fuck your SEO title suggestions, I'm trying to protect my people
My last five days of living through constant ICE raids.
Before you read the rest of this post about my week, here’s a list of mutual aid and direct support organizations I trust and have seen in action doing essential the you can donate to:
There are things I’m seeing and continually processing. I am having a hard time seeing people who aren’t from southern California share their two cents on what’s happening here. I’m mad at myself for not being eloquent and I’m so damn exhausted.
Two weeks ago I witnessed a two-year old on trial in immigration court. I attended immigration to support a member of my community, we have the right to legally observe due process that’s owed to every person (citizen or not) in this country. He was so calm. I saw his mother breastfeed him in the corner of the waiting area. I watched her hold him on her lap as she spoke to the judge about a jaded immigration lawyer who lied to when he said she couldn’t apply for asylum.
Sunday
My in-laws are from Paramount. You know, the city that became a powder keg. I spent Sunday texting my husband (who was working) and my brothers in law (who don’t live in so cal) to tell their parents to stay at home because ICE was staging in Home Depot three miles from their house. I said I was sorry and let everyone know they could blame me if they’re upset for missing church or staying at home. No one was upset. On our screens we watched what was happening just a few miles away from their abode. My BIL asked me if he should tell my MIL to not go to church. I said it’s best if she stays at home. No one in our family was hurt.
Monday
A jornalero hugged me. I went to my local home depot to pass out KYR information to day laborers because we found out that ICE disappeared people at a Home Depot earlier that day. Jornaleros are immigrants who have rights and must be allowed to exercise them. I let the journaleros know that ICE has been staging around local Home Depots. I pass out red cards and make sure everyone has the information for the rapid response hotline. The jornalero thanked me and gave me a hug. I later found out that ICE disappeared people from three more Home Depots in Orange County. I’ll never know if that man is safe. How long will his ghost live in my arms?
I was at Santa Ana Monday. I went to drop off sharpies to friends who had been standing outside the Federal Building. The sharpies were to make signs that kidnapped and trafficked people could see from the vehicles ICE agents stole them in. Statements like “you have a right to a lawyer,” “memorize this number for legal aid,” etc. ICE would pepper spray the small crowed to move their vans filled with trafficked humans into the Federal building. The intention of that action was to find out, in any way they could, the names and birth dates of detainees so at least their family members could find out if ICE disappeared them. As of right now, no one knows if their family members were kidnapped and no one — absolutely no one — knows where they’re trafficked to once they leave the basement of the Federal building. By the time I got there, the mass action was co-opted by different organizers and political egos. That small number of rapid response volunteers doing their best to track trafficked peoples turned into a larger crowd with their protest signs, completely valid rage, and tension bubbling at the surface. DHS was protecting the Federal building, the cops were blocking off access to the street, and protesters were at the ready. I left when the second round of tear gas and rubber bullets were scattered. (I was there for a total of 4 minutes, my friend took me to my car to make sure I got home before it escalated).
As of right now, no one knows if their family members were kidnapped and no one — absolutely no one — knows where they’re trafficked to once they leave the basement of the Federal building.
Tuesday
Oh yeah, I’m a parent. I sit down with my kid and calmly explain to them what’s happening. One child cries. The other one disassociates. I wrap them in my arms. “We’re allowed to feel fear and our panic is justified,” I tell them, “We don’t have the luxury of being hopeless. We need to take care of our community in the best ways we can.” As the week goes by, my kids notice that there’s less and less eloteros and paleteros in our community. One child starts crying because they don’t know if they’ll see their friends next school year. We talk about solidarity and check out library books about keeping the community safe. There’s no easy way to have this conversation, but I don’t believe in raising my kids to be in denial.
Neighborhood ICE watch. It takes less than two hours to understand what you’re looking for when you’re spotting ICE. I’m not talking about social media posts (you never know what misinformation is out there). I’m talking about going to rapid response network trainings and understanding what to see and know and how to legally observe. Every white suburban or van is suspicious. We take pictures of license plates, keep an eye out for their uniforms equipment, take pictures of any face that’s masked and wears a hat. ICE used to dress up as police officers: all-black with “polICE” on their vests. It’s illegal to personate a police officer. Now the modern day gestapo doesn’t need to impersonate anything. They wear their poop-green colored uniform and parade around proudly in all their hate. If you’re caught filming them, they’ll take pictures of you. We go in groups to take pictures and videos to legally observe their wrongdoings. There’s a high potential we’ll get arrested or surveilled. We do it anyway. ICE melts when faced with resistance.
City Council Meeting. I don’t go to them because I have kids and little babysitting funds. (and omg do you know how hard it is to be a public servant when your 4-year-old thinks the chairs are an obstacle course?!). I livestream it from home, waiting to hear what City Council has to say about people getting disappeared in our hometown. The mayor is addressing things head on. Good. There’s some things city council members say that I disagree with… but the bar is in hell and I’m too tired to do mental gymnastics.
Wednesday
Everything is a checkpoint. Nothing is a checkpoint. Do you know how many people are scared of road construction now? Every orange cone. Every road sign. Every construction site feels like a red flag. I catch myself doomscrolling and see how many people are giving warnings about ICE checkpoints. (Maybe it’s because of fear. Maybe it’s because of chaos.) I’m watching city officials post on their social media pages “THIS IS ROAD WORK” or “THIS IS A ROUTINE FIREFIGHTER TRAINING.” What I appreciate about social media is that we can inform each other quickly. What I hate about social media is that misinformation gets spread quickly. What I hate more about social media is that there are people who live to fuck with our fears and circulate misinformation. Everyone I love is scared. Everyone I love is angry. I don’t love the people who are reveling in this, a thousand hells wouldn’t be enough for them.
My dad was sent to the ER. He was sent there immediately after his urgent care doctor noticed something off on his medical records. My mom’s phone died. My aunty called and asked if I knew he was at the hospital. I ended up calling hospitals asking if he was admitted there. Once I heard his voice my heartbeat calmed. The next thought was more painful than the fear of not know where he was: it’s a good thing he was rushed now, because if this were three months from now, and Medicare is stripped, I’d have to watch him die.
Thursday
Meetings. Meetings. Meetings. I’m reaching out to orgs I’m collaborating with for upcoming events. We’re strategizing how to live stream poetry readings in case people are scared to leave their homes. I’m reviewing show line up orders and revising my own scripts. What streaming platform can we use? How do we keep viewers anonymous? Is there a way to have a hot plate delivery to those who can’t make it?
Alex Padilla gets arrested. Of course he does. That’s my senator with the smoothest tortilla rolling technique. Here he is asking about where the trafficked people of Los Angeles go and fascism is fascisming. I hear Noem use the words “liberate Los Angeles” and I want to projectile vomit on the coloniality of it. I start praying Noem’s plastic surgeon’s hans to slip when he does her next face lift. I notice one of the ICE agents who pushes him out is a black man wiht a bald head. I pray that my ancestors let his ancestors know they gotta whoop that man’s ass in both the spiritual and physical realms. I think it’s the first time I’ve prayed in the spirit this entire week.
ICE at the park. A video of a local park circulates of a person fleeing a that’s decided to GTA all over the manicured lawns. The video is so dramatic I’m wondering if it’s real. Is this how our reality is? People running away from vans in the middle of a park? This isn’t some movie? The arrest is confirmed by the LA Times. My children have their swim lessons there in two hours.
Making time for joy. I drop off my kids at a friends’ house for a pool party. I need a couple hours to myself to breath and do things that bring my joy. I refuse to let this stress kill me. The levels of adrenaline and cortisol I’m experiencing are probably shortening my life by three to five years and putting some white hairs on my head, but it’s not going to be my murder. I will have joy, dammit. We will have joy in this struggle.
We don’t have the luxury of being hopeless. We need to take care of our community in the best ways we can.
Friday
History is irony. I woke up thinking about how Nazis fled Germany after they lost the war and were put on trial. They self-deported to South America through the rat lines. Then I was thinking of all the nazis I met in California who moved to different states beause we Californians are too liberal and emonic. They would never want to be known as nazis, and they worked really hard to brand themselves as “good Christian folk.” But they self-deported too, becuase it was too hard for them to accept the beloved spectrum of humanity. Because history is circle shaped, I know these MAGA and ICE terrorists will self-deport before facing their sins. Isn’t it ironic? They’ll become the thing they campaigned against. The question I’m asking myself is how loud can we be to make these narratives of horror and resistance known widley, globally, and generationally. This, too, is narrative warfare. I am exhausted and scared and filled with rage. I want the truth of these terrorists and the crushing weight of their wrongdoings to be the loudest most constant clanging they hear now and in the afterlife.
This is my week. I am all parts exhausted, but that won’t stop me. It won’t stop us.
God bless you ,Camille! Thank you for this account of your week. This is not some abstraction and you make it very clear to see.