News & Commentary

This Year Hasn't Been a Complete Disaster.

Across the country, COVID-19 outbreaks have resulted in hundreds, if not thousands, of reported positive cases among the population of immigrants who are detained. Cases will only increase as we approach the peak of the coronavirus pandemic. Substandard medical care in our detention centers has already resulted in deaths for other illnesses, including a 16-year old boy who died of the flu at the Customs and Border Protection facility in Weslaco, TX. A man in New Jersey died from gastrointestinal bleeding after being denied the necessary medical care to save him. 

The safety and rights of all Marylanders must matter to all of us.

The Need to Reduce People in Detention Centers is Urgent

Over a hundred people from across the state attended this year’s Lobby Day and demanded action from their state legislators. From Western Maryland to the Eastern Shore, our members demonstrated that one way to make an impact in your community — and our state capital — is through advocating in person by meeting with your elected officials. 

Currently, three Maryland counties – Frederick, Cecil and Harford County – are actively using local police agencies to target and cage immigrants for U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement as part of the 287(g) program. The 287(g) program deputizes local police as federal ICE agents who receive minimal training and are incentivized to use racial profiling tactics against mostly Black and Brown immigrants. The belief by some that programs like this keep communities safe stem from several myths. Let’s set the record straight.

On Tuesday Nov. 12, crowds gathered in front of the U.S. Supreme Court for the “Here is Home” rally, holding signs that read “Defend DACA” and “Let Dreamers Dream.” In the cold pouring rain, protestors cried, “Ni la llueva, ni el ventó, detiene el movimiento,” which translates to neither the rain nor the wind stops the movement.

Latinidad is complicated for me. It’s the transgenerational trauma passing through our bloodlines. It’s the constant reminders of the horrors our ancestors suffered and the atrocities some of our other ancestors likely committed. Latinidad is being hurt, learning from our abusers, and subjecting our very own to that same persecution. Latinidad is a violent term in itself: A monolith that erases Black and Indigenous people, it works to silence the experiences of non-white/mestizo people both in the United States and abroad. 

While some may see my family’s history as solely an immigrant story, I know my family’s story is as American as any other immigrant’s story in our country. My mother came to the United States back in 1984, during the Guatemalan civil war. My dad crossed over the border to be with her in Los Angeles. They had two children, me and my brother. My parents worked hard to provide for us and our extended family, despite facing years of minimum wage jobs and discrimination.