Threads of separation and supportive networks

Families. Families are really important. Families are especially important to young people. Housing becomes home (or doesn't) based on the support and love created by a family.

Yesterday I was privileged to spend the morning at the White House Conference on LGBT Housing and Homelessness at Wayne State University (here in Detroit). As I sat and listened to the panels - first, a panel made up of four high-level members of the Obama Administration (HUD and HHS in particular) and the SE Michigan US Attorney; then the directors of three programs whose work focuses on providing housing and wrap-around services to homeless LGBT youth - I was struck by just how important it is that we meet not only the immediate needs for shelter among (in particular) young people, but also the emotional needs.

Queer youth make up about 7% of youth, nationally, yet a full 40% of homeless youth are LGBT-identified. At least half of those are homeless because they have been directly rejected by the very support network that is supposed to play a positive role in human development - family. Often, queer youth are further victimized within the systems that are set up to serve them, pushed into the adult shelter system at 18 or 21, frequently lacking, as the director of the Ali Forney Center attested, some of the developmental skills that a lot of us get more-or-less by osmosis. The trauma of rejection is compounded by having to navigate systems just to have needs met. I don't begin to know what this is like. Every family has internal dynamics, of course, but I never had to fill out paperwork to get face time with my folks or have an ID to be granted entry to my house at night. Nor have I ever been told that 40F isn't actually too cold to sleep outside, as is the case in many cities without cold weather laws.

And to be clear - for some youth, leaving home is life saving, preventing either further abuse or contemplation of suicide. But that lack of a supportive home space with people who love them (whether it starts at the point of leaving or long before) has long-lasting impact.


Fast forward to last night and the Grace in Action monthly immigration movie night. We watched Under the Same Moon (trailer), a movie that follows a mother and son who have been separated for four years, because the mom lives and works in LA and the son, Carlitos, lives in Mexico. They, too, are separated, albeit for different reasons than many LGBT youth are separated from their families. After the film, we had a small discussion of the situations presented. During the conversation, a woman I've spoken with a few times at other events spoke up: "Yo me identifico mucho con la mamá en la pelicula - tengo nueve años de no ver a mis tres hijos mayores." (I really identify with the mom in the movie - I haven't seen my three oldest children in nine years.) A ton of bricks doesn't begin to describe. And none of her kids is even my age - the oldest is just younger than Ella.

In talking with her and her husband afterward, I learned that they are from just a couple hours away from Suchitoto. We were talking, laughing, sharing memories and stories and she asked if, whenever I'm there next, I would visit her children. Another ton of bricks. I hope to be able to do this, but it made me once again SO aware of the privilege I have as a citizen of the US. I can come and go as I please, but she cannot nor can her husband. And so they are separated. And their older kids have three siblings here whom they have never met. Separation.

In the film, one of the older characters reminds Carlitos, in a moment of deep despair, that nobody chooses to live this way - everyone has a reason. Usually that reason is a child or a parent.

We have to start and keep having conversations about the situations that push people to make unbearable decisions and live in unbearable situations of separation. We have a role to play in remaking our immigration and housing systems. At the intersections of policy, faith, and community education, we need to plant ourselves and invite others into conversation about how deeply separation hurts individuals, families, and society.

La Misma Luna and the White House Conference did not, at the surface, seem to have a lot in common. Yet there was a common thread throughout the day of the damage done by rejection and family separation, and the important of building loving networks of support around those who, for whatever reason, have been separated from family. Let us continue to be about this as the seasons turn.

Wherein Korla makes her Lutheran parents thoroughly uncomfortable

This story has been making the rounds of late. If you haven't read it, it is worth a look:

"Dear Customer who stuck up for his little brother"

This story could have been about me. Sort of. I am not especially like either of those boys - I have no brothers and no interest in video games; I'm queer, but my gender performance is pretty much in line with what society says it ought to be, based on my chromosomes. But we hammer gender into kids from an extraordinarily young age, so all of this, for me, is a matter of luck. I also have a major thing that these boys don't have (yet - I hope): I was raised by feminist parents.

While I was growing up, my dad always told me his favorite colors were pink and purple. In hindsight, I have no idea if this is simple truth or an intentional fib, but I sure as hell relayed that information to my peers on several occasions when boys were picked on for liking "girl colors." Both of my folks cooked a lot; my dad kept us in clean clothes growing up; my mom, having learned from her carpenter father, built the deck in the back yard (with Ella and my help). They played to their strengths and joys, and didn't get too caught up in the who-does-what that often pervades conversations about gender conformity AND non-conformity. (And I was in middle school before I knew that Rabbit, Big Bird, Elmo, Roo, and several other childhood favorites were actually supposed to be boys. :)

The kids in this story have to do that for each other at this point. From this tiny glimpse, it looks like they just might be strong enough to keep at it. But this, as I said, could have been my situation, but for some luck along the way. My hope for this family is that they can grow together. That they can be mutually positive influences. This dad isn't necessarily a villain. He probably has a lot of powerful things to teach his kids. They clearly have things to teach him. I am lucky to have the parents I have; this dad is lucky to have the sons that he does. And the little brother is lucky to have an awesome video game controller.

Que te vaya bien

I am emotionally at sea. I found out yesterday morning that one of my former students left for the US. I had seen her in school on Monday afternoon, but didn't know she was leaving - didn't get to say goodbye.

She is a pillar in her community, a young woman of such strength and commitment that she inspires me every day. And her children - three of them - are some of the most wonderful, loving kids I know. Now they live with an aunt they hardly know in a different community, where I won't see them. I want so badly to visit them, to let them know that, in the midst of so much upheaval in their lives this week, there are constants, and one of those is that I love them.

There are so many worries swimming around in my head and heart that I don't even know where to begin. For one thing, dear heaven the journey is dangerous - often deadly. We are heading into the hottest part of the year, where dehydration claims probably (and this is just my guess) dozens of migrants' lives each day. On top of this, Central Americans face an especially long and arduous path, as Mexico is not known for being terribly welcoming of the people passing through. (And I say this, of course, not as any word against Mexico - it's simply the truth that things are especially dangerous for Central Americans migrating north.) There are more borders to cross, more unfamiliar territory, more opportunities to be attacked.

Traveling as a woman makes this exponentially more dangerous. She is traveling with a male relative, which I think played into the timing of her going, but still women are targeted infinitely more than men for sexually based attacks.

Then there is the question of her children. She has three kids between three and ten years old. They are all three wonderful, but her oldest is particularly special to me. We've gone on walks a couple of times and he taught me about all of the types of birds that are native in the area - with particular attention to how good a mama the torrogoz is. Púchica. The community they live in is not far away - it's actually between Suchi and El Barío on the bus line. But I'm not sure if my visiting them is appropriate. I have to figure that out, because this is killing me.

Just as the story of my teacher's sister and nephew was, this is one story of thousands. About 750 Salvadorans (Salvadorans alone) leave the country each DAY for the US. They are women and men with families and roots, just like the ones I described having myself a couple posts back. They have kids, lives, passions, and dreams. We have to ask ourselves WHY, what could possibly compel someone to leave those they love and undertake a journey and then a life of such danger? And you know what? All I can say is that I hate, I hate, I HATE the policies and trade agreements and big-bank-greed-based economic crises and gang violence that make leaving not only an option but a necessity.

At this moment, that hate is not quite all, but almost all that I have. I am wearing that hate, trying not to act out of it, but mostly I am filled with it. I think my love for her and her kids is what is keeping this from enveloping me more fully. And the love of my compañeros here. And the fact that I still have 50 other students that I love and need to teach well. So - surprise of surprises - I find that love is the only thing that can face off against and overcome hate.

Because she is one of the countless humans who will leave their homes this week to risk their lives in this way and for this end, please, please take a moment today, and tomorrow, and the next day to hold up their safety and well being - and that of their loved ones whom they leave at home or the loved ones who await their arrival. And in this situation in which no news is decidedly good news, pray for no news.

You're not the boss of me (aka, mujer super-penosa)

I'm getting back in the rhythm of journaling these days and ended up writing for a bit this morning. It was a time of some good reflection and it seemed worth sharing, if a bit personal. So...be gentle?

The first thing is that tomorrow is my grandpa John's 94th birthday. So in the midst of my day in El Sitio I will be giving thanks for the life and gifts of a person who is far away, yet so present with me every single day. After a really frightening illness a couple years ago, it is even more clear that every, every day is a blessing and I give thanks for both the number of his days and the richness of them. The role he has played in my life is indescribable, both through his own presence and through that of his children and other grandchildren.

Some questions that we've (the CAP equipo of volunteers) been turning over for a bit, along with What feeds me?, include Who am I? What do I believe? and one of mine, using imagery that we came up with on my last venture down here (with CGE), What does my puzzle piece look like these days?

There is a line from a Carrie Newcomer song that keeps popping up in my head: It's not the things I've gone and done I'll regret or be ashamed of, but the things I did not say or do just because I was afraid.

More and more, I'm realizing that I am a person with a lot of pena. (Would that there were a good English translation for pena. The meaning in which I'm using it is a sort of fear-shame-hesitation.) I have lived in the presence and shadows of so many extraordinary people, I think I am - and in many ways have let myself be - intimidated by their talent. I've always had the sense that I have the passion but lack the tools and skills.

As tempting as it is to look back and analyze times in my life where I see the evidence of this, I want to look forward. I want to claim the opportunities to take risks, make myself vulnerable, and live into my potential. My pena keeps me from doing that. It also, I think, leaves no room for true humility, which is utterly not based in fear, but rather a conviction that I am indeed a child of an incomprehensible God and the only proper response to that is awe.

These thoughts are going to keep percolating throughout my day life. It's been a relatively productive morning - I have laundry up, but I hope it rains. I didn't get all the soap out anyway.