Trayvon Martin Justice March - Oakland, CA

In Oakland for the week on a conference, I was able to join the city's residents Monday night in their 3rd day of protests against the Zimmerman acquittal in the Trayvon Martin shooting case. It was an inspiring event. We gathered at Oscar Grant Plaza in the early evening, and marched as a group to take the city streets. 

Protestors gather at Oscar Grant Plaza in downtown Oakland.

Black, Latino, Asian-American, White, people with disabilities, kids, elderly individuals, all marched together, chanting "No Justice, No Peace" and echoing Trayvon's name. The signs bore poignant messages about racism today, mass incarceration, and white supremacy. I chatted with the people around me about their reasons for marching, conditions in their communities, and the relationship between Oakland activists and police. 

One marcher's sign bore the message: "White Supremacy is a White Problem."

At one point, when the police blocked our planned march route, a group of the protestors took an alternative path, marching up onto the freeway and blocking traffic for about 15 minutes. We then regrouped and continued marching together through the city and around the city lake. After 2 hours, I decided to head back to my hostel to get some much-needed rest. But the march was by no means dwindling; in fact it was continuing to grow, as more and more folks got word and came out to express their demands for racial justice.

Police line blocking planned route of march.

March moves to Lake Merritt.

When I checked the news in the morning, I was surprised to see coverage primarily focused on the minor vandalism and one physical confrontation that occurred later in the night. To me, the main message of the entire protest was lost; there was no discussion in the major news sources of the collective energy, the insightful critiques of structural racism, and the community building that the protest represented for the grand majority of the marchers. 

Police arresting one of the protestors after the freeway was blocked.

While some would criticize the protestors who engaged in violent acts as detracting from the peaceful aspects of the march, I would direct my criticism completely to the media that sensationalize the Oakland protests rather than present a holistic portrayal of events. I also recognize that, in the face of this reminder of the immensity and, oftentimes, unyielding power of institutional racism in our nation and cities today, it is not surprising that some people will express their outrage with vandalism.

Declarations of hope in the windows of local businesses.

Being in Oakland, I was able to witness the breadth and diversity of the movement for racial justice in the city. It is both an infuriating and inspiring time.

Massachusetts Fasters Say "Not One More Deportation"

This past week, workers and community members across Massachusetts participated in days of fasting to denounce the detention and deportation of 400,000 immigrants each year and to stand in solidarity with affected families. The action is part of the National Fast to Say "Not One More Deportation," and coincides with a New England-wide week of actions against deportations.

Zion and Israel come out for the week of action to help protest 

the planned deportation of their father.

Many of the fasters have been directly affected by detention and deportation within their own families. Vivian Deleon, a 19-year-old student from Lynn, MA, has been separated from her father for two years, following his deportation back to her home country of Guatemala. Renata Teodoro, now 25, has been separated from her parents since 2007, when they were detained and deported following a raid on her home.

We made signs to prepare for the fast!

Rather than focusing on their own suffering, these young women are fasting this week to show their solidarity with the millions of immigrants that are working hard to support their families, but suffer as a result of restrictive immigration policies. As Vivian puts it, "I decided to fast as a symbol of the sacrifice that parents have made for their kids to give them a better life, just like my parents did." Renata states that she decided to fast because, "Giving up food for a day is nothing compared to what undocumented people go through in detention."

For immigrant activists and community organizers, fasting also provides an important opportunity to reflect on what really matters in their work. As Monique Nguyen, director of MataHari, an organization of immigrant domestic workers, describes, "Fasting has given me the opportunity to be very reflective about families and communities being terrorized by detention-deportations." Alan Pelaez, of the Queer Undocumented Immigrant Project (QUIP) noted that while fasting, "Being hungry all day was constantly reminding me of everything that's going on."

Alan and Laura at the press conference announcing the fast and week of action.

While each fasters' specific motivation is distinct, they are unified in calling for an end to the separation and suffering of detainees and families. Laura Gonzalez decided to extend her fast from one day to the entire week, while attending a rally outside of Suffolk Detention Facility, and watching as detainees reached through the cell bars on their windows, struggling to communicate via paper signs and hand signals with their families, who stood amongst a crowd of supporters on the other side of a busy highway.

Protestors send messages to the detainees...

And the people in detention respond with their own messages.

Here, one man holds up a sign saying that he's been in detention for 7 years.

Alan was also deeply moved by his experience at the detention center, and emphasized the importance of standing in solidarity with detainees and families in the fight to end deportations. "We all understand what's going on, but they know it best," he stated. And he echoed the spirit of the fast by making a call to action: "We can never forget the messages we heard from the detainees today. We cannot ignore their plea."

No Borders, No Bars: Reflections from the Not One More Deportation Open Mic Protest

On Monday night, I stood outside the Suffolk County House of Corrections in Boston, MA, alongside nearly 100 community members and across from the 1,900 immigration detainees that are held at the facility.

It was a powerful moment. As we raised our voices outside in chants and poetry and song, the men inside banged on the windows and held up signs in solidarity. Some detainees communicated directly to their wives, children, and friends, who were standing with us in the crowd, by holding up signs that said, "I love you" and forming their hands in the shape of a heart. Other men used hand motions and scribbled notepaper bearing black penned letters to tell us their "alien" identification number in a plea for connection and assistance.

Community members and detainees share messages.

This communication, across approximately 500 feet over a hedge and a highway service road, was a striking change to the isolation immigration detainees experience from the moment they are picked up by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).

Each year, 400,000 people are detained by ICE, the grand majority (73%) for nonviolent, often minor, crimes such as driving without a license or for immigration violations such as missing a court date. While detained, these individuals have limited communication with their loved ones - they have to pay out of pocket to make phone calls home and no visits are allowed from friends and family who are also undocumented.

Meanwhile, the detainees' partners, parents, and children are suffering the pain of separation on the outside. In addition to the emotional impact, many families suffer the loss of their main breadwinner, and the economic impact can be devastating. For many families, the separation and pain continue far beyond the period of detention, as the majority of detainees are eventually deported.

The family of Josué Martinez, detained at Suffolk Detention Facility, participated in the protest.

As I learn more about the reality of detention and the suffering it is causing in my community, I become more and more enraged about the detention-deportation system that my tax dollars are helping to fund. At a price of nearly $2 billion per year, my neighbors and friends are being locked up, meanwhile the prisons that hold detainees and the companies that build detention facilities are making more money with each bed they fill.

While ICE purports to be promoting alternatives to detention programs that allow detainees who are a "low flight risk" to live in their communities while their case is processed, the programs do not go far enough - in Massachusetts we know that elderly and sick individuals are still being held in detention for months and years, and sometimes even being kept in solitary confinement. 

Also shocking is the extent to which the detention-deportation system disproportionately impacts people of color, who are more often targeted by law enforcement in their communities, and then funneled into detention through partnership programs with ICE such as Secure Communities.

Sharing songs of solidarity at the open mic protest.

There needs to be an end to this perverse deportation-detention system that is bringing suffering to workers, people of color, families, and children, without making our communities any safer or stronger. The immigration reform bills being proposed now will not change the profit incentive for detention and do not focus on improving conditions for detainees. In fact, the bills include proposals for more harsh enforcement methods, such as $30 billion more for border enforcement and mandatory e-verify programs at workplaces.

More enforcement simply perpetuates suffering. What we need is an inclusive immigration policy that recognizes the U.S.'s role in stimulating the roots of immigration through economic and military intervention, honors the contributions of 11 million undocumented immigrants by providing a reasonable path to citizenship, and increases avenues for safe, legal entry for poor workers abroad.

I remain hopeful that a just future is possible for our communities, if we continue to build power and demand the change we really want from the grassroots level. As we sang our final songs outside the detention facility and waved our goodbyes to the detainees, we could see storm clouds gathering in the distance. We smiled and linked arms, ready to fight for the rainbow after the storm.

Me and my friend Keylin at the protest - just like the butterflies 

we know that migration is natural and beautiful.

To learn more about the Not One More Deportation week of action and national fast visit:
http://www.notonemoredeportation.com/
https://www.facebook.com/NotOneMoreDeportationMassachusetts