Through the Prism of Nonviolence

October 13, 2017 by Nukewatch Leave a Comment

On the Trail of Death

Through the prism of nonviolence

Fall Quarterly 2017

By John Heid

On my first trek across the Growler Valley in the Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge some years back, I was smitten to the core. A stillness I have rarely known settled within me even as a bone dry wind piqued my sensibilities. Mountains rim the horizon of this seamless plain in every direction. Few trees or rock formations interrupt the valley floor. The world is half earth, half sky—no in between. Time collapses in the Growler. Only the sun seems to move, and slowly at that.

While this valley’s horizons are well defined, they are distant and illusory. Like an outgoing tide, they recede as you approach them. Never before have I experienced this sort of motionlessness. As if I was walking in place, all day.

Austerity understates the character of this Sonoran desert expanse. Herein lies the Growler’s wonder, and paradox. Its plainness is a ruse. An unassuming landscape disguises both power and fragility, innocence and danger. While vast, the valley offers scant water and no shelter, save the many burrows where all sorts of small lizard and mammal reside. Most are nocturnal. Conditions are harsh in summer and not much kinder in winter.

Her stories are hidden in plain sight. Petroglyphs and murmurs in the wind offer hints that there is more to what you see than you can imagine. Sometimes I have heard whispers in the zephyrs in languages I do not recognize. And I ponder. Who has walked here before? Who scribed the rocks? And why?

Mardy Murie, grandmother of the conservation movement, encouraged people to know their places of enchantment. To cherish them. To protect them. The Growler Valley is one of those places for me.

Edward Abby too was drawn to this valley. In life. And in death. It is here that he was clandestinely buried in 1989. His undisclosed grave site is reportedly marked by a simple head stone that reads: “Edward Paul Abbey, 1927-1989 No Comment.” Ed is not alone out there. Not anymore, if he ever was.

“We did believe that geography would be an ally to us. It was our sense that the number of people crossing the border through Arizona would go down to a trickle”

— Doris Meissner, Commissioner of the US Immigration and Naturalization Service, 1993-2000

The others simply don’t have grave stones, let alone identities. These unknown ones are part of the growing number of desert fatalities which I wrote about earlier this year. (Spring 2017 issue of the Nukewatch Quarterly.) The marked increase in the number of bodies recovered in the desert in the months between writings compels me to revisit this crisis from a more personal perspective. I cannot get these disappeared ones off my mind, or heart. One-hundred and thirty-one sets of human remains have been recovered in the Tucson Sector of the US-Mexico border this year, dozens in the Growler Valley alone. One cartographer calls this route “the trail of death.” Cabeza Prieta which boasts “one of the most biologically diverse deserts in the country” in its brochure is our deadliest National Wildlife Refuge. It’s grandest valley, the Growler, has become a veritable cemetery of the unknown. This is neither an accident nor a miscalculation. It is a premeditated crime against humanity and nature.

Immigration and Naturalization Service personnel predicted fatalities decades ago when they proclaimed the desert as their “ally.” Militarization and enforcement plans have intentionally funneled people into some of the harshest terrain on the continent. These policies have taken countless lives and irreparably torn up the desert’s fragile cryptobiotic soil crust. Border Patrol 4-wheelers have cut hundreds of miles of unauthorized roads on land ostensibly protected by the Wilderness Act. US border policy has turned the region into a weapon and desecrated it.

The desert is not to blame for these deaths. For its part, the Sonoran has done the best it can with the bodies forced upon the rugged terrain. Celestial and terrestrial burials involve vultures, coyotes, and bone-bleaching heat. It is human policy, not Mother Earth, that is culpable, if not indictable, for what is happening here. The desert is no ally of any government.

In a recent administrative change, Refuge personnel revised the annual land use permit. As of July 1, 2017, it is illegal to distribute humanitarian aid sup- plies on Cabeza Prieta. While the Refuge brochure emphasizes the need to carry water, the revised permit prohibits the supplying of water.

Many in the humanitarian aid community have strenuously criticized this change in policy, just as we have denounced the border enforcement policies which have pushed people into isolated terrain in the first place. We grieve and decry the calculated loss of life and the lethal implications of this procedural change.

As I hustle this article to meet a publication deadline, aid workers are preparing to hand-carry gallons of water to the Trail of Death and other refuge sites. Access to potable water is a human right. We intend to make water available to anyone in need, no exceptions. Humanitarian aid is never a crime. Not now. Not ever.

May the Sonoran desert one day be at peace again. May no one take their final steps there. May the voices one hears be the rustling western wind whistling through the creosote bushes. May the last words be stillness as loquacious Ed Abby’s last words remind. “No comment.”

— John Heid is a humanitarian aid worker with No More Deaths and Humane Borders. He lives in Ajo, Arizona 40 miles from the US-Mexico border.

June 23, 2017 by Nukewatch Leave a Comment

The Trouble with Our State

Through the prism of nonviolence

By John Heid

Summer Quarterly 2017

Jamar Clark, 24, was shot and killed Nov. 15, 2015 by Minneapolis police officer Dustin Schwarze while officer Mark Ringgenberg held him on the ground. No criminal or civil charges were brought against the officers. In June his family filed a federal lawsuit against the officers saying the police subjected Clark to unreasonable seizure and excessive force.

The trouble with our state / was not civil disobedience, / which in any case, was hesitant and rare./… / The trouble with our state / — we learned it only afterward / when the dead resembled the living who resembled the dead / and civil virtue shone like paint on tin / and tin citizens and tin soldiers marched to the common whip / — our trouble / the trouble with our state / with our state of soul / our state of siege — / was / Civil / Obedience.

— Excepted from “The Trouble with Our State” by Daniel Berrigan

“I am troubled by the ongoing civil disobedience.”

— Judge Christian Sande, Hennepin County District Court, Minn., March 29, 2017

The verdict in most political trials is usually anticlimactic. The heart of such trials lies in our testimony, and, once in a blue moon, in a prosecutor or judge’s statements. Every now and then a ray of light makes its way through the decorum into the “halls of justice.” This actually happened in Hennepin County District Court in late March when Eddie Bloomer of the Des Moines Catholic Worker and I were tried on charges stemming from an April 2016 Black Lives Matter/Catholic Worker action in Minneapolis.

My defense to the charges of trespass and obstruction of transit was based on my claim of right to stand precisely where I did, in front of a Metro Transit light rail vehicle, in order to raise awareness and create a tension that would pressure Minneapolis police to address their lethal policies and practices toward people of color. Our vigil focused particularly on the murder of an unarmed young man, Jamar Clark, who was shot in the head by a Minneapolis police officer. The investigation into Jamar’s killing was closed earlier in the year by the Minneapolis Police Department without charges against the officer involved.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. carefully laid out the rationale for the practice of creative tension in his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” I referenced this hallowed letter in laying out my “claim of right” defense. Throughout the three-day trial presiding Judge Christian Sande paid careful attention. Then during pre-sentencing remarks he gave a stern, thought- provoking rebuke to the rationale for my defense. He began by saying: “I am troubled by the analogies that I see—particularly, the Letter from a Birmingham Jail…. Dr. King talks about constructive tension. But again, the constructive tension he was citing in the Letter… had to do with a direct challenge to an unconstitutional law and a public sentiment that supported that unconstitutional law. This (Eddie’s and my cases) was much more amorphous and so it’s much harder for the community and the Court in a situation like this to really do much to address the issues.”

Judge Sande’s comments are a rare courtroom gift. They summarize the mindset of status quo “liberal ideology—for the record. True, we were not protesting the trespass laws or the right-of-way for public transit. What we were protesting was the violation of Jamar Clark’s constitutional right to due process, civil and human rights, and to a fair trial by a jury of his peers. A Twin Cities police officer had robbed him of these rights by playing the roles of accuser, prosecutor, judge, jury and executioner. In a single irretrievable moment in time.

With a bullet. There is no appellate court for Jamar, let alone a trial. This killing was not an isolated incident in the Twin Cities or in our country for that matter. It is a nation-wide matter of fact and an epidemic.

Our vigil followed carefully what Dr. King laid out from his Birmingham jail cell. He wrote: “Its (Birmingham’s) ugly record of police brutality known in every section of this country.” Minneapolis’s track record of death-by-cop is not so widely published, but is well known in the black community. Dr. King was labeled an outside agitator. Yet he had local ties. We, catholic workers were invited to the Twin Cities by local human rights workers including people of color. Regardless, Dr. King reminded us from his cell that, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We were victims of a broken promise… and the dark shadow of disappointment settled upon us. So we had no alternative except for that of preparing for direct action.” In Minneapolis the investigation into Jamar Clark’s murder closed without charges. Negotiations had failed.

Judge Sande’s comments articulate the point of view that believes the system can self-correct by means of checks and balances, by petitions, sanctioned rallies, town hall meetings, and the ballot.
These activities do not change the fundamental character of the system. They don’t rock the boat. Activist Philip Berrigan called these “acts of consent. Ones that go along with business as usual.” The difference between consent and dissent lies in whether one believes that the system is fundamentally just—or not. The principle attitude underlying our direct action in Minneapolis was
dissent, challenging the system at its roots, which is what radical means. Dissent recognizes that the system is in need of radical transformation. Dr. King reminds: “My friends, I must say to you that we have not made a single gain in civil rights without determined legal and nonviolent pressure. History is the long and tragic story of the fact that privileged groups seldom give up their privileges voluntarily.” Howard Zinn wrote in his A Peoples’ History of the United States that no social change has occurred in this country without both consent and dissent.

Two more black men were killed by Twin Cities police officers between the time of our vigil and our trial.

The challenge that Judge Sande laid out—however inadvertently or intentionally—is for activists to more clearly and consistently articulate the necessity and efficacy of dissent. Which, simply put, means more creative tension, more court time.

I close where I began with Daniel Berrigan. In the early 1970s, he and exiled Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hahn shared a series of midnight conversations in Paris. These were printed in The Raft Is Not The Shore. Daniel said: “But nothing is understandable while it’s going on—the sixties are only understandable when they’re over, which makes most people into morticians—ready to bury the dead. But it costs something to say while the killing is going on, ‘No one should die!’ And the killing is going on.”

Over the past 10 years, 100 percent of the people killed by the Minneapolis Police Department have been black or brown. I rest my case. Again.

—John Heid volunteers for the immigrants’ rights groups No More Deaths, and Humane Borders in Ajo, Arizona.

March 15, 2017 by Nukewatch Leave a Comment

Disappeared on the Border: Chased and Scattered to Death

By John Heid

“We recognize the weight that the language of disappearance holds; we use it to call attention to the fact that disappearance is not a natural or inevitable phenomenon but rather a direct consequence of US border-enforcement policies and practices.”

—From “Disappeared: How The US Border Enforcement Agencies are Fueling a Missing Persons Crisis,” by La Coalitión De Derechos Humanos and No More Deaths

The sunbaked skull seemed to complement the volcanic rocks that lie strewn around it. Haunting in its symmetry. Ivory amidst ebony, splayed across the desert floor. The year-round searing heat of the Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge can do that, bake things into anonymity. Were it not for the vacant eye sockets, we likely would have walked right by these human remains unaware that someone’s life ended there, or nearby. Eerily the eyeless skull faced south.

Joel Smith, Director of Operations for Humane Borders, and I were hiking in the Growler Valley region of the Refuge on our annual maintenance check of loosely-scattered water stations. The region’s austerity is at once beautiful and perilous. The aptly named El Camino del Diablo (Devil’s Highway) cuts a parallel swath across part of the valley. There is little shade anywhere, save the occasional Palo Verde or mesquite tree. Teddy bear cholla, salt and brittlebush, ocotillo and prickly pear cactus provide modest ground cover. The horizon is elusive. One can walk all day and not feel any closer to the mountain just ahead. Time and distance seem like illusions. I have never encountered anyone on my hikes there. Not one.

Joel tried unsuccessfully to summon Border Patrol agents to report the remains. As dusk approached we planted a blue flag on a high pole marking the site for later recovery. Then we returned to our camp miles away.

Prior to the mid 1990s, deaths in the desert were rare and usually attributable to vehicular accidents. Today the Sonoran Desert, 100,000 square miles of Arizona, California and Northern Mexico, particularly its remotest areas, is a veritable death trap. “Exposure” or more frequently “undetermined” is listed as cause of death. In late December 2016, humanitarian aid workers initiated an exploratory effort in the vast reaches of the Refuge. Four sets of skeletal human remains were recovered in the first week, in the Growler Valley. Several more were discovered in the ensuing weeks. The border-hugging refuge is a cemetery of the unknown, and unburied.

Since 1999, the Pima County Medical Examiner’s Office has handled more than 2,800 human remains, those who died attempting to migrate through the southern Arizona deserts. Border Patrol reports 6,029 human remains recovered in the same region since the 1990s. Fifty-one bodies have been recorded already this year, with deaths trending between 100 and 250 annually over 10 years. Skeletal remains like those Joel and I encountered are not counted; nor are the deaths of migrants in Border Patrol custody. Estimates of the total number of migrant fatalities vary between three and 10-times the official number of bodies recovered.

This is a dark untold chapter behind this staggering body count, the story of the dead never recovered, the disappeared.

“I’m looking for a disappeared person” was the gist of over 800 phone calls to the Missing Migrant Crisis Line in 2015 alone. A family member is desperately seeking information on the whereabouts of a loved one who has come north from Mexico or Central America—and has not turned up.

The term “disappeared” has generally been associated with people kidnapped by authoritarian regimes and killed without explanation. The United Nation’s definition of “enforced disappearance” now includes state policies which result in persons being disappeared. People don’t just vanish into thin air in the Sonoran Desert. A sophisticated technological network which includes surveillance towers, drones, ground sensors, and cameras work together with an ever-increasing number of Border Patrol agents to create a vast zone of enforcement which pushes people further into formidable, lethal terrain. In effect, the desert becomes a weapon. People do not just disappear. They are disappeared. Their numbers are unknowable, uncountable, and reprehensible—at least in the view of civil society. Even one lost is one too many, let alone thousands. The 1999 “Prevention Through Deterrence” enforcement directive which fueled this catastrophe is not only fatally flawed, it is criminal.

Members of La Coalitión De Derechos Humanos and No More Deaths held a press conference near the border fence in Nogales, Arizona last December to announce the publication of their latest abuse report: “Deadly Apprehension Methods, The Consequences of Chase and Scatter in the Wilderness.” The study spotlights one of the US Border Patrol’s more egregious tactics, “Chase and Scatter.”

“Chase” is defined as “the active period of pursuit of border crossers by US Border Patrol agents during an attempted apprehension.” Four-wheelers, horses, and low-flying helicopters—euphemistically called “dusting”—are used to pursue people. The copter hovers directly over people creating a maelstrom of rocks, branches and dust, which scatters people in the chaos. Then the chase ensues.

In 42 percent of the over 500 interviews conducted by La Coalitión de Derechos Humans, people reported members of their group lost to the wilderness by this tactic; 41 percent reported injuries including broken limbs and lacerations. A few individuals are usually apprehended. The rest are scattered, often unable to regroup, fleeing alone into the wilderness. This tactic has contributed to untold numbers of the disappeared. The policy’s title is “Prevention Through deterrence.” Human remains are what deterrence looks like.

As I’m writing Feb. 14, I’ve been told that four more sets of human remains were recovered in the Growler Valley last week. There is no end in sight.

—John Heid lives and works with the Mariposa Community in Tucson.

December 10, 2016 by Nukewatch Leave a Comment

Hate Cannot Drive Out Hate

Nukewatch Quarterly Winter 2016-2017

Through the Prism of Nonviolence

By John Heid

Now we will all count to twelve
and we will all keep still.
This one time upon the earth
let’s not speak any language,
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be a delicious moment,
without hurry, without locomotives,
all of us would be together
in a sudden uneasiness…
—Excerpted from “Keeping Quiet” by Pablo Neruda

Good words are hard to come by these days. I struggle to write at all. I find myself saying “Not another word. Not one!” I’d like us all to take Neruda’s advice and “stop for one second and not speak any language,” and then share in the sudden uneasiness of silence—together.

The times are deafening, cacophonous, shrill. The rhetoric of hate has reached fever pitch from the headlines to the comics, from the syndicated columnists to the letters to the editor, from the street to the Senate. We are bombarded. You know as well as I so there’s no need to further twist the knife. What is needed is not the placebo of cheap hope, not escapism, not denial—if that’s even a viable option. In my struggle to find solid ground, I take comfort—cold comfort—in Rainer Marie Rilke’s insight: “In a dark time the eye begins to see.”

In times like these words cannot suffice. Only actions that echo from the still small voice of conscience offer modest succor. These are someplace to begin. Random acts of humanity speak louder than words. Wendell Berry wrote in his poem “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front,”

“So, friends, every day do something that won’t compute…. Ask the questions that have no answers. Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias…. Put your faith in the two inches of humus that will build under the trees every thousand years. Listen to carrion—put your ear close and hear the faint chattering of the songs that are to come.” Now that’s something to listen to!

In dark moments of history such as we are wading through I’m reminded of a couple earlier random acts of humanity which offered a moment of respite from the fray.

In 1968, Vice President Hubert Humphrey, deeply distressed by the anguish in the bloody, tear gas-filled streets outside the Democratic Convention hall in Chicago, and at great political risk, addressed the delegates with an impromptu invitation:

“And may we, for just one moment, in sober reflection, in serious purpose, may we just quietly and silently—each in our own way—pray for our country.” He then proceeded to recite the Peace Prayer of Francis of Assisi. Imagine that! Compassion trumped secular decorum, let alone protocol.

During the siege of Sarajevo in 1992, Vedran Smailovic, “the cellist of Sarajevo,” played Albinoni’s “Adagio in G Minor” in the bombed out ruins of the city library. Despite the facts of missiles and war, he played on.

Are these acts absurd? Ones that don’t compute? Do they at least give us pause to reflect and breathe? To breathe in the madness and hate that swirls around us, and exhale light and love? How does one respond in the face of unspeakable suffering that is personal, communal, national, universal?

I recall Mitch Synder, of the Community for Creative Nonviolence in Washington, DC, often saying: “If you really don’t feel there’s anything you can do for the person you see lying on the sidewalk as you pass, at least look into their eyes and acknowledge them. Say hello.”

These words are not meant to be pabulum to assuage our consciences or minimize our fundamental responsibilities to one another. They are simply the brainstorm, or perhaps better said, the heart-storm of this writer in a dim hour.

I am seeking a toehold of sensibility in the current morass of national politics which is deeply embedded in a subculture of hate. This subculture is as ubiquitous as it is caustic. Its breadth exceeds political party affiliation, region, class, even race. No ideology can contain its vitriol, let alone its logic-defying analysis.

Sally Kempton wrote: “It is hard to fight an enemy that has outposts in your head.” How do we dismantle the cerebral outposts of this subculture which only serve to reinforce fear, misunderstanding, isolation, and ultimately rock solid hate?

How can we support one another? What are the cairns along the path that will lead us to be fully who we can be? That is, human beings. After all, we are not hard-wired to be haters.

At a bare minimum the advice for life that writer Anne Lamott received from her father is worthy of consideration. “Don’t be an asshole and make sure everybody eats.” If our domestic and foreign policy began with such rudimentary, if not crude, advice, surely this world would be a more peaceful place.

In the May 2004 issue of Orion, Terry Tempest Williams wrote, “Patience is more powerful than anger. Humor more attractive than fear. Pay attention. Listen.”

In closing, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s immortal words echo: “Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.”

P.S. These lines were written in the early hours of Election Day, Nov. 8, 2016.

—John Heid is a member of Mariposa Community in Tucson.

May 2, 2016 by Nukewatch Leave a Comment

Who’s Pounding on the Door?

Through the Prism of Nonviolence

Nukewatch Quarterly Spring 2016

By John Heid

…you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.
no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under your feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into your neck…
—Excerpted from “Home” by Warsan Shire

The sign beside our front door reads in black and white: “US Border Patrol: Do Not Enter Without A Lawful Search Warrant.” Who knows how effective it really is? After all, the majority of house raids are carried out by Immigration Customs Enforcement (ICE) and most raids happen in the dark of night by its armed, aggressive agents who jackboot their way into homes forcibly removing mothers and children alike in handcuffs. The sign presents a minor legal hurdle, if that. Still, I dusted it off on Christmas morning.

The night before, the White House had announced that raids to deport Central American women and children would begin in January. A few days later, Homeland Security Secretary Jeh Johnson announced: “Our borders are not open to illegal immigration. If you come here illegally, we will send you back consistent with our laws and values.”

Laws and values? Who’s values and what laws sanction nighttime raids on families? The policy and strategy of house raids runs roughshod over the rule of law, let alone ethics. Not since “Operation Return to Sender” in 2006, has such a tidal wave of shock washed over immigrant communities in the US. Around the country, day-laborers vanished from worker centers before New Year’s. English-as-a-second-language classrooms witnessed an abrupt drop in attendance. Grocery stores and streets in Latino/a neighborhoods became ghostly quiet.

Within a week, over 100 people—families and children—were rounded up in Georgia, Texas and North Carolina, and 77 were summarily deported. The Deportation Defense Hotline [1-844-363-1423] of United We Dream received 316 calls reporting ICE activity by mid-January.

On January 4, the Dallas Morning Star reported, “ICE focuses its enforcement resources on individuals who pose a threat to national security, public safety and border security.” Yes, at-risk mothers and their children in the southeastern US are now deemed a threat to national security.

Who are these people that pose such a formidable risk? And why are they fleeing their ancestral lands in the first place? The poet Warsan Shire writes: “No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark.” Why then are these families not recognized as refugees seeking asylum?

Thich Nhat Hahn, the Buddhist monk, poet and refugee, says that we must call things by their true names. It is critical to recognize the circumstances that people are fleeing for what they really are: torture, rape, kidnapping and murder—systemic violence. Only then can we understand the circumstances, if not the root causes, of the forced dislocation the world has witnessed in the last two years. International observers report levels of violence in Guatemala, Honduras and El Salvador not seen since the 1980s.

The Obama Administration, which has deported more than two million people in seven years, says its deportation strategy prioritizes those who have come to the US since May of 2014, and have exhausted all formal avenues for legal status here. It is noteworthy that nearly 80 percent of the targeted families do not have attorneys. Most families coming into the US seeking asylum have a limited understanding of their legal obligations, let alone the complicated immigration process. Many have been pressured by government officials into signing documents without access to counsel. The court process that people are hustled through is nicknamed “the rocket docket” because it is so rapid that there is little time for people to find legal assistance and to compile the evidence required to substantiate their asylum request. It is frontier justice on crack.

Casa Mariposa, our community near downtown Tucson, has seen hundreds of women and children come through the front door over the past couple years (see the Fall 2014 Quarterly). The stories we have heard are as painful as they are consistent. People are fleeing direct, personal violence. These families are seeking safety, refuge, asylum. They grieve the loss of their loved ones and their homeland.

The house raids must stop. Entirely. Their use is a stab to the heart of civil society. The tactic reawakens the ghosts of not-so-distant atrocities that still scar the face of humanity. We cannot be silent. Nor can we wait for our government to find its moral compass. While we employ the avenues of education, petition, vigil and legislation, we must also pursue more immediate measures to address the acute severity of this humanitarian crisis. The raids are happening now.

United We Dream is among the humanitarian organizations on the front line in this crisis. Managing Director Cristina Jimenez reports: “We are exposing where Obama’s immigration agents are, what they are doing and we are ensuring that our community knows what to do. The days when immigration agents can conduct their raids in anonymity are over. Everywhere they go they will find a child with a camera and everywhere they go they will find a mother who knows her rights.” This struggle will be a long one. People will not abide injustice lying down.

Old, familiar allies are rising as well. Pastor Allison Harrington of Southside Presbyterian Church in Tucson, where the 1980s Sanctuary movement gained traction, said in response to the raids: “We feel as we are once again living through a nightmare all too familiar to us.” Harrington’s church and other faith communities have resurrected the Sanctuary Movement. Today over 300 churches in more than 30 states are considering sanctuary. These efforts rekindle the memory of a banner that hung in a church sanctuary in the 1980s. It read: “When they come for the innocent without walking over your body, cursed be your life and your religion.” ICE agents will have to walk over some bodies because communities are taking their backs away from the wall and putting them in front of the church doors. At Southside Presbyterian, there’s no need for a sign like the one that hangs on our front porch.

How far would any of us walk to find safety for our children? Where will we stand as our government raids the homes of immigrant families and deports them back to what poet Warsan Shire calls the “mouth of a shark?”

—John Heid lives and works at the Casa Mariposa Community in Tucson, Arizona.

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