Nearly 5,000 Massachusetts immigrants have been detained by ICE this year. Despite the unsupported propaganda that paints them as hardened criminals, terrorists, and drug dealers, most immigrants have no criminal records. Every immigrant has their own story, but most are seeking freedom from violence, from poverty, from oppression. They come with hope for a brighter future. For immigrants caught in the clutches of ICE, their American dream has become a nightmare.
On Dec. 1, my husband and I drove to a rally outside the Federal Building in Springfield to attend a gathering in support of an immigrant named Juan David, who was slated for deportation the next day, along with his wife and 7-year-old daughter. Several of the speakers stitched together a story of a man who had endeared himself to every person he encountered. Like so many of those targeted by ICE, his brown skin and Spanish language made him the target of a fascist regime determined to “Make America White Again.”
The crowd that had gathered held their immigrant-affirming signs, singing and swaying to spirited songs. Cars and trucks on nearby State Street blasted their horns in support. The scene was an antidote to the rhetoric of xenophobia coming from a country that was becoming more and more unrecognizable.
A lean, dark-haired man approached the microphone, along with the woman who introduced herself as friend and translator. Juan David shared his story of how he had arrived at this precarious moment. Employed as a coal miner in his home country of Ecuador, he had witnessed a mining accident. When his employers had refused to rescue the miners, Juan David became a whistleblower, calling attention to those who did nothing to save the lives of his co-workers. Targeted for his actions, Juan David feared for his life. He and his wife escaped Ecuador, eventually settling in Springfield. During that time, his wife was detained at an ICE check-in, ending up in a Texas concentration camp, where she was subjected to brutally inhumane conditions. Released after three months, she returned to her family in late November.
Forced to show up for ICE check-ins on a weekly basis, Juan David tried to keep his job, while making the almost 6-hour trek to and from Burlington each week. At his last appointment, the agent handed him a sticky note with handwritten orders to purchase return tickets to Ecuador for himself and his family. The family was ordered to show up in Burlington, with bags packed, on Dec. 2. Returning to Ecuador could mean a death sentence for Juan David.
I don’t speak much Spanish, but I didn’t need a translator to understand Juan David’s terror, his grief, his trauma. His eyes, overflowing with sadness, told me all I needed to know. I have never met Juan David, but he was no longer a stranger. I felt connected to him and that connection came with the responsibility to show up, to help in any way I could. I later phoned U.S. Sens. Ed Markey and Elizabeth Warren, Congressman Richie Neal, and signed a petition. My husband did the same. We had learned from our Holocaust survivor parents the meaning of standing up for others.
We were overjoyed to learn that a judge had issued an emergency habeus, so the family would not have to leave the country the next day. Juan David would be given limited time to make his case as a victim of labor trafficking, in order to be given a T Visa, allowing him to remain in the U.S.
Our elation was short-lived. I received a Dec. 5 email request to show up in Burlington for Juan David’s 8:15 a.m. ICE check-in on Tuesday, Dec. 9. “Bring as many people as you can,” just in case. Five of us took off for Burlington at 5:45 a.m. on Tuesday. The temperature was two degrees. Our optimism increased, as the crowd lining both sides of the street kept growing. Across the street Juan David stood by the door of the one-story building at 36 Ray Ave. A group of clergy blessed him before Juan David and his lawyer opened the door and disappeared.
We sang. Prayed silently. Five minutes later the door opened. His tearful lawyer came out — alone. I cried. I cry as I type these words. His lawyer described the scene. They were taken to a room with shackles on a table. All the ICE agent said to Juan David was, “Face the wall.” A few minutes later I heard the crowd across the street screaming, “Shame on you! Shame on you!” as the sedan with its tinted black windshield carrying Juan David, took off. I joined their screams, imagining this frightened dear man, handcuffed and shackled, alone in the back seat.
They told us later that Juan David would be taken to the Plymouth facility in Massachusetts. His lawyer had filed for habeus corpus. I thought of her daughter returning home from school to a fatherless home. I imagined his wife’s despair.
Driving back to Easthampton, I felt the bitter taste of facism. What has happened to my country?
I woke up this morning thinking of Juan David. I called Sens. Warren and Markey, and Congressman Neal, signed another petition, made a donation, prayed.
Juan David is one of thousands, but every person detained is part of our human family.
Please call Sens. Warren, Markey, and Rep. Neal. Tell them to demand Juan David’s release.
Consider donating to his family so they can put food on their table and pay the rent. (https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-juan-david-and-mirian?cp_src=d)
Sara Weinberger lives in Easthampton.