from trauma. To be honest, listening to these stories for a week created a bit of secondary trauma in me. I took lots of notes of their stories, but refused to look at them again. Some attorneys and volunteers spent weeks with this prison and it took a toll on their mental health.
But here’s the unusual thing. My overall impression of the mothers was not pity although there was much to pity about their situation. It was overwhelming admiration for them. They were heroic, brave, strong women. They had the courage to take their children in their arms and trek north to save their lives.
Sadly, much of the American public looked at them as invaders, looking for handouts, lazy, “illegals,” etc. But the opposite was true. They were mothers of high character doing what they could to save their families. If allowed to stay, they will be a credit to their adopted country. It reminds me of a saying in the early days of western migration in the U.S. It went something like this, “The cowards never started; the weak died on the way; only the strong survived.” I prayed that these strong mothers and their children got to stay, despite the indifference and even hostility of much of the American public. They have the character to make contributions to the American dream.
