Demonstrators in Denver advocate for Black, indigenous and Latino communities July 4, 2020. (CNS photo/Kevin Mohatt, Reuters)
By Adrienne Alexander and Michael N. Okińczyc-Cruz, published in America Magazine on August 17, 2020
As Black and Latino leaders within the church, we find ourselves at a profound crossroads. The Covid-19 pandemic has exacerbated the inequities and injustices that have shaped and defined the struggles for life, opportunity and freedom for Latino (or Latinx, as we co-authors prefer) and Black communities in the United States for generations. The rates of infection and death within our communities far outpace those in the white community. We are reminded once again that the pandemic of racism never stops.
Generations of policies rooted in white supremacy and economic exploitation have plundered and pillaged our communities. Millions endure low pay in the workplace, a lack of access to health care, and family separation at the hands of militarized systems of policing and deportation. If we believe in a God who yearns for justice for those who are marginalized and oppressed, we must also recognize in this same God a Spirit of resistance and an enduring passion for justice rooted in love.
This year we have seen the Holy Spirit at work as people have taken to the streets to boldly proclaim that Black Lives Matter. For Latino people, it is vitally important to stand in solidarity. This means recognizing that Black and Latino are not distinct identities for millions of people who identify as being in both communities. It also means recognizing that not all immigrants are Latino and that Black immigrants are also an integral part of our nation and of our church.
Movements for civil rights, just wages and dignified working conditions, the right to vote, and the elimination of Jim Crow and “Juan Crow” laws have shaped a long history of interracial solidarity in the United States. Now we must lean on those experiences.
We see signs of hope as a new generation of Black and Latino leaders show us a path forward. In our own city of Chicago, we have seen Black and Latino leaders standing together in the struggle for just wages and the right to unionize. Faith-driven Latino leaders have joined marches and proclaimed “Las Vidas Negras Importan” in their neighborhoods. And Black Catholic leaders recently joined Latino students and grassroots leaders on a pilgrimage from Chicago to El Paso to protest racist and xenophobic policies at our nation’s border.
If we are to effectively confront the racism, poverty, and state-endorsed violence that denies life and opportunities to millions, we must mobilize our spiritual, cultural, economic, and political resources. This means recognizing that our Black and Latino communities have often been pitted against each other. Exploiting racial divisions is a tactic of employers who fear the power that racial solidarity would bring workers. And generations of crushing poverty, unending violence, and financially starved schools have also often turned the Latino and Black communities against one another—politically, economically, and in other ways.
What is our path forward? We can illuminate our shared stories and struggles throughout history. Most important, however, is our faith, which has sustained our spirits, nourished our souls, and kept us from losing all hope during generations of pain. The deep wellsprings of our faith traditions have fostered profound movements for justice and equality throughout our nation’s history. A commitment to the remaking of our country into one that is more humane, loving, and just must be rooted in the example of Jesus, the first-century Palestinian Jew whose people and ancestors, like ours, were enslaved and colonized.
Jesus’ spiritual genius and prophetic witness inspired a movement of poor and marginalized people to confront the Roman Empire that stood in opposition to the vision for God’s reign. This divine movement fits a pattern within the stories of liberation in the Old and New Testaments of a God who calls upon those whose humanity has been denied to be the main actors in the pursuit of justice. Many of the most important social movements of the 20th century in the United States were driven by Black and Latino leaders who risked their lives and made countless sacrifices to achieve concrete moral progress—progress that went far beyond the symbolic gestures from institutions without a genuine commitment to racial justice.
As Latino and Black Catholics, we are an integral part of the universal church and this country. Our leadership at this moment is more important than ever. The church must be a beacon of hope and a vessel for justice, and we must be the ones to move it in a direction that is far more bold, prophetic, anti-racist, and anti-imperialist. This requires courage, love, decisiveness, and a resolve for action.
Parish life is already changing during this turbulent time. Parishes offer spaces where Black and Latino people of common faith can come together to worship and work toward a new future. We offer two recommendations for Latino and Black Catholics to take in solidarity with one another.
First, we must form partnerships of solidarity between Black and Latino parishes and organizations in order to work together on racial, economic, educational, and environmental justice issues. We can develop the kind of long-term solidarity that can meaningfully change our communities.
Second, we can facilitate voting in the upcoming elections and encourage Black and Latino communities to complete the 2020 census before the end of September. Both are necessary to advance racial justice in the public square. Voting across all levels of government is of the utmost importance, as our collective voices and values must be felt at all times but especially during this critical moment in our nation’s history.
As leaders within the church and within our communities, we can meet the profound crises of our nation through faith and through the courage to take bold and necessary steps. And as laity in a universal church, called to engage on these issues through our baptism, we should not wait for bishops to lead. We can be the embodiment of solidarity, guided by our shared faith to reimagine a society envisioned in a Gospel manner: with enough for us all to thrive and care for each other. We are committed to this work, and we are hopeful that it may be so.
Rosette Ansima Mamboleo (CSPL Member and Safety and Violence Prevention Committee Co-Chair) - “These few months and weeks have been tense ones. The outcome of these elections is a product of those who spent countless hours phone banking, who participated in voter engagement meetings, who made sure that their family, friends, neighbors, and even strangers were registered to vote; and knew the various ways in which they can do that. The number of people who turned out to vote this year has been overwhelming. But also heartwarming. To know that people still have hope in their hearts for better days, that people know that they have the power and right to have a say in who gets elected as leader over them. Americans have spoken, they have made their choice. I hope that we can all put our differences aside and work towards making America a just, peaceful, and home for all. Because a president doesn't make the U.S.,, we the people do. We determine what happens next, I hope we choose the path of justice, growth, forgiveness, unity, understanding, empathy, healing, and reconciliation.”
Maria Marquez (CSPL Member and Immigration Committee Co-Chair) - “We have to continue fighting for our people and demanding change, we cannot settle. La lucha sigue!”
Maria Franco (CSPL Board Member, Vice President of Campaigns) - “Today is not only a victory for dignity, humanity, and decency but a victory for our vulnerable and marginalized sisters and brothers that their cries have been heard and we, as a nation, have responded.”
Byron Diggs (CSPL Board Member) - “Our mission and work at CSPL in dealing with societal woes and injustice is grounded in the spirit of Christ who gives us hope at this particular moment, as we think about the profound difficulties our communities faced over the past few years and the work we have in front of us. This same spirit and emphasis of our work will continue to guide our work as we strive to hold all public officials accountable to the radically just and inclusive vision that our faith calls us to create.”
Joanna Arellano (Board Member, VP of Communications) - “This is a profound moment for our nation after four nightmarish years. Let’s never forget that the momentum, energy, brilliance, and organizing work that was pivotal in this election was driven by powerful Black women in states such as Georgia and Pennsylvania and by Latina and Latinx leaders in states such as Arizona and Nevada. These guerreras of our present-day remind me of female biblical figures such as Miriam, Mary, and Ruth who exercised incredible courage in their pursuit of justice, dignity, and compassion. Throughout this pandemic, women have been on the frontlines of ensuring people are counted in a highly politicized census and organizing and energizing people who have every right to be exhausted and tired to exercise their values by voting and fighting for their communities. I am proud that our work at CSPL is driven by the type of brilliant, bold and courageous women of color who are on the front lines of God’s liberating work.”
Sue Ross - (CSPL Board Member, VP of Finances) - “The Trump Administration years have been replete with political division; encouragement of racial animosity; the disenfranchisement of the majority of voters; continued erosion of the middle class; increasing poverty rates; and sickness and death during the COVID-19 pandemic. With others in CSPL, I plan to continue to work for social and economic justice, but now we can do so with greater confidence that our President is one who is willing to compromise and negotiate as we pursue our efforts.”
Karina de Avila (CSPL Board Member) - “Today is a clear result of what happens when we organize as a community. Today is the result of four years of listening to dehumanizing statements and experiencing inhumane policies from the Trump administration. Today, we celebrate democracy.”
John DeCostanza (CSPL Board Member, President) - “The Coalition for Spiritual and Public Leadership celebrates an election in which the voices and values of so many in our national electorate were heard. As an organization that values the rights of all, and especially those historically marginalized and oppressed in our society, this is a moment to celebrate an outcome-driven by grassroots organizing that assembled a coalition of women, people of color, and those disaffected by the policies and rhetoric of a President that has fomented division and centered white supremacy in deed and word. The election of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris to lead the Executive Branch of our federal government is not an end in itself. It is an opening to demonstrate that highly motivated people of faith and values can make a demonstrable change in our public life. It is a wake-up call to accountability for all politicians. We, the people, guided by the values of community, the common good, and collective action will be heard. The Coalition for Spiritual and Public Leadership commits to holding all of our elected officials accountable to value and center policies and practices that ensure the health, welfare, and common destiny of all and especially the most oppressed among us.”
Michael Okinczyc-Cruz (CSPL Executive Director) - “As an organization CSPL honors and recognizes the tireless labor and sacrifices made by so many Black women, Latina and Latinx grassroots leaders, Native and Indigenous communities, and everyone who mobilized and organized over the past several years. This is their moment, this is our moment. Some will say that this election is a repudiation of the white-supremacy, xenophobia, sexism, and moral corruption we saw manifest so publicly over the past four years. The truth is - Trump’s elevation to the nation’s highest office four years ago was a symptom of a much more deeply rooted and entrenched sickness that has long infected the spiritual, social, political, and economic life of this nation since its founding. This moment further solidifies our belief at CSPL that a path forward towards a radically just and democratic society must be driven and constituted by those who have the most at stake. We must be willing to do the work to uproot the entrenched lies and structures that white supremacy, colonialism, and our extractive capitalistic economy have rooted in our nation. Jesus’ invitation to co-create the Reign of God in this present moment requires us to work for a radical redistribution of power, wealth, resources, and opportunity across the country if we are to realize a future that is life-giving. As the great liberator, Jesus invites us to walk this path.”
*TRIGGER WARNING FOR BLACK READERS* - LYNCHING STORY DESCRIBED IN SOME DETAIL BELOW
Here’s a question I’ve had to reflect on a lot lately…. “Why am I so vocal about race and politics?” Today, I am going to use this post to explore this question a bit…
July 2013. George Zimmerman was found not guilty for the murder of Trayvon Martin. I was floored. Like many others who shared my race and age, I had some experiences of microaggressions and racism. But the murder of a 17-year-old boy because of “suspicion,” threw me into something that no amount of experience or “talks” could prepare me for. To make matters worse, more deaths…
MICHAEL BROWN.
LAQUAN MCDONALD.
TAMIR RICE.
FREDDIE GRAY.
SANDRA BLAND.
ALTON STERLING.
PHILANDO CASTILE.
(These are the names that I knew about)
My heart was broken. I found myself in a place where I was searching for answers, and I wanted to be comforted. Nothing in the world could console me…
Instead, I reluctantly went to the only thing I felt I had left: the Protestant church. I was met with apathy. In other cases, silence. Then, enter Colin Kaepernick and the shooting of the five Dallas officers in 2016. Suddenly, the mainstream evangelical church (including the one I was attending) had plenty to say, and no one acknowledged the problem of police brutality, especially since that would involve giving value to black bodies.
Once again, I WAS FLOORED…
With time, God used my hurt and anger to draw me back to Him. Later, he met me at a winter conference and challenged me to play a role in fighting for/rebuilding my community. At the time, I did not know fully what this goal would entail, but little by little, I found that demanding justice (and accountability) would require me to have a better understanding of US history and politics. Additionally, learning forced me to realize that real change would require me to speak up and lean into some discomfort (and sometimes conflict).
Now, after reading my story, some of you may be wondering, “What does this have to do with me? Why should I care of people choose to be vocal about race and politics?”
As a graduate student, I made the decision to read The Cross and the Lynching Tree by James Cone. In his book, he describes the following story:
“When a mob in Valdosta, Georgia, in 1918 failed to find Sidney Johnson, accused of murdering his boss, Hampton Smith, they decided to lynch another black man, Haynes Turner, who was known to dislike Smith. Turner’s wife, Mary, who was eight months pregnant, protested vehemently and vowed to seek justice for her husband’s lynching. The sheriff, in turn, arrested her and then gave her up to the mob. In the presence of a crowd that included women and children, Mary Turner was stripped, hung upside down by the ankles, soaked with gasoline, and roasted to death. In the midst of this torment, a white man opened her swollen belly with a hunting knife, and her infant fell to the ground and was stomped to death” (Cone, p. 120).
The moment I finished reading this passage, my first response was confusion. I was in such disbelief that human beings would do something this vile that I had to reread the story. My confusion quickly turned into RAGE. I could not believe that a sheriff would willingly play a role in such a despicable, demonic act of violence. My other thoughts included but were not limited to the following:
“How did that speak to the narrative of being pro-life?”
“Where were all the ‘well-meaning’ or liberal white people we often hear so much about?
“How did this scenario affirm the theological beliefs of right to life or Imago Dei?” (It didn’t).
“WTF DID I JUST READ?”
To be honest, I still can’t believe that story even after my fifth or sixth time reading it….
Regardless, I believe that it is important to share these types of historical accounts if we want others to really understand the need to talk about politics and race. I know that it can be tempting to dismiss Mary’s story because of when it happened, but if we stop and reflect for a moment, 1918 was only about 100 years ago. This means that the children who were exposed to these (and many other) horrific acts of violence not only gave birth to the Pre-Boomer/Boomer generations, but they also passed on their less than favorable views on black life and suffering. In other words, their 1918 attitudes mirror the lack of empathy, maliciousness, and systematic oppression that still contributes to black death in this modern day. To make matters worse, many of these later generations still refuse to address or talk it.
So… Today, I invite you to consider your role in modern-day politics.
In solidarity with the black community, babynames.com shared the following list of black lives who were murdered due to racism and police brutality:
Emmett Till - Medgar Evers - Dr Martin Luther King Jr - John Crawford Iii - Michael Brown - Ezell Ford - Dante Parker - Michelle Cusseaux - Laquan McDonald - Tanisha Anderson - Akai Gurley - Tamir Rice - Rumain Brisbon - Jerame Reid - Matthew Ajibade - James N. Powell Jr. - Frank Smart - Natasha Mckenna - Tony Robinson - Anthony Hill - Mya Hall - Phillip White - Eric Harris - Walter Scott - William Chapman Ii - Alexia Christian - Brendon Glenn - Victor Manuel Larosa - Jonathan Sanders - Freddie Carlos Gray Jr. - Joseph Mann - Salvado Ellswood - Sandra Bland - Albert Joseph Davis - Darrius Stewart - Billy Ray Davis - Samuel Dubose - Michael Sabbie - Brian Keith Day - Christian Taylor - Troy Robinson - Asshams Pharoah Manley - Felix Kumi - Keith Harrison Mcleod - Junior Prosper - Lamontez Jones - Paterson Brown - Dominic Hutchinson - Anthony Ashford - Alonzo Smith - Tyree Crawford - India Kager - La’vante Biggs - Michael Lee Marshall - Jamar Clark - Richard Perkins - Phillip Pannell - Nathaniel Harris Pickett - Benni Lee Tignor - Miguel Espinal - Michael Noel - Kevin Matthews - Bettie Jones - Quintonio Legrier - Keith Childress Jr. - Janet Wilson - Randy Nelson - Antronie Scott - Wendell Celestine - David Joseph - Calin Roquemore - Dyzhawn Perkins - Christopher Davis - Marco Loud - Peter Gaines - Torrey Robinson - Darius Robinson - Kevin Hicks - Mary Truxillo - Demarcus Semer - Amadou Diallo - Willie Tillman - Terrill Thomas - Sylville Smith - Alton Sterling - Philando Castile - Terence Crutcher - Paul O’Neal - Alteria Woods - Bobby Russ - Jordan Edwards - Aaron Bailey - Ronell Foster - Stephon Clark - Antwon Rose Ii - Malice Green - Elijah Mcclain - Aiyana Stanley Jones - Botham Jean - Pamela Turner - Dominique Clayton - Sean Bell - Atatiana Jefferson - Jemel Roberson - Ryan Matthew Smith - Derrick Ambrose Jr. - Christopher Whitfield - Victor White Iii - Christopher Mccorvey - Timothy Thomas - Reginald Doucet Jr. - Danroy "Dj" Henry Jr. - Karvas Gamble Jr. - Eric Reason - Korryn Gaines - Rekia Boyd - Kionte Spencer - Darius Tarver - Manuel Ellis - Victor Duffy Jr. - Kobe Dimock-Heisler - Clinton R. Allen - Corey Jones - Tyre King - Eric Garner - Michael Lorenzo Dean - Trayvon Martin - Renisha Mcbride - Oscar Grant Iii - Breonna Taylor - Kalief Browder - Darrien Hunt - William Green - Ahmaud Arbery - Tony Mcdade - Jamel Floyd - George Floyd
As I look over this list, I cannot help but wonder… "Where we’d be today if all who claimed to be 'well-meaning' and church-going spoke up and challenged America's system of racial injustice?"
I like to imagine that the list shared above would have ended way before Emmett Till, but we are here… As we all process the recent deaths of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade, Nina Pop, and Breonna Taylor, I beg you to please resist the urge to remain silent or engage in active complicity. Instead, consider taking action by learning US history and getting involved politically.
Without you and your voice, we are just adding names to a list that shouldn’t have been created to begin with.
Sources:
Cone, James H. The Cross and the Lynching Tree. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2019. Kindle Edition.
Name of victims provided by babynames.com
My name is Maria and I am originally from Jalisco, Mexico but I have been living in the U.S. for as long as I can remember. I live in the south side of Chicago where it is as diverse as it can get. Latinos on one side, African Americans on the other, Whites over there, and everything else in between. Even as diverse as Chicago advertises itself to be, there are clear divisions among the different ethnicities that live here. These can range from stereotyping one another to literal district lines that determine what neighborhoods are considered worthy of funding and which ones are occupied by the “superior” race.
I speak from a position of privilege where I can pass as white because of the color of my skin. One of the ways that people can identify me as a Latina is through the reggaeton and the baladas I blast from my car from one neighborhood to the next as I drive to my destinations. I can drive from one location to the next without the fear of being singled out because I “coincidentally” don’t fit the description of a dangerous suspect. As I have gotten older and more educated about the real history of this land, the underlying reasons for systematic oppression have become clearer. This country is believed to be the land of the free, but 2020 has resurfaced the racism, discrimination, abuse of power, and ignorance to a level where it can no longer be ignored. The real land of the free would not cage up thousands of innocent families fleeing from their country, because their lives were at risk, nor would it systematically work around keeping those underprivileged communities from improving all while villainizing them. Millions of people in this country do not fall under the umbrella of what it means to be the “ideal” American, and with that comes oppression by the many established institutions that were created to maintain white supremacy at all costs. Attempting to dismantle these systems will not be successful if a division among historically marginalized communities continues. I do not know what it means to be an African-American woman who is targeted before they are even born. However, in order to be angry about what is happening, I reflect on what it means to be a human being and what it might be like to feel the pain and suffering that comes from constantly being discriminated against.
I don’t consider myself a religious person, but I do believe there is a higher power. If we were created equal and in the image of that higher power, why is it acceptable to alienate another human being? In my mind, it should never be acceptable. When we see a group of people disproportionately impacted by people in power, the least the rest of us can do is join the fight against tyranny and oppression. Today is for them and tomorrow is for us, right? As people from Latino and Black communities, we have the power to make the changes that the 1% dreads. It does not matter how little of an impact you think can be made, because at the end of the day it is a whole lot better from where it started. Change has never been easy to accomplish and it takes unity to make it happen. Perfect examples can be seen throughout history when people who were tired of taking excuses as answers began demanding change. We are once again going through a historic era where “tu lucha es mi lucha” until the pressure transforms into results that benefit our communities.
Non-profit organizations are important for this line of work, because many of them work for the people and are led by the people. CSPL brings people of all ages, ethnicities, perspectives, and experiences to the table to center those who are impacted by oppression to be at the forefront of speaking and leading the change. I am a member of CSPL because I can see the impact that our work has had in the community. I am part of this fight because there are those whose voices are belittled. We should all be part of the much overdue change for those children and families in ICE detention camps that are dying and abused every day. Be part of the change for the Black community murdered by people whose jobs are to protect all, but their internalized racism wins constantly.
The importance of being engaged with social justice organizations has never been clearer. June 18, 2020 was a very important date for DACA recipients. It was the day we won a battle against an administration with a racist agenda that wants to deny immigrants the right to equality in any way possible. That day, hundreds of thousands of DACA recipients could finally breathe again, including myself. The immense fear of being an immediate target for deportation hovered over me for months. Although the decision of SCOTUS shed a light of hope, we have a lot more work for us to do. This won’t be the only administration that will threaten immigrants. We have lived through many presidential terms where promises are made left and right, but nothing ever comes from it. I will continue to fight for not only myself, but also for the millions of immigrants that are ignored because they all have as much of a right to be here as I do. Working alongside CSPL I will continue to advocate, and demand elected officials to walk the walk and not just talk the talk.
2020 is not the year to stay quiet or to use the excuse of feeling uncomfortable when speaking about politics, because that is privilege speaking. This year is not about politics, it is about affirming our human rights and opposing tyranny.
My name is Juan Gabriel Lara and I work as an economic justice organizer with the Coalition for Spiritual and Public Leadership (CSPL). I was born in a small town called El Terrero in Guanajuato Mexico. When I think about what gives me strength and what inspires my work, I think about my roots. The faith that I received from my mother, and the love and acceptance I received from my family.
The rising number of positive COVID-19 cases recently became much more personally impactful a month ago. At first, my brother informed me that he had tested positive with the virus. Then, his wife tested positive. Two days later, it was my sister and her two daughters, one in her early stages of pregnancy, who had now tested positive. I witnessed my niece’s isolation from everyone, even from her two sons in order to keep them safe. The rising number of positive COVID-19 cases were now much more than numbers to me. They were loved ones who I cherish in my life. Thankfully, today they are doing much better.
As grateful as I am for my family’s recovery, I am also angry. Angry for an all too familiar reason that has emerged from the stories shared by my relatives and friends who have been impacted by the virus. When someone at a factory dies, the factory is forced to close. When the factory reopens, only then do workers receive the protective gear that they need. Still, it’s just one free mask. If they want more protective gear, they must purchase it themselves. There are countless companies across the state of Illinois that pay Latinx and Black workers meager wages while demanding that those same workers put in extremely long hours in unsafe and hazardous conditions. These work environments violate all of the core principles that Catholic Social Teaching seeks to stand for when we speak of the dignity of the human person and workers. Workers in many of these factories face rampant racism, sexual harassment and wage theft.
I am not surprised that one of the highest-ranked communities with positive COVID-19 cases is the Chicago Lawn community. We hear, “stay at home,” “be responsible,” “it’s about saving others” but as much as social distancing is an effective way to prevent the spread of the virus, it has also made an important issue transparent; the profound and scandalous inequalities of our economic system. How can we expect a mother of three, who lives paycheck to paycheck, to stay home and still provide for her family? If resources were distributed equitably, then yes, maybe she could. Are we truly “all in this together?” Anger is often viewed as negative, but I believe that anger can become the sacred fuel that propels me to work for justice. I can start by sharing my story and my work with and amongst others at CSPL.
Currently, I am working with women and youth in the Chicago and Maywood area to create a more just and inclusive economic alternative. CSPL supports these community leaders as they develop worker-owned cooperatives. We have formed what we call Circles of Encounter and Dialogue. These Circles are gathering spaces where community members and leaders come together to share stories, learn from one another, and engage in training for community transformation.
My faith and my passion for justice continue to inspire my work with the immigrant women from Maywood, Broadview, and across Chicago who are owners of the cooperatives LSG Cleaning Services and Living La Fiesta Catering. The resilience and dedication of these women inspire me and give me hope. Currently, in order to continue providing for their families, the worker-owners of Living La Fiesta have shifted their priorities temporarily from preparing food to making home-made protective masks. I invite you to visit our website at www.csplaction.org to learn more about our work, and I encourage you to support the cooperatives by purchasing masks for your family or by making a donation for masks that can be distributed to other community groups in need of them.
Sincerely,
Gabriel Lara
Photo Credit: Jesus Mafa
Last year, I was asked to give a sermon for our youth ministry on the topic of MLK because it was January, and as Americans, we pretend to acknowledge MLK’s contribution to Civil Rights even though our country hasn’t changed (but I digress). As I prepared and researched for my sermon, I stumbled upon a video created by a man named Jonathan Sandburg. He read a story written by MLK Jr., who found himself deeply discouraged by his calling one night and prayed to God for answers. Although I deeply resonate with the whole story, this week, these lines in his prayer really speak to me:
“Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right. I think I’m right. I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But Lord, I must confess that I’m weak now, I’m faltering. I’m losing my courage. Now, I am afraid. I have nothing left. I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.”
As I reflect on this prayer, I find myself feeling angry at how many black and brown people have had to pray some version of these words as a result of white supremacy. My heart is broken, especially for those who, like Martin, continuously have to place themselves at the center of this battle because white people continue to choose comfort over action.
As I’ve watched COVID, police brutality, and the Karens of this world intentionally target black bodies, I could not help but feel like maybe God has abandoned us. Like maybe in my passion, I have been fighting for the wrong things when my faith was mainly intended for the growth and support of white supremacy. I know these thoughts aren’t true, but sin and evil have a way of making you question all things. At several moments wrestling with these thoughts even had me considering walking away from my faith and calling altogether....
As I continued to ponder my exit, the Holy Spirit gently reminded me of Matthew 26:36-46 (NASB), when Jesus found himself at a crossroads in the Garden of Gethsemane…
For those who are unfamiliar with this story, before Jesus was crucified, he and his disciples went to a place called Gethsemane, where Jesus’s grieve and distress about what was to come led him to pray. In verse 38, he says to his disciples, “My soul is deeply grieved, to the point of death; remain here and keep watch with Me.” Then he says a series of prayers that seem to echo the very thoughts of Martin Luther King.
“My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me; yet not as I will, but as You will.” (v. 39)
“My Father, if this cannot pass away unless I drink it, Your will be done.” (v. 42)
BLACK PEOPLE, I know we are all tired of bearing the brunt of racism in this country, but God sees you, and he understands what it means to be lynched so that others can freely and wrongfully cling to the idols in their lives. I pray that, like Jesus and Martin, we can all take heart and continue to fight for what is right even until the end. I know it can feel like we are alone and forgotten by God, but Jesus’s death signifies that evil will not have the last word. Hebrews 4: 15-16 (MSG) reminds us of the following: “Now that we know what we have—Jesus, this great High Priest with ready access to God—let’s not let it slip through our fingers. We don’t have a priest who is out of touch with our reality. He’s been through weakness and testing, experienced it all—all but the sin. So let’s walk right up to him and get what he is so ready to give. Take the mercy, accept the help.”
Here are some additional verses that you may find helpful:
WHITE PEOPLE (especially Christian ones), I know a lot of you "do not own slaves," "have black friends," and "aren't lynching people," but listen to me when I say that black (and brown) people are tired and need you to sip from Jesus's metaphorical cup of sacrifice. I know that taking such a step may be scary or uncomfortable for you, but white supremacy is demonic and will only continue to flourish if you are silent. I beg to take steps today to get involved in the work of antiracism. Please do not let your fear of saying or doing the wrong things stop you from addressing racism and preventing more senseless deaths. No one desires to see anymore violence or trending hashtags. To get started in this work, you can start by clicking on the following links:
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Video by Jonathan Sandberg and transcript of story and prayer attached below:
Martin Luther King Jr. wrote of a time when he was deeply discouraged and questioned continuing on in the cause of civil rights.
“Almost immediately after the [bus boycott] started we had begun to receive threatening telephone calls and letters. They increased as time went on....
One night, I couldn’t sleep. It seemed that all of my fears had come down on me at once. I had heard these things before, but for some reason that night it got to me. I went to the kitchen and I sat there and thought about a beautiful little daughter who had just been born... I started thinking about a dedicated and loyal wife, who was over there asleep. And she could be taken from me, or I could be taken from her. And I got to the point that I couldn’t take it any longer. With my head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud: “Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right. I think I’m right. I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But Lord, I must confess that I’m weak now, I’m faltering. I’m losing my courage. Now, I am afraid. I have nothing left. I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.”
It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying: ‘Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo, I will be with you. Even until the end of the world.’
I tell you . . . I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on. He promised never to leave me alone. At that moment I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never experienced Him before. Almost at once, my fears began to go. My uncertainty disappeared. I was ready to face anything.”
As I reflect upon the current challenges of these days, I am put into the mindset of fully understanding that I am fully a part of a “world “ community. The “me” world that many of us follow in many ways has yielded to the reality that we are all connected, whether we like it or not. A virus had to unfold to make us humans realize the common world that we share.
God’s timing in my life continues to amaze me. Years ago, my spiritual journey caused me to reflect on how I was spending my time. I knew that I had to earn a living and asked God to direct me in an area that would provide me with financial stability and have real purpose. Food became my avenue to fulfill these aspirations. Though financial stability is still a work in progress, the feeling of purpose has certainly been enhanced. My love of cooking and sharing that talent via the restaurant business has brought so many exceptional people of God into my life that it astounds me. As a result of being in business, I was introduced to the Coalition for Spiritual and Public Leadership (CSPL). What a God-send!
My heart was yearning for a way to serve our God in a manner befitting of his blessings to me. In the past, especially in my earlier days of activism, I could not stand to see how our society callously addressed issues of social justice. I guess such sentiments never left me. They have been reinvigorated by the mission of CSPL. I am engaged to the extent that I am ready to address what or who is next in our efforts to build a more equitable world! Being a board member of CSPL has given me a cherished position to be a part of charting the direction that this God-inspired organization will take.
The pandemic has allowed me to spend a great deal of time reflecting upon how I can be a better servant of God. During this pandemic, I have been engaged in how to be a real prayer warrior and let my actions reveal how blessed I am to be a part of God’s work. I am working on reinforcing my God-given armor. I encourage all people to take time during this period of uncertainty to ask God how we can better serve one- another. By doing so, I believe, we magnify God’s presence in our lives.
When we leave the me-centered flaws of our society, it will become evident that such issues as providing for the general welfare of our people (full healthcare coverage for everyone for example), is not only an imperative for our country but the right thing to do in God’s eyes as we care for one another. Even further, we must eliminate with finality the non-workable “class” system of our society that has hindered us from truly seeing all of us as children of God. Prayer remains the preeminent force to promote and inspire change.
“Our hope lies in the absolutely uncontainable power of God.”- Sisters of St. Francis of the Holy Family of Dubuque, Iowa
John DeCostanza preaches for the Second Sunday of Easter (Divine Mercy Sunday) The Scripture readings can be found at: http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/04...
An Easter Reflection by Dr. John DeCostanza, Director of Campus Ministry at Dominican University Ministry and current Board President of CSPL
How do you trust that resurrection is on the other side of this? How do I? How does anyone ever and especially, right now? There have been a few times in my life when trusting that resurrection was on the other side of painful experience was challenging.
Off and on throughout my life, I have struggled with depression. In the not too distant past, some major transitions – the end of my life as a student, changes in my ministry, a trauma that I witnessed, and the narrowing of my horizons in a fog of stress – triggered the return of my formidable opponent.
There is something uncanny and familiar in stories of those of us that have experienced what Parker Palmer called, “a living death.” Too many of us know depression’s pain, both physical and emotional. We have had the good, the positive, and the optimistic slip through our fingers like sand. I have been fortunate to travel back from those places where I questioned even the surest of my own judgments. Palmer’s perspective and my own align. “I do not understand,” he writes, “why [some] are able to find new life in the midst of a living death, though I am one of them.” Depression for too many of us is too great a challenge to the certainty of resurrection.
If you’ve been there like me or if you find yourself struggling for joy in this Easter Octave, you’re not alone. We do not have to go very far to imagine the disciples’ mood in that Upper Room. It hovers somewhere between grief, deep sadness, and existential fear. Despite the fact that Jesus speaks the line, “Peace be with you,” with such certitude, it never feels any less shocking to me when I read it. Jesus could have said, “Hey, what are you all doing here? I told you I’d be back” or with a full throated, finger guns blazin’ “Who’s risen? This guy.” But he doesn’t. Instead, Jesus invokes peace and breathes on them. The English word “inspire” finds its Latin root in this action.
History and conventional wisdom paint the disciple Thomas as the uninspired one – the doubter, the naysayer. My experience of brokenness suggests something different. Like Thomas, I know of few people (maybe none) that have experienced trauma and loss or abiding sadness and depression and miraculously and instantaneously emerge joyous and victorious on the other side. Instead, our experience is a little more like the tentative tulips in my Chicago garden. We are not quite sure if now is the moment to show off our beauty because life has taught us the Upper Midwest cares not for our desire for spring.
Thomas probes the wounds.
He leans fully into Jesus’ broken and blessed Body.
He approaches Him in an exquisite and intimate way made all the more poignant in this moment by our social distancing.
Thomas knows these wounds as surely as we have felt the wounding of this pandemic.
The crucial takeaway of this Divine Mercy Sunday is that Resurrection does not erase the suffering of the cross. God’s loving mercy creates a future that we cannot yet see. The image of Divine Mercy, a vision given to St. Faustina Kowalska, is one of a heart overflowing. St. John Paul II, the first Polish pope, once said that “through the mystery of this wounded heart, the restorative tide of God’s merciful love continues to spread over the men and women of our time.”
On this side of paradise, we, like Thomas, do not always experience the resurrection as a decisive moment of glorious certainty. Instead, as if coming out of a long sadness or a challenging period of suffering, we realize that God’s unfolding mercy has been in our walk all along as an embrace of love that has washed over us. Jesus has gone ahead of us, bearing the wounds that we must probe.
Thomas’ response is quite simple: “My Lord and My God.” Not the powers and principalities, but the truth of living through death. Resurrection does not erase the suffering of the cross, it reveals its power over it. Jesus’ response comes as one final beatitude spoken to us, “Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.”
How do we trust that resurrection is on the other side of this?
Jesus knows that we may need to probe the weary wounds of our own experience. We know that God, whose very name is Mercy, has already opened a way.
“Peace be with you.”
“Peace be with you.”
Living on the Southside of Chicago, I have been privy to see first-hand the disparities of our society evident in the lack of services and opportunities. My hometown of Tulsa, Oklahoma, reflects the same disparities. Unfortunately, I have come to understand that ours has become a world of separatism that leaves many people under-served and blatantly disregarded.
My interaction as a Board Member of the Coalition for Spiritual and Public Leadership has given me the opportunity to try to be a part of the solution to the challenges facing the wrongs of social justice issues. CSPL’s vision to address these wrongs, with a Christ-centered appeal, attracted me to be a part of the solution.
When I reflect upon how the Corona pandemic has affected me, on the one hand, it makes me realize how vulnerable we are individually, while also triggering thoughts of how powerful we are collectively. One thing clear to me as I watch the experts is that there is no such thing as “borders” that divides us when it comes to addressing the virus. It has forced us to rely upon each other in order to find a solution. If we are truly searching for a solution, how can we isolate communities by not affording fairness in healthcare distribution? Every community should have the right to be properly served. One community of people should not be viewed as more important than another.
It is my opinion that concerted prayers to God are necessary in order for this virus to leave us. We must ask God to heal our land. It is my hope that as we navigate through this moment in time that we recognize the destructive forces of hatred and bigotry that have guided so many cultures of our world and yield to the powerful presence of God working in our lives to unify us. When true unity in purpose arises, then God’s plan of fairness will be revealed. When this pandemic concludes, it is my hope that the hearts of everyone will be forever changed and that the equitable use and distribution of God’s gifts to the earth, will be the norm. No human person is an island.
Hello everyone! My name is Aurelia Herrera, I work as a Certified Medical Assistant in an outpatient clinic in Addison, IL. I am a mother of three and reside in Maywood, IL. I enjoy investing my spare time volunteering and giving back to my community. A few months ago I was given the opportunity to join the Coalition for Spiritual and Public Leadership, also known as CSPL. There I volunteer on the Census 2020 committee and participate in many other community events.
As a mother and healthcare worker, the COVID-19 pandemic has had a tremendous effect on my life. Professionally my health is at risk, but even then I know it is for a good cause. I live with the profound stress knowing that at any moment I could be exposed and that ultimately I am also risking my children and husband being exposed to the virus. The limited supply of Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) workers have, and the little known effectiveness it has, has really made me worried when going to work.
I want the community to understand how severely this virus can affect their health. Healthcare workers are risking their lives for everyone else. For those not obeying the shelter in place rule, I want you to understand the danger you are putting yourself and others in. Non-clinical and clinical staff who are not working in the hospital are being deployed to help without a choice. We need all communities on the same page, so that together we can fight this pandemic.
With the amount of new positive COVID-19 cases that are being detected, all hospitals will be, if not already, left with a severe lack of space and equipment to properly provide care for people. How are we supposed to control this virus when we don’t have beds, supplies, and equipment for everyone? For this reason, CSPL organized to generate broad community support to encourage Governor Pritzker to reopen Westlake Hospital. Representative Emanuel “Chris” Welch was critical in this process through his tireless advocacy for the reopening of Westlake. I was thrilled to hear the news on April 2nd when Governor Pritzker announced that Westlake Hospital would be reopened sometime during the month of April. This decision is timely, prudent and necessary in helping our state address this public health crisis. The reopening of Westlake Hospital also serves as a vital sign of hope for our communities when we need it now more than ever. The effort to reopen Westlake was truly a community effort and I’m grateful to Governor Pritzker, Representative Welch and all of the members of CSPL.
As a health care worker and as a mother, I want to thank everyone for their sacrifices. For practicing social distancing from those we love when what we need the most is a hug, love, and support from them. Together we will get through this crisis. Thank you all for all of your prayers and support.
Sincerely,
Aurelia Herrera
Mother, Healthcare Worker, and CSPL Member
You see, the pouring of tears was because I could relate. It was like having a trance where my whole life was shown to me.
I was born on the 28th of June, in 1996. I was born in Bukavu, a province in the Democratic Republic of Congo (known as Zaire at that time). After giving birth to me, my mother fell sick and was admitted into the hospital with hemorrhagic fever. After 5 months, one night, they were all frightened out of their sleep by the sounds of gunshots in the distance. There had been rumors, even radio hosts had spoken of neighboring villages and towns being invaded by rebels. No one had taken them seriously, thinking that they were surely safe. The next day, my mother was discharged. As weak and ill as she was, she had to flee with her husband, and 3 daughters. The firstborn was 9 years old, the second was 3 years old and I; the third born 5 months old.
There was confusion all around. Fear was everyone’s best friend. Rumors would come about my grandparents’ dead bodies being found washed up on the seashore, or of family members being decapitated or kidnapped. You couldn’t trust anyone’s report, no one could be trusted. Dead bodies lined up on the road. They were like carpets laid out welcoming one to their doom. Some corpses laid beheaded or others missing their lower limbs. You’d hear children crying on their lifeless mother’s backs, or see children fleeing on their own after witnessing the execution of their entire family. With no food to eat or clean water to drink (soldiers had seized all that my parents had packed when they had taken the initiative to flee) my family would depend on rivers or ponds-that had been soiled with blood, or the memories of the traumatizing event a person scrubbed out of their bodies in an effort to do away with it forever- to get water in the hopes of getting our exhausted selves going. My mom in her condition would be forced to run when she grew weary she’d be carried, or generous people would lend her their bikes, her children would be carried by strangers assisting their tinny little legs to leave behind the place they once called home.
After 3 months of hard toil and unrest, we made it to the capital city in February. My father had been told that he had some distant family members in the capital and at once on arrival, he proceeded to take his family with him to seek refuge from them. They went from house to house, would have doors slammed at them one after another, friends become foes because no one wanted to take in refugees; 5 of them to be exact! We roamed about, homeless, hungry, tired. After such a long journey, you can only imagine the heartbreak, disappointment, and destitution such rejection caused our family. Lucky for us, we had a Good Samaritan who opened up her home, family, and heart to us. She was related to my dad, but it was a far relation that it’s even hard for them to explain it. She took us in, cared for us and never once made us feel unwelcomed. She was patient with us and allowed us to call her place home until my parents were able to stand on their two feet and take care of their growing family.
Some years later, my family would be compelled to flee again, this time out of the country and into foreign lands. In 2001 the president Mr. Laurent-Desiree Kabila was assassinated in his office and this caused political instability and unrest in the country. It was in the year 2002 when my parents decided to distribute their children among family members. My mom had given birth to my younger sister and younger brother by then and so we had grown as a family. The goal was to reunite again in London, my younger sister and I were put under the care of my dad’s sister and we went to Zimbabwe with her. My two older sisters left with another family member and my younger brother was to travel with my mom and dad. I remember the night before we were meant to travel, how my dad took my sister and me to the store to pick out whatever snacks we wanted to take with us. OH, what a joy, we went nuts in the store, having trouble deciding what sweets we wanted or which cookie would be better or fit in our backpacks.
We were young, my sister and I. We didn’t really understand what was happening. We surely have pleasant memories of Zimbabwe, of strange uncles coming to visit and taking us out for ice cream. Of eating maize cooked by the side of the roads. Of pepper steak pies, malls that were huge and beautiful. We didn’t know we were awaiting the verdict of our future from men who didn’t know a thing about us or what we had gone through. We were too naïve to realize that all the treats were just ways to try and make everything seem normal to us. We didn’t know that we were in Zimbabwe awaiting visas to London and that ultimately the outcome (good/bad) would have a great impact on our upbringing and destinies.
After a long while, my parents got worried that we were separated from our siblings; they were worried that we were missing out on school and just being idle. Our documents were being processed slowly and seemed like a hopeless cause. My sisters too, on their side, their plans as well seemed futile. So a new plan was devised and before we knew it we were on our way to South Africa. We went by road, the 4 of us (my two older sisters, my younger sister and I) and were going to cross the border and enter the country illegally. I remember being given instructions by the man we had paid to help us cross over, on when to walk and when not to. There were helicopters that would roam about above us, and if I didn’t follow instructions we would all be caught and I would never see my family again.
We had probably the biggest task ahead, and that was to cross the Limpopo River, the second biggest river in Africa. That and the fence ahead were the only things standing in our way to greener pastures. I remember my younger sister being carried on the neck of a young man who was traveling in our group as we were crossing the river. They told us to be very still and quiet. Cautious as well, because there were crocodiles about and no one wanted to end up as anyone’s meal. I do not know how long it took us to cross over; I know that it was a painful struggle with us having to stop several times because of helicopters about or heavy water currents. We finally made it to the other side, we had a fence before us but everyone was hopeful. I do not know what happened to the other people who were with us, but I remember the man who was guiding us shoving our bags and us into a tree. This tree was huge and had a large hole. We were told to hide in there until evening when they would come for us. We were warned not to be seen by anyone and to be quiet. I remember evening did come and we were called out of our hiding place, when we came out there was a truck waiting close to the fence. Our bags and ourselves were pushed over the fence and into South African territories. That was early 2003. We got into the van and we laid low into the darkness of the night and that is how we were transported to Pretoria. I don’t know how much time that took us, all I know is that I was happy when we were allowed to sit up and see the big buildings and shining lights. I was in awe.
We didn’t know anyone in South Africa and the city in which my parents had decided to rent an apartment that was recommended to them because they would find many foreign nationals there and would feel much at home compared to other cities and towns. It was a spacious place, the apartment we were to live in. Maybe it seemed like that to a young me because we didn’t have furniture to take up space and we rather used up all the open space as a playground. The only furniture we had was a queen size bed and that’s where we all slept. After a while, my parents were able to get a TV. We used the box of the TV as a table when we had birthdays, and loved jumping on the bed. I do not remember that much, but that I had my siblings as friends in the building and how we drove the caretaker crazy with our noise. I was happy, I didn’t have to worry about the rent, or where money for food would come from. I didn’t have to worry about having to face intimidating Home Affairs officials when applying for documents. Little did I know that life would be totally different for me when I got exposed to the world.
Michael Okinczyc-Cruz, executive director and co-founder of the Coalition for Spiritual and Public Leadership, speaks Jan. 27, 2020, during the Catholic Social Ministry Gathering in Washington. Also pictured are Gerard Powers, director of Catholic peacebuilding studies at the University of Notre Dame; Kimberly Mazyck, senior manager of engagement and education outreach at Catholic Charities USA; and Kim Daniels of the Initiative on Catholic Social Thought and Public Life at Georgetown University. (CNS photo/Tyler Orsburn)
By Dennis Sadowski • Catholic News Service • Posted January 28, 2020
WASHINGTON (CNS) — The girl, no older than 12, was frantic, crying uncontrollably in the middle of the street, her younger brother standing nearby. Cars whizzed by, horns honking for the kids to get out of the way.
Maria Franco, who had just left her job as religious education coordinator at St. Eulalia Parish in the Chicago suburb of Maywood, saw the scene. “Oh, my God. What is this baby doing in the street?” she asked herself.
Franco stopped her car and ran to the girl.
“I put my arms around her and got her off the street,” Franco said.
That’s when Franco learned that the girl had just found her 15-year-old sister with a noose around her neck on the back porch of her family’s home. The teenager had committed suicide.
“I began praying and just held her,” Franco recalled.
Franco watched as the first responders feverishly administered CPR as they wheeled a gurney with the girl’s limp body to an ambulance. They couldn’t revive her.
The teenager’s suicide was the neighborhood’s third in a few months during late 2018 and early 2019. “I realized this is a big issue,” Franco told Catholic News Service Jan. 27 at the annual Catholic Social Ministry Gathering.
Utilizing her connections with the parish and the Chicago-based Coalition for Spiritual and Public Leadership, for which she co-chaired the group’s Safety and Violence Committee, Franco moved into action. She made sure teen suicide was on the agenda of the parish’s parents’ group before Mass the following Sunday.
That meeting led Franco, 44, and other parents to undertake a drive to receive mental health first aid training in partnership with the parish’s Quinn Community Center, Taller de Jose (Joseph’s Workshop), an accompaniment ministry, and CSPL, an organization of parishes, families and community groups working to develop local leaders rooted in Catholic theology and the church’s social teaching.
CSPL is funded in part by the Catholic Campaign for Human Development, the U.S. bishops’ domestic anti-poverty campaign.
Since November, more than 50 parents in the majority Hispanic neighborhood have been trained to be aware of the warning signs of depression and anxiety in their teenage children. Two more sessions are planned in February and March.
“Just the response alone tells me we’re moving in the right direction,” said Franco, who came to the United States with her family when she was 2.
Such an effort would have never occurred had the parish and the wider community depended on public officials, police and mental health professionals to respond, Michael Okinczyc-Cruz, CSPL executive director, said during a plenary session Jan. 27, the third day of the social ministry assembly.
The annual Catholic Social Ministry Gathering is organized by the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops’ Department of Justice, Peace and Human Development in collaboration with 10 other USCCB departments and 16 national Catholic organizations.
“True change is only going to come from grassroots communities. It’s going to come from the ground up,” said Okinczyk-Cruz.
“Most importantly, communities have to be organized,” he added. “They have to build collective power. They have to build relationship with one another. They have to do it in the public square … to achieve the type of society that God is calling us to build.”
Okinczyk-Cruz was one of three participants in a roundtable discussion focused on how the church and its members can influence policy domestically and internationally to overcome challenges such as poverty, racism, the effects of climate change, community violence and war.
The trio — which included Kim Mazyck, senior manager for engagement and educational outreach at Catholic Charities USA, and Gerard F. Powers, director of Catholic peace-building studies at the University of Notre Dame — concluded that overcoming affronts to human dignity is more likely through the building of relationships.
People with titles and degrees do not have all the answers, they agreed.
Mazyck said vulnerable people often feel that their ideas on finding solutions to the challenges they face are overlooked or ignored and so they do not become involved even though they are closest to the problem.
“People (who are struggling) think we’re beyond their reach,” she told the 600 social justice advocates at the assembly. “We have to continue to remind them that we are within reach. We have to constantly think, ‘Who are we not reaching?’
“We have to find ways to walk with our families, especially mothers in single-parent households. They see themselves on the news as the problem. But they have the solution. They know what the community needs and we have to find ways to reach them, walk with them and develop solutions that work,” she said.
Internationally, building relationships requires that people in dire situations contribute to achieving peace and stability, Powers added.
He called on the United States, with its powerful influence around the world, to recognize the important contributions local communities can make in reconciling warring factions.
Powers also credited Catholic Relief Services for recognizing that relationships are key to achieving peace and supporting human dignity.
Achieving social change requires taking risks, Okinczyc-Cruz said.
“If the church does not fully commit itself to the work of social justice, social change, which demands profound changes in the way in which we go about the work we are doing, it risks being completely irrelevant to another generation, a generation of young people,” he said.
While he welcomed the rich tradition of Catholic social teaching and the pastoral letters of the U.S. bishops on issues such as war, the economy, and racism, such documents are “not going to change society simply on their own.”
“I think of Moses. What if Moses stood on the shore of the Red Sea and just pulled out a letter and said, ‘This is what God says, this is what we’re to do,’ and then turns around walks right back into Egypt. I think Miriam would have pushed him in and just led everybody,” he said.
An audience member suggested to the panelists that bishops and priests should be in the forefront to help foster relationships and lead the charge for social change.
Powers challenged the idea.
“One risk we have is clericalizing Catholic social action,” he said. “The Second Vatican Council said it’s the laity, not the bishops, not the priests, who have the principal responsibility for transforming the social order by the Gospel. My questions is where is the laity?”
The conversation repeatedly returned to the importance of building relationships, which can lead to understanding, respect and — in the long term — peace.
“We have to do the hard work of building relationships and to get our hands dirty,” Okinczyc-Cruz said. “That is what Pope Francis is urging us to do, to get our hands dirty in the rough and tumble world.”
The annual Catholic Social Ministry Gathering is organized by the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops’ Department of Justice, Peace and Human Development in collaboration with 10 other USCCB departments and 16 national Catholic organizations.
Originally posted December 29, 2019 by Jeremy V. Cruz
A bus caravan of 70 Jornada participants, organized by the Chicago-based Coalition for Spiritual and Public Leadership, made the journey to El Paso of more than 2,400 kilometers (1,500 miles) to accompany migrants at the USA/MEX border.[1]
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I recently led a delegation from St. John’s University in New York City (USA) to the Jornada por la Justicia (Pilgrimage for Justice) held from October 11-13, 2019, the “liturgically contested” weekend of Indigenous People’s Day, El Día de la Raza, and Columbus Day (October 12), in the “sister cities” of El Paso, Texas (USA) and Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua (MEX).[2] Catholic institutions from across the U.S.A. sent delegations to participate, with some traveling nearly 4,000 km (2,485 miles). In total, nearly 400 people participated in the Jornada, including students from Catholic universities and many other young adults. The Jornada encompassed both a “teach-in” with educational workshops—focused on topics of migration and racism, Catholic social teaching, borderland spiritual practices, and methods for providing humanitarian assistance and pursuing social justice—and a border action aimed at ensuring that government agencies respect the legal and human rights of asylum seekers. As “pilgrims for justice,” participants became part of a long tradition of linking this popular religious practice with collective actions for social advancement.[3] The Jornada was hosted by the Hope Border Institute,[4] an El Paso-based organization animated by Catholic social teaching, and drew its leadership from Latinx[5] Catholics, including me, many of whom have also been discussing our desires to form a national Latinx Catholic leadership network.[6]
The Jornada was a response to persistent manifestations of xenophobia and racism in the U.S.A.: lethal and costly militarization of the border, the likely illegal[7] “Remain in Mexico” policy (MPP) that keeps non-Mexicans struggling to live in dangerous conditions in México while awaiting the outcome of their U.S. asylum applications, the also likely illegal[8] practice of “metering” which delays asylum seekers and migrants from exercising their legal rights to apply for asylum, deplorable migrant detention conditions, and the fracturing of migrant families via inhumane deportation practices and state-facilitated adoptions of migrant children without parental consent. The August 3rd massacre of twenty-two people in El Paso also took place during the planning for the Jornada—the victims were targeted by a domestic terrorist desiring to kill as many Mexicans as possible to suppress an imagined “Hispanic invasion” of Texas.[9] In this massacre, one could recognize links between xenophobic rhetoric used to justify violent border policies and rising numbers of hate crimes against members of minoritized racial, ethnic, religious, gender, and sexuality groups in the U.S.A.—a horrific “sign of the times” here.[10]
The Jornada’s keynote address was delivered by Msgr. Arturo Bañuelas,[11] a Chicano Catholic priest and forerunner of Latinx borderland theologies.[12] Bañuelas also co-founded the Academy of Catholic Hispanic Theologians of the United States (ACHTUS)[13] and several ministry initiatives—including the Hope Border Institute. In his address, Bañuelas reflected on links between white supremacism and xenophobia in El Paso, and on the power of kinship and solidarity “at the foot of the cross” and in the borderlands today. In addition, several panelists also framed key teach-in themes of vulnerability, anti-racism, and risk-taking public discipleship. Among these, Neomi De Anda, a theologian from El Paso and the current president of ACHTUS, emphasized a trauma-informed praxis by calling participants to “care for the extreme fragility of life.”[14] Michael Okińczyc-Cruz,[15] a Chicago-based community organizer and a key Jornada leader, emphasized the dual necessities of shared sacrifice and of overcoming emotional discomfort with conflict, in the pursuit of social justice. Marisa Limón Garza, Deputy Director of the Hope Border Institute, closed the Jornada’s final panel discussion by naming the need for vigilance about internalized racism, whereby persons of color harmfully view ourselves and reproduce false depictions of ourselves created by those who racially dominate us.
The Jornada also included actions to bless and prayerfully reclaim as “the people’s bridge” the Paso Del Norte International Bridge, which connects the U.S.A. and México, and to bear witness to the sacredness of life amid institutionalized violence inflicted upon asylum seekers and other migrants. Specifically, the public action components of the Jornada included processions and prayer on both sides of the expanding U.S. border wall, a ritual blessing of the Paso Del Norte International Bridge amid heavy surveillance and control by U.S. federal agents, and conversations with asylum seekers relegated to living in deplorable conditions in tent encampments in Ciudad Juárez. The public action concluded with a delegation of Jornada participants accompanying three Mexican families (fifteen people in total) in their successful attempt to enter the U.S. asylum process at the apex of the bridge.. According to verbal reports from local advocates, prior to acceptance of these three asylum-seeking families, United States Customs and Border Protection had not previously admitted any asylum applicants at this port of entry for five days. This is noteworthy because recent reports indicated that thousands of people had been stuck on “metering” lists in Ciudad Juárez, denied recognition of their rights to apply for asylum.[16] Simultaneously, several Catholic groups and organizations hosted satellite vigils and protests around the country to draw attention to our actions on the bridge.[17] Extending the energy of the action, upon returning to their home cities, many Jornada participants engaged in a phone lobbying initiative focused on the United States Department of Homeland Security (DHS), which oversees agencies responsible for migration and border enforcement policies and practices. Moreover, throughout the Jornada, participants were invited to continue sustained reflection and encouraged to undertake strategic planning and action in solidarity with migrants in their home cities.
Finally, the formal Jornada program ended on Sunday with a Mass presided over by Bishop Mark J. Seitz of the Diocese of El Paso and with a signing ceremony that amplified his noteworthy pastoral letter concerning a borderland Catholic response to growing white nationalism in the U.S.A.[18] Bishop Seitz’s pastoral letter echoed decades of constructive Mexican-American theological reflection in the borderlands, apparently incorporating ideas from theological forerunners like the late Fr. Virgilio Elizondo and Msgr. Arturo Bañuelas.[19]
By leading the Jornada with the Hope Border Institute, Latinx Catholics affirmed our own capacities for effective collective action, even as we are severely underrepresented within decision-making positions in dominant Catholic institutions, relative to the demographics of the Catholic Church in the U.S.A. Thus, the Jornada countered narratives that characterize Latinx Catholics as socially powerless or as merely passive recipients of church or state benevolence. Moreover, in our encounters with asylum seekers at the border I and other Jornada participants deepened our understanding of asylum-seekers’ own social leadership and mutual aid.
Through our leadership in the Jornada, Latinx Catholic leaders also expressed confidence that our fellow Catholics and Catholic institutions are capable of mobilizing more prophetic and confrontational action against grave injustices than has occurred in recent decades. Too often, Catholic institutions are for us—providing aid and services—but not with us in the struggle for justice.[20] Further, in the U.S. context, when not attempting to avoid politics entirely, politically-engaged Catholic academia too often takes the form of elite Catholic universities sponsoring performances of “dialogue” with state elites.[21] These “dialogues” frequently amount to an exchange of honors and social legitimacy between elite Catholic institutions and the state while accomplishing little to advance knowledge production or to effectively defend vulnerable populations. By contrast, a very different kind of civic learning and formative “dialogue” with the state was experienced by people who accompanied and stood with desperate yet courageous asylum seekers.
Therefore, the Jornada was “something different.” Several people, including students, expressed this sentiment and hoped that other people would be able to experience the work of Catholic education and churches in similar ways. In my view, as a Catholic university professor, the Jornada’s approach to learning and civic engagement was unique in its blending of cross-cultural encounter, accompaniment, prayer, and political solidarity with people who are most violated and vulnerable. The image of Catholic education on the bridge, influencing a key moment of social conflict, is one of several gifts that I carry with me. The Jornada reinforced my belief that Catholic education can be immersive, multi-sensory, highly interpersonal, affective, spirit-centered, and positioned at the foot of the cross (or the apex of a transnational bridge), accompanying those who cling to life. Catholic education can be much more confrontational and can embrace institutional (and even personal) risk-taking, developing a form of advocacy-learning that teaches people to form social networks, mobilize their capacities to defend life, and to create the pressure necessary to build institutions that make flourishing in community possible. I am grateful for my experiences in planning and participating in the Jornada por la Justicia, and hope that these might contribute positively to plans by the Catholic Theological Ethics in the World Church (CTEWC)- North American region for a cross-border conference from January 3-5, 2022 at the Universidad Iberoamericana Tijuana in Baja California (MEX).
[1] “The El Paso Pilgrimage,” Grotto Network, accessed December 26, 2019, https://grottonetwork.com/make-an-impact/heal/pilgrims-helping-immigrants-at-border/.
[2] “Students, Faculty, and Administrators Join Pilgrimage for Justice at US/Mexico Border,” St. John’s University, November 26, 2019, https://www.stjohns.edu/about/news/2019-11-26/students-faculty-and-administrators-join-pilgrimage-justice-usmexico-border; ISN Staff, “Latinx Catholic Leaders Organize Prophetic National Pilgrimage to Demand Justice at the Border,” Ignatian Solidarity Network, December 26, 2019, https://ignatiansolidarity.net/blog/2019/10/16/latinx-catholic-leaders-justice-border.
[3] Among Latinx Catholics, such civically-engaged pilgrimage is perhaps most closely identified with a consequential journey in 1966 when California farmworkers marched 547 kilometers (340 miles) in a successful effort to build farmworker bargaining power and improve labor conditions. See “UFW Chronology,” United Farm Workers, accessed December 26, 2019, https://ufw.org/research/history/ufw-chronology.
[4] “The Teach-In 2019: Jornada Por La Justicia,” Hope Border Institute, accessed December 26, 2019, https://www.hopeborder.org/jornadaporlajusticia.
[5] “Latinx” or “Latine” are increasingly used as gender-inclusive alternatives to the masculine-centered group identity term “Latino.”
[6] For purposes of the Jornada, we provisionally called ourselves the Latinx Catholic Leadership Coalition. Latinx Catholic Leadership Coalition, accessed December 26, 2019, https://www.latinxcatholicleadershipcoalition.org.
[7] Sarah Madigan, “Remain in Mexico’ Policy Remains in Effect for Now,” The Regulatory Review, May 13, 2019, https://www.theregreview.org/2019/05/13/madigan-remain-in-mexico-policy-in-effect/.
[8] Anna-Catherine Brigida, “Mexican Asylum Seekers Are Facing Long Waits at the U.S. Border. Advocates Say That’s Illegal,” Time, October 16, 2019, https://time.com/5701989/mexico-asylum-seekers-border.
[9] Chas Danner, “Everything We Know About the El Paso Walmart Massacre,” New York Magazine, August 7, 2019, http://nymag.com/intelligencer/2019/08/everything-we-know-about-the-el-paso-walmart-shooting.html.
[10] Associated Press, “Experts Expose ‘Significant Correlation’ Between Political Rhetoric, Rise in Hate Crimes,” New York Post, August 8, 2019, https://nypost.com/2019/08/08/experts-expose-significant-correlation-between-political-rhetoric-rise-in-hate-crimes.
[11] “Arturo J. Bañuelas,” National Catholic Reporter, accessed December 26, 2019, https://www.ncronline.org/authors/arturo-j-ba-uelas.
[12] Arturo J. Bañuelas (ed.), Mestizo Christianity: Theology from the Latino Perspective, (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1995).
[13] Academy of Catholic Hispanic Theologians in the United States (ACHTUS), accessed December 26, 2019, http://www.achtus.us.
[14] Neomi De Anda, “What Does Poder Político Look Like in Lo Cotidiano? My Eight-Minute Contribution,” University of Dayton, October 12, 2019, https://sites.google.com/a/udayton.edu/ndeanda1/teach-in-la-jornada-por-la-justicia.
[15] Michael N. Okińczyc-Cruz, Coalition for Spiritual & Public Leadership, accessed December 26, 2019, https://www.csplaction.org/staff-michaeloc.
[16] Brigida, “Mexican Asylum Seekers Are Facing Long Waits at the U.S. Border.”
[17] “Catholics Take Action for Immigrant Children,” Franciscan Action Network, accessed November 4, 2019, https://franciscanaction.org/article/catholics-take-action-immigrant-children.
[18] Mark J. Seitz, “Night Will Be No More,” Hope Border Institute, accessed December 26, 2019, https://www.hopeborder.org/nightwillbenomore.
[19] For one example, compare “Night Will Be No More” #58 with Virgil Elizondo, Guadalupe: Mother of the New Creation, (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1997), 129. For another example, compare “Night Will Be No More” #59 with Arturo J. Bañuelas, “Borderland Spirituality: ‘Tu eres mi otro yo’,” Center for Migration Studies, March 12, 2019, https://cmsny.org/publications/tomasilecture2019/?fbclid=IwAR3GSnOca9gJU19B95mD-fIdWecKObQXBWWJL88dwLEKYp4wAGr0Fc4p7MU. Cf. Carmen Nanko-Fernández, “A Legacy of Latin@́s Theologizing on Borderlands,” National Catholic Reporter, October 18, 2019, https://www.ncronline.org/news/opinion/theology-en-la-plaza/legacy-latin-s-theologizing-borderlands.
[20] As a noteworthy exception, concurrent with our months of Jornada planning, some prominent national Catholic organizations began mobilizing civil disobedience to challenge anti-migrant policies. However, Latinx Catholic leaders in our emerging network knew nothing about these actions until after they occurred in the nation’s capital and received media attention. This communication gap highlighted entrenched power asymmetries among Catholics in the U.S.A. and underscored the need to develop new partnerships. See Jason Silverstein, “70 Catholic Protesters Arrested in D.C. Demonstration Against Trump’s Immigration Policies,” CBS News, July 18, 2019, https://www.cbsnews.com/news/70-catholic-protesters-arrested-in-washington-dc-demonstration-against-trump-immigration-policies.
[21] A recent disruptive action at Georgetown University brought media attention and prompted conversation about the ethics of this approach to civic engagement by Catholic universities. See Nick Visser, “Kevin McAleenan, Homeland Security Chief, Shouted Off Stage At Georgetown Event,” Huffington Post, October 7, 2019, https://www.huffpost.com/entry/kevin-mcaleenan-shouted-off-stage-georgetown-immigration-protest_n_5d9bd019e4b03b475f9e9b7b.
There it was, the subject of debates and headlines. The reason for numerous fallouts and great controversies between friends and families. For something that has caused hot tears to fall down people’s eyes, for something that has caused divisions and separations of families and tension worldwide. It just stood: big; bold; strong; cold; fenced and empty.
This was the great wall. The wall that has been used as a campaign line for some but for many has been used as an excuse to fear of the unknown. When one is in the comfort of their home and reads all these headlines, it can get sad. It can even cause one to have disturbing thoughts asking yourself questions such as “what are they eating? or “are they warm?” one can even go as far as asking themselves if such an “alienated’” person had to show up unannounced at their door, would they take them in? As quickly as these thoughts are welcomed in, they are ushered out by one’s own realities. Boxed up and store in our mind’s “I-cloud”. Coming in once in a while and so many times never visiting again.
It is a totally different thing when you have no choice but to come face to face with the issue. You can’t run from it, and even if you did the city and its residents speak of its presence, and that makes it inevitable not to know it exists. There I was, I had traveled miles on miles in a charter bus with fellow pilgrimage takers and organization members from the Coalition for Spiritual and Public Leadership.
Instantly, I felt a cold slap. That’s when I started to feel overwhelmed with the different emotions that presented themselves one by one as though someone was behind the curtains, meticulously managing the flow of emotions and my reactions to their presence. I felt frustrated, I felt like yelling and screaming, I felt intimidated by its grandeur. It was like a raging war inside of me. Exasperated, I broke down and began to weep.
Al inicio del mes de octubre escuché que habría una Jornada por la Justicia en El Paso, TX. En el momento sentí curiosidad por saber más, pero solo bastó la interrupción de una llamada telefónica para distraer mi atención. A los pocos días recibí una invitación personalmente a participar en la Jornada. En ese momento no pude justificarme a mi misma de estar distraída y tratar de apaciguar el dolor que he sentido en mi corazón cuando escucho las noticias sobre las familias que son divididas por causa de su estatus migratorio en los Estados Unidos. Aún sintiendo inseguridad, acepte la invitación en un acto de fe y solidaridad.
En los tres días de Jornada pude profundizar lo que significa estar en solidaridad con nuestros hermanos y hermanas que se encuentran en la frontera. El Mons. Arturo Bañuelas, nativo de El Paso y muy conocido por su abogacía de parte de los granjeros, asuntos de inmigración y su trabajo de justicia en la frontera dice, “Solidaridad es más que acompañamiento”. Continuó explicando que “una verdadera solidaridad nos debe mover de la zona de conforte”. Nos abre la mente y el corazón a la incomodidad, la cual tratamos de evadir muchas veces, para estar al lado de la persona que sufre. O en las palabras del Dr. Michael Nicolás Okinczyc-Cruz, Director Ejecutivo y cofundador de la Coalition for Spiritual & Public Leadership, “Es una lucha con el mismo Dios para hacer lo que es lo correcto”. En otras palabras, no podemos continuar ignorando el llamado del Espíritu de Dios a movernos de una actitud pasiva a una actitud activa en cuestión a lo que está sucediendo con estas familias.
El peregrinaje hacia la frontera tomo lugar en el segundo día de la Jornada. Este acto público y pacífico en grupo con otros participantes de la Jornada me proveyó la oportunidad de tener un encuentro con mis hermanos y hermanas que están en la frontera. Entre las carpas de plásticos conocí a Marta, una joven madre con tres niños menores de 8 años de edad. Entre las distintas cosas que platicamos, me impresionó que aún bajo las condiciones inhumanas éstas familias hayan podido formar una comunidad. Marta me explicó que para proteger a las familias de cualquier daño, en las noches los hombres hacen una rotación para vigilar el área mientras que las mujeres y los niños duermen. También aprendí que entre las familias se aseguran compartir los alimentos que reciben. Estas observaciones no justifican las condiciones inhumanas de estas familias, pero creo que hay algo muy valioso que cada uno de nosotros podemos aprender en cómo ser una comunidad.
Antes de partir de Cuidad Juárez, MX, para cruzar la frontera de regreso a El Paso, TX, cada participante de la Jornada tuvo la oportunidad de bendecir el puente. Este acto público y pacífico nos permitió reclamar el puente que nos une. De un modo simbólico, todos los que cruzamos el puente también podemos ser un medio de unión con estas familias cuando compartimos estas experiencias con otros de regreso a casa.
La Jornada concluyó con la celebración de la Santa Misa celebrada por el Obispo Mark J. Seitz de la Diócesis de El Paso quien también firmo la carta pastoral Noche Ya No Habrá después de la Misa. Dicha carta señala las injusticias por el racismo, el odio y la supremacía blanca en las comunidades de la frontera y alrededor de la nación. Los invito a que lean la carta pastoral del Obispo Seitz https://www.hopeborder.org/nightwillbenomore-spa
Aún estoy procesando y reflexionando sobre mi experiencia como participante de la Jornada por la Justicia. Quiero pensar que a través de esta reflexión ustedes también se están haciendo más conscientes de estas realidades y de algún modo pude aportar mi granito de arena.
By Meg Miller
I grew up my whole life in the Church; if I had to estimate, I’d say I went to church about 75% of the Sundays of my childhood and young adult life. I have a lot of memories of these days, including a lot of donuts after mass, and an Easter Egg Hunt every year. I have no memory of any mention of immigration during my childhood, ever. The Catholic communities I grew up in were active, and parishioners were connected. My church did a wonderful job of teaching me how loved by God I am, and of assuring me of my conviction that God calls us to charity. My church failed to educate me of the truth that above all, Christianity calls us to pursue Christ-like justice.
My formative years in a predominantly white suburban parish in San Diego were during the Obama Administration. So, before we created concentration camps at the border but while we were deporting people and separating families. It didn’t seem to matter that my parish was a mere forty-five-minute drive from the US/Mexico border. Proximity, or lack thereof, does not determine our call to seek justice for migrant families, to this we are all called. But being so close to the border exasperates the incredulity of a church forming young adult Catholics and so blatantly ignoring the dehumanization happening at the border.
I write these things about my home parish as a critique in love, and because I am sure my experience with white Catholicism is not unique. I not only think we can do better, I think we must do better. We are called to do better. For me, the national pilgrimage to El Paso represents an opportunity to do better, and to act and learn in a way that I don’t believe the Catholic Church does often enough. Because above all, as Catholics, we are called to pursue justice.
I learned about the national pilgrimage to the border for a weekend teach-in and action within my first few hours of working at CSPL. Immediately upon hearing about it I knew I wanted to go. Much of why I wanted to spend this year at CSPL is due to our work with immigrant leaders for immigration justice. Partaking in a national pilgrimage to the border in El Paso to learn and take action against the atrocities committed by the federal government originally felt easy to me—of course I would be going. As I learned and considered more about this pilgrimage, I quickly recognized the privilege associated with my unwavering desire and ability to embark on it. My conversations with people who cannot so easily decide to take this journey led me to two realizations. First, it made more tangible the restrictions and fears that undocumented people, migrants, and children of immigrants face. Second, it strengthened my conviction that I must use my various intersecting privileges, such as those that result from being white and a citizen, in order to act against the dehumanizing policies of ICE.
These realizations led me to conversations with my fellow Amate Fellows, many of whom committed as eagerly as I did, and others who took more time to discern their decision. My conversations with each of them were inspiring and affirming, and revolved around themes of solidarity, urgency, justice, personal connections, and responsibility. Being engaged in a year of service program, we live a stable but very simple lifestyle with a small monthly stipend. Yet, the money, the days off work, the time on the bus: all are inconsequential when compared to the gravity of the situation at the border. When I asked my housemates what convinced them to embark on this pilgrimage, their answers were similar. They recognize the urgency of the moment and share the conviction that we must act now. They expressed that they can’t bear the thought of looking back on their young lives, on the horrific reality that exists at our southern border, and knowing that they did not act. Collectively, we want to look back and know that we were part of this movement, that we saw an injustice and worked to change it, that we dared to move closer to standing in solidarity with our sisters and brothers who are denied their humanity daily as a result of the actions of the federal government.
I am thankful for the opportunity to experience this journey with other Amate Fellows. Our program is rooted in social justice and leadership development, and the El Paso pilgrimage and teach-in is a clear juxtaposition of both. In their own words, these are the reasons other Amate Fellows have chosen to embark on this pilgrimage:
Corinne Woodruff, Archdiocese Office of Human Dignity and Solidarity—I wanted to join CSPL’s Pilgrimage to El Paso because in our cultural moment, we need to be discovering how we are called to be in a deeper sense of solidarity with our sisters and brothers. The Pilgrimage is a place for me to learn more, be present, and really connect my faith to what drives me to action. Justice is what love looks like in public, and we are all called to grow in our sense of justice and love for those around us
Tia, Saint Ita Parish and Saint Thomas of Canterbury School—It pains me to remember that it was a year ago when common media shed light on family separations at the southern border and reflect on how little progress has been made to welcome and respect Latinx immigrants in the United States. Immigration justice has become even more personal to me as I strive to celebrate the differences of the students and adults I encounter in my full-time volunteer roles at an incredibly diverse elementary school and parish in the Archdiocese of Chicago. I’m looking forward to learning and growing in El Paso, but mostly I’m hoping the weekend may serve as a catalyst for sustainable action against systemic sins that undermine God-given human dignity.
Katelyn Schieve, Girls in the Game—I know that I am descended from immigrants who were able to greatly improve their family’s lives in the United States. Seeing the cruel stories of the criminalization and demonetization of immigration is heartbreaking. I want to learn more and personally connect to the issue today by meeting people who are directly trying to improve the situation.
Rose Rucoba, Brother David Darst Center—I want to be a part of this unfortunate phenomenon that’s happening at the border right now. And as someone who identifies as Latinx, I feel an extra layer of responsibility to stand with and for these immigrants and take action instead of just reading or posting about it. I want to be able to tell future generations that I didn’t just stand by and read about this crisis in the news—I acted and stood up for what I believe in.
If you are inspired to get involved as well, I encourage you to take the following steps:
Join CSPL’s immigration committee or become a member of CSPL today.
Join us at our pilgrimage send-off mass on Wednesday, October 9 at 5:15pm at Holy Name Cathedral.
Join us in Chicago for a national action that will correspond with our border action on Saturday, October 12.
Donate today and help us reach our goal of sending 100 people to El Paso!
By Sumbul Siddiqui
My parents immigrated to the United States when I was 4 years old, hoping to give their children a better life. I was raised in Georgia with my three younger siblings, two of whom were born here. Georgia has a policy called 287(g), in which some counties are proud to work together with ICE agents to detain immigrants.
My first encounter with ICE officers was probably when I was 14 years old, just about to enter the 9thgrade. I remember this moment very well, because the night before I had watched this scary movie called Saw. So, I was terrified that someone was going to kidnap me. I checked my closet and slept with the lights on that night. No one came for me, but my mom was taken. Two ICE officers entered our home that morning. I only heard bits and pieces because my mom had closed my bedroom door and told me to go back to sleep. Eavesdropping, I heard them tell my mom to go with them, and she would return back to her family soon. That took 3 months. She was taken to the Atlanta Detention Center, and then transferred to an Alabama detention center.
I don’t remember much of what happened during that time, but I do remember visiting my mom in the Atlanta Detention Center. We were only allowed to see her for a brief moment. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit – crying. Her handcuffs were taken off so she could talk to us through the glass window. I told her that everything was going to be okay even though I had no idea what was going on – or really, a clue about our immigration system. When my mom returned, I started high school, and I didn’t think much about immigration again.
Fast forward to my sophomore year in college. They come for my dad. Within just a few months, they come for my brother. My dad was gone for 2 years, and my brother was gone for 7 months. They were both in two different detention centers. Sometimes, I had to figure out who to visit – whether I would drive an hour up from Atlanta to see my father or 3 hours down to see my brother.
My brother was held at Stewart Detention Center, a very old facility in the middle of nowhere. We saw each other through a glass window and spoke to each other through a phone – except the phones didn’t work so we spoke as loud as we could to hear each other. Once, he told me he wanted to self-deportand that I didn’t truly comprehend that conditions he was living in. All I knew was that if he self-deported, then he would have a 10-year ban on him before he could apply to re-enter the United States. So, I told him to just be strong and patient. There has been a report released on the conditions of Stewart Detention Center – four people have already died there. I think to myself – that could’ve been my brother.
2 years and 7 months – I had no father, and I missed my brother.
2 years and 7 months – I figured how to become that kind of father figure for my family – for my youngest brother and sister.
2 years and 7 months – I took care of a broken-hearted mom.
2 years and 7 months – I will never get back.
In October of 2017, I had the opportunity to go to Washington, DC to advocate. I was super nervous meeting my representatives, but they are just human beings. I’ve learned that they take notice of how many calls they receive and pay attention to common themes. But most importantly, I’ve learned that it’s not them that have the power; it’s the people – it’s us.–
Hold your representatives accountable because the laws they make impact our friends, our community – our future patients. Do they represent your values? If they do – thank them.
For those that don’t,
Ask – Have you forgotten your history? – When the Native Americans took your ancestors in? When they were looking for a better life?
Ask – Have you forgotten that American foreign policy has caused a lot of the home countries of refugees and asylum seekers to become unstable? They are coming to our borders because of the unsafe conditions of their own homes.
Ask – When did it become okay for families to cross dangerous terrain to save their children – only for their children to be separated and then die at American detention centers?
Ask – Why are our tax dollars being used to fund for-profit detention centers instead of community centers where can we heal and treat our asylum-seekers and migrants for the dangerous journey they have undergone?
Tell them: We will hold you accountable. We will remember you when election day comes. We will not be fooled.
Some politicians think that we just want families to be reunited. But that is not what we want. Families should be together, but not indefinitely in a detention center where such inhumane conditions exist.
This year, the M1s had to read the book “Dear America,” and some people were left feeling helpless at the immigration situation. But don’t lose hope. If you are a citizen, you have more privilege than any of us to be a voice for those who have none. If you asked me years ago, I would never have thought to be surrounded by people who care about immigration and justice when I used to be so alone. As more people become educated and aware, politicianstake notice. The new Atlanta mayor has stopped accepting any more detainees at the Atlanta Detention Center and is working on transforming it to a community center. That is the power of the people.
So, hold your representatives accountable. I ask again – do they reflect you?
Sumbul Siddiqui is a student in the MD-MPH at the Loyola University Chicago Stritch School of Medicine. She is a DACA recipient who recently completed her public health studies and has entered the medical school with the class of 2023. She presented these remarks at a Call to Action event sponsored by the Latino Medical Student Association of the Stritch School of Medicine on September 3, 2019.
Reprinted with permission of “ReflectiveMedEd”
A Reflection by Grace Rucker
Leaving the immigration rally this afternoon, I am impassioned and energized to stand up for my beliefs, to take action for justice, and to make advocacy part of my identity. With thousands present in Daley Plaza, the rally today opened with a prayer led in the Jewish tradition. We heard song, poetry, and stories reflecting on the experience of seeking asylum. As a community, we stood together, truly feeling united in this belief that something must change - united in this horror we feel at the humanitarian crisis we are witnessing at our borders and within our own city as people are criminalized, deported, and detained. As thousands united for a cause, we marched from Daley Plaza to the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) office, where this very weekend immigrants and asylum seekers will be detained as they are removed from their families by ICE raids. I’m proud of our St Teresa’s community for being present today - for taking action, for standing up for our beliefs, and for joining our larger community to work for justice.
A Reflection by Michael N. Okinczyc-Cruz
On the recent Feast of the Epiphany, I was listening to the Scripture reading during Mass from Matthew 2:1-12 and while sitting in the pew that cold Sunday evening with many things on my mind, something about that passage struck me for the first time. As the son of a religiously devoted Mexican mother whose sole mission on Sunday mornings was to have her three boys seated in the pew firmly by her side, I have heard the words from this passage many, many times before in my life.
Perhaps it was because for weeks we have been shocked and outraged by news about innocent children and their parents being separated at the border or grieving for Jakelin Caal, age 7, and Felipe Gomez-Alonzo, age 8, who died in the custody of U.S. Border Patrol over the last several weeks. But when I heard those words it struck me that in order to fully honor the divinity of the infant Jesus, the Magi themselves engaged in an act of divine civil disobedience.
By refusing to go along with King Herod’s sly and duplicitous request to know where the young child was located, the three wise men effectively saved the life of Jesus and risked their own. Instead of traveling back to their homelands along a path that would have led them into the grasp of Herod, where they would willingly or unwillingly reveal the location of Jesus, they decided to take a different route home. This courageous and bold decision to dissent ultimately left King Herod empty-handed, and Mary and Joseph time to hastily navigate their long and arduous journey to Egypt with their newborn child.
The story of the Epiphany and the courage of the Magi convey a certain theological truth. We are each called by God to be co-creators in the building of the Reign of God here on Earth and at times this responsibility requires dissent and nonviolent civil disobedience. Through His life and ministry, Jesus called each and every person who would listen to embrace this truth as He still does. What the Magi and Jesus Himself have shown us is that, at times, our fidelity to God requires us to be willing to engage in nonviolent acts that resist and denounce authoritative and oppressive powers.
On this day, we celebrate the life of another whose deep devotion to God and humanity inspired him to lead many courageous acts of nonviolent civil disobedience. Unlike the Magi, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was not approached by angels in the night, but, in his own words, he was profoundly moved by the voice of God through a religious experience that affirmed to him that his life’s work meant standing with the most marginalized in society.
It happened on an evening in late January of 1956. King had already been reluctantly thrust into the center of the growing Montgomery Bus Boycott alongside Rosa Parks and others. Just weeks before this night, a strategically planned act of civil disobedience was courageously executed by Rosa Parks. This act, and the chain of events that followed, set into motion a yearlong campaign that would dramatically alter our nation’s history.
On this particular evening, an exhausted King had just laid his head down in bed next to his wife, Coretta who was already asleep, when his phone rang. A chilling and furious voice on the other line said: “Listen, n*****, we’ve taken all we want from you; before next week you’ll be sorry you ever came to Montgomery.” Anxious and unable to sleep, King went to his kitchen where he made a cup of coffee. A wave of fear, doubt and worry that had been rising for weeks finally crashed over his shoulders as he sat at his kitchen table that evening. Feeling utterly powerless at that moment, King turned to God. In his own words from his work, Stride Toward Freedom:
“I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud. The words I spoke to God that midnight are still vivid in my memory: ‘Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right. I think I’m right. I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But Lord, I must confess that I’m weak now, I’m faltering. I’m losing my courage. Now, I am afraid. […] I am at the end of my powers. I have nothing left. I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.”
At that moment, King heard a quiet inner voice say to him: “Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo, I will be with you. Even until the end of the world.”
Three evenings later King’s house was bombed while his wife and infant daughter were at home. King’s religious experience would give him the inner fortitude and courage to remain committed to his calling and the philosophy of active nonviolent resistance.
During his own lifetime, King’s willingness to engage in civil disobedience to unjust laws in obedience to the higher will of God carried its own consequences that were not too far removed from the consequences that Jesus faced for His actions under Roman rule. During the Civil Rights Movement, the many women, men and youth who were inspired to sit, stand, march, sing and pray in places that were barred for African-Americans under the system of Jim Crow did so fully knowing that their actions directly challenged many written and unwritten laws that for generations were punishable by beatings, shootings, bombings and lynching’s that were ruthlessly carried out by white mobs and the KKK.
King understood that walls and barriers, both visible and invisible, give rise to the corrosive spiritual, psychological and physical forces that engender fear, hatred and violence. The enduring legacy of slavery, white supremacy and Jim Crow laws were just several of the many walls and barriers that King sought to break down through collective acts of nonviolent civil disobedience.
If King could comment on the affairs of today, I imagine that he would grieve for the soul of our nation and speak with great urgency of the moral crisis before us at this moment. He would observe and name with searing truths the connection between President Trump’s demand for a border wall and a long history of slavery, genocide, colonization, and white supremacy that is both our past and present reality.
He would also relentlessly point towards the many walls of our nation’s past and present. The walls that were built to enclose Native Americans, the walls that were built at the Japanese internment camps in the U.S. during WWII, the walls that were built during the Jim Crow era, and the walls that we’ve built to cage children in today along our borders and to imprison millions of Latinos, African Americans and people with mental health conditions in cities across our country.
At this very moment, as thousands of children and families flee from the many Herods in our world today in search of hope and safety, we must ask ourselves, “If I were there that night among the Magi, as the angels visited carrying a message from God, would I carry out the task of disobeying King Herod to save the life of this divine child even if it may mean my imprisonment or death?”
As I meditate on this question myself, I can hear Rev. Dr. King’s booming prophetic voice bringing the fierce urging of God to bear on us all by saying, “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”
Do we have the courage to do what is right and necessary at this moment in time in obedience to the will of God, even if it requires disobedience to the will of our President and our nation’s laws?
By Michael Okinczyc-Cruz
