I could not sleep last night. Instead, I lay in the dark listening to the rain and thinking of the toxin that has crept into this moist Oregon valley I call home.
There is fear in this valley, fear in the fields, fear on the farms, the nurseries, the vineyards and in the orchards where brown-skinned workers are pruning trees. Fear in the fruit processing facilities, the meat packing plants, the restaurants, and grocery stores. Fear in the hotel rooms where rarely opened Bibles sit in drawers while more brown-skinned people scrub floors. There is fear in schools as students sit in classrooms distracted by worries that Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) may have scooped away their parents while they were away. And now, there is even fear in the very places these hard-working people who have made their way across our southern border without the proper piece of paper, go to worship.
Earlier this month, a church in the small rural town of Woodburn, Oregon, or “Little Mexico,” as I’ve heard many Anglos refer to it, was broken into. The church’s alarm system was cut, its tabernacle and two chalices were shattered, and the files of an immigrants rights group trying to create a sanctuary for undocumented workers were rifled through than scattered.
Quietly, word spread about the break-in. This was during the chaos caused by President Trump’s executive order. I was saddened and outraged by this newest attack on an already fearful people. That’s how I found myself, an Indian-American atheist, at the vandalized church the following Sunday. A young Hispanic boy, the pastor’s first child, met me and about ten other guests in the parking lot and directed us to a side entrance. The chapel was too damaged to hold service. Instead, we were led into a stark room with metal tables and chairs set in a circle so parishioners could face one another.
I do not understand Spanish—but I do understand the language of fear and sorrow, and that language was writ large in that circle. The Pastor of the Woodburn church conducted a bi-lingual ceremony for his anglo guests. He talked of living as an “illegal”, of hiding in shadows not wanting to be seen or heard, of desiring nothing more than work, a way to earn wages so he and his family could survive, possibly even thrive. He talked about recent rumors of ICE showing up at schools, at grocery stores, in courthouses. Was this really happening? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, the damage was done. People were now afraid to leave their homes, afraid to go to work or to shop for food. Afraid even to come to church. Who broke in? Why? What were they after in those files? They had no answers.
The Pastor and his wife have three children. The youngest, an infant, was cradled in his mother’s arms. The two toddlers sat beside her as they watched their father with wide-eyes. Yes, the Pastor said, he broke a law when he came to Oregon without documentation. “But sometimes, one has to choose between breaking a law, and doing what is necessary to live.”
After the service, we went around the circle grasping one calloused hand after another.
Last night, I lay in bed listening to the rain fall, striking rooftop and pavement, seeping into soil and stone. I was safe and warm. So were my husband and son. All of us protected by the walls and roof of a home I’ve never had to flee because of war or repression or crime or lack of economic opportunity. I have never had to pack up my family and try to make my way through the night alone in a country that says I do not belong. My father came to this country a Muslim immigrant from India seeking an education. My mother’s parents came as Catholic immigrants from Germany. They built homes and businesses, raised families, took them on vacations to see this country, and always they celebrated the birth of this nation every Fourth of July, honoring the precepts that welcomed them.
For me, the art of being human is the art of understanding the falsehood in the word “other.” There are no borders on this planet, only human mindsets which tell us to fear what lies beyond our experience and imagination. We all breathe the same air, all require the same stuff of sustenance. All waters link, currents move around the globe, seeds disperse, so does soil and stories and sound. Animals migrate—whales, birds, wildebeest—humans, too.
How much more could we be if we stopped building walls and started to reach out to one another? How much more could we do if we fed our more compassionate nature rather than our more craven one?
I could not sleep last night, so I lay in the dark and listened to the rain soak the living soil that so many bend their back toward in order to feed and nourish us all.
I live in Eugene and yes there is fear. I did not hear about the church break in you write about. I have said I am ready to protect, to give sanctuary, but I dont know really how far I can go. Now is the time to give witness of what we see to each other so we can’t pretend not to know. Thanks for your witness
At last! Someone who unrnastdeds! Thanks for posting!
Brilliant writing, my friend.
When I was a kid, we played in backyards across the neighborhoods. We were welcomed even if it was just cutting through to the next year. No one fenced their yards. Fence are like less obvious walls but are still walls. Walls inspire fear. Fear inspires distrust. Distrust inspires hate. Hate leads to higher walls. Walls separate us and isolate us and limit us. Walls keep us from exploring, from being, from seeing.
Beautifully written and so sad. Times they are a’changin, and not for good. inhumanity is now state- sponsored. Never imagined days like this, the threat to people, animals, and our planet unfolding.
Naseem, thank you for this. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful.
Your story is beautiful, and beautifully written. My heart is broken over what is happening to our Hispanic brothers and sisters. It sickens me how much is not understood about the importance the Hispanic population adds to our economy, and the beautiful diversity added by their humble nurturing culture. Americans would be better off if they’d learn to emulate instead of hate that which they protest to understand. I wish I could find a way to advocate and help. I love the Hispanic people, they offer much more to America than they are accused of taking away.??
Thank you for your well written and evocative piece. Let’s not forget that these unjust, cruel and terrible behaviors from angry, ignorant, and elitist people have been happening for hundreds of years. This focus now on Mexican people is just our latest shame. Unfortunately, your piece is not reaching those who might need to see life differently. How can we help those people see that their thoughts and actions damage not only the marginalized, but their own welfare? So far, I don’t see too many mindsets getting any dents. I’ve been trying to do my part with young people and as a teacher. I believe in social justice education. I believe in helping young people see “other’s” perspectives so that “walls” come down, and walls are NOT built! There are still caring and sensible people who do see the atrocious and stupid in what our government officials say and do. They see these things in all sides of political fences. Fear is not the answer here. It’s a symptom, but not the solving of issues and problems. Everyone has some capable way to “solve” these horrible diseases of community. You write evocative papers, I teach using a social justice education agenda, your sister teaches teachers to see multiple perspectives and to teach in culturally-socially-linguistically responsive ways; these things we do are making a difference. We cannot afford to be fearful. We cannot afford to give in to hate, either. These are times for looking at events and people from higher states of consciousness. Going to the church was showing your community that you will not be fearful or sit by while those in your community are singled out and are victimized. This is being a soul doing that higher thing. Showing no fear. Showing that you are one community member who stands with other community members to say that this behavior will not be tolerated.
This is lovely; thank you.
Thank you, Naseem, for your couragous advocacy. As an Anglo, I find the upwelling of hate-speech and cowardly attacks on persons of color in our communities horrifying. We must stand up and speak out.
While your writing definitely tugged at heartstrings, the fact remains that the law is just that–the law. What makes this law okay to violate? That is a slippery slope to start down. I certainly don’t advocate taking a child’s parent(s) away while the child sits in a classroom. Please understand that. But, you also must understand that laws were put in place for a reason. There are legal ways to enter this country. A very dear friend of mine came to this country from Columbia. She applied for a visa and worked as a nanny. She married a man who was born and raised here and wanted her mom to come live with them. They followed the proper procedures. It took some time but her mom is now legally here. Laws need to be enforced or they are a waste to have.
If those Bibles, unread, in drawers were opened, people would read and hear that God in no way condones what is happening.
This is so sad and so beautifully written. Thank you. Living in the safe haven of New Zealand, so far from the agonies of fear the undocumented must be suffering in the US and Europe, it’s hard to believe what’s happening to make the world so xenophobic. However, we’re not immune to it here, although on a lesser scale. My heart goes out to people living in such despair.
What happens to employers that knowingly hire undocumented? Are there laws that require their farms to be taken away? The system is broken. My hope is that white people are being pushed into action by the actions of the monsters that are in power in our nations capital. I joined a group in Salem that is resisting the hateful agenda of dt. There are so many issues: women’s rights, lgbtq rights, health care, the environment, education, national security, all people of color’s equality, homelessness, poverty…. I’m a 65 year old white man that has voted in every election, after the results of the last one my wife and I were devastated. We decided to get off the couch and join the resistance. Voting is a right and a responsibility, but that’s the easy part for most of us. In these times more is required to preserve our Democracy. I still believe in MLK’s dream.
Thank you for this. I teach in an elementary school in Beaverton, and yes, the children in my class are frightened to the point of tears on a daily basis. No child should have to leave for school in the morning wondering if their parents will still be there when they return home.?
I am a native Texan by birth. My people settled in Gonzales Country, where the White Settlers and Mexicans were at war. Later on, I was visiting my aunt and uncle who were still farming. I learned he had a couple of Mexicans he was giving them work, food, and shelter. I was shocked by my Educated Fool guess “isn’t that illegal, Aunt Vera?” I asked. Well, she said in the Texas accent “what are we going to do? Let ’em starve to death?” I uphold my aunt and uncle for bravely taking those men in on their journey, for some respite, food and shelter in exchange for cattle work.