I’m not going to share any more photos of the sweet children in Mississippi. You can find them if you want. This is what happens when people are grabbed by immigration authorities and ICE. This is what happens when US citizens are incarcerated as a result of the war on drugs or from being the wrong person at the wrong time at the wrong place.
I think about my nieces. I think, “What if these were my own children?” I think about the horrors and lifelong traumas and crimes against humanity being committed against children, against mothers and fathers and families—human beings.
For what? And for what? In this case, the “crime” of leaving behind everything—culture, food, music, neighbors, parents, grandparents, siblings, lovers, high school sweethearts, familiar corners, home—and risking their life over thousands of miles just to end up doing some of the lowest-paid, most dangerous work this country has to offer.
Working in a poultry processing plant. Picking tomatoes. Building houses. Caring for little Sally and Timmy.
And then I think there are people who still walk around wearing their fucking MAGA hats, people who still think this is all ok. And I don’t know what to think or do.
