What would you have done then?

Deportation of Jews from Muenster, Germany, Dec. 13, 1941. Arriving in Riga in occupied Latvia, only one in ten would survive interment, forced labor and Nazi terror.

Sometimes I ask myself what I would have done if I had lived in Germany under Nazi rule.  I remember hearing a recent conversation between the daughter of a Holocaust survivor and a college student.

“If you want to know what you would have done in Hitler’s time,” she said, “ask yourself, ‘What am I doing now?’”

“What do you mean?” the young man replied.

She continued: “What are you doing now about injustice in your own society?”

“Well,” the student replied, “to be honest, nothing.”

“Then, that’s what you would have been doing in Germany,” the survivor answered.

It was a sobering moment, and in the silence that followed, I thought of what had been happening in our country. I thought of George Floyd, murdered on May 25, 2020, by a policeman in Minneapolis, triggering outrage across the country.

That November Joseph Biden was elected president. Then on January 6, two weeks before Donald Trump was to leave office, his supporters smashed their way into the U.S. Congress, killing and injuring police officers as they tried to overturn the election results.

Four years later, riding a wave of anti-immigrant sentiment, Donald Trump returned to office, promising to deport 15 million immigrants in what he called “the largest deportation program in American history.” He called immigrants terrorists and rapists and said they are “poisoning the blood of our country.”

In a nation built by immigrants, Trump and his associates have unleashed a massive and brutal campaign to remove them, most of whom are living peaceably in our cities and towns, working, paying taxes and raising families. The vast majority are Latino, Haitian and African.

Gabriela Soto holds a photo of her husband, Martin, and their two children. Martin was incarcerated in Delaney Hall in Newark, NJ, before being transferred to anther ICE detention center.

In targeted actions across America, masked ICE agents have abducted hundreds of thousands–fathers, mothers, students and children, then flown them to one of 212 detention prisons to await deportation, often to countries where their lives are endangered. Agents have shot and killed both suspects and protestors and dozens have died in detention.

At the same time, the Trump government has revoked the legal status of millions more, including those under Temporary Protective Status and the Dreamer program. It has also gone after those awaiting hearings on asylum and Green Card applications.

The cruelty of the mass deportation program is exhibited in countless stories, for the most part ignored by mainstream media. If you happen to join the protestors each Wednesday at the New England ICE Headquarters in nearby Burlington, you will hear stories to break your heart and turn your stomach.

You’ll also learn of conditions inside the Burlington ICE building, which provides temporary imprisonment of arrested men and women.  A woman from the Dominican Republic said she spent nine days in a holding room with 16 other women sleeping on the concrete floor with only a Mylar blanket. The only bathroom was an open toilet and the room stank.

From the Burlington Center detainees are flown, often from nearby Hanscom Field, to detention prisons as far away as Louisianna, Texas and California, cutting them off from family and legal support.

Perhaps, you, like me, are heartbroken by the savage treatment of our immigrant population. If so, let me suggest two responses. The first is to go online to the Massachusetts Immigrant and Refugee Advocacy (MIRA) coalition at miracoalition.org. It’s a marvelous, multi-service organization providing support for immigrant families and linking them to legal aid.

The second is to check out Bearing Witness @ ICE, online at bearingwitnessNE.org. Better yet, take the short drive over to Burlington, 10 District Ave., on a Wednesday, as hundreds of people like you and me gather to protest and learn ways to support not only those arrested, but their families, suffering separation and loss of income.

There’s more going on at the ICE center in Burlington. Here’s a list of actions scheduled throughout the week. Check out the websites for more information and updates.

MONDAY & TUESDAY—11 am to 1 pm, sponsored by FIX ICE, fixice.org/mondaytuesday.

WEDNESDAYS—11 am to 1 pm, Bearing Witness @ ICE Burlington, bearingwitnessNE.org.

THURSDAYS—11 am to 1 pm, Justice 4 All @ ICE Burlington, Facebook Group: https://tinyurl.com/48jkcznk.

SATURDAYS—10 am to 2 pm, ICE Weekend Watch, https://tinyurl.com/mutcubd.

SATURDAYS—11 am – 1 pm, No Fear Street Theatre, Corner of Mall Road and District Ave., http://www.nofearstreettheater.com/

Not long ago, on a rainy day outside Delaney Hall in New Jersey, my wife and I sat with a young mother whose husband, locked up inside, had just started a hunger strike protesting rotten food, harsh treatment and lack of medical care. She showed us a photo of him with their two young children. She recently suffered a miscarriage of a third child.

That weekend, her husband was secretly transferred from Dalaney Hall to another detention prison, where he was put into solitary confinement. He is still there.

If you want to know what you would have done in Nazi Germany, ask, what are you doing now.

On the Banks of the Saco

1875 map of Biddeford and Saco

In the 1970s, having completed graduate school, I worked in construction in Portland, Maine. I was looking for a job teaching, but nothing had opened up. The crew I worked with all had French last names, and a couple of them spoke French on the job. They or their parents or grandparents had come down from Québec to work in the mills or in the building trades.

The crew included two brothers from Biddeford. Biddeford has been in the news lately, as the site where a Colombian immigrant was shot and killed by an ICE agent.

Biddeford is an old mill town on the south bank of the Saco River. The town of Saco is on the other side. John, one of the brothers, told me that historically Biddeford was labor, Saco was management. French workers on one side, Yankee bosses on the other. The kids from Saco called the French kids “frogs” and their city, “Biddefrog.” Same thing in Sanford, or “Sandfrog.” Same ethnic division in Lewiston on the Androscoggin River across from Auburn, and Waterville north of Augusta.

As I too had a French last name, and had just recently moved to Maine, John figured I should hear all the frog jokes from him, so I wouldn’t be caught off guard when I heard them elsewhere.

John also told me something that surprised me. He said that when the Québecois first came to Biddeford, and to other cities on Maine’s rivers, things got pretty nasty. He said his grandfather remembered when the Ku Klux Klan paraded in Saco and threatened to cross the bridge into Biddeford. But the French and Irish immigrants were waiting for them, and the Klan had second thoughts and retreated.

Maine, the home of several indigenous tribes, was colonized in the 17th and 18th centuries by both England and France. The French settled in Acadia, which included the maritime provinces as well as parts of Maine, and the English in central and southern Maine. After the conquest of Canada, British forces expelled much of the French population of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, sending them as far as Louisiana. Some, however, found refuge in Maine’s north along the St. John River.

In the 19th century, scarcity of farmland and economic hardship in Québec drove thousands of French Canadians south. Maine’s mills and lumber industry needed workers and they needed jobs. French-speaking and Catholic, they were seen as a threat by the Protestant majority. The conflict between cultures sometimes became violent.

In 1854 an anti-French mob in Bath burned the Catholic church. In Ellsworth, a mob tarred and feathered a Catholic priest. In 1919 a law was passed banning the speaking or teaching of French in schools.

The 1920s saw the resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan, which directed its hostility not against African Americans, of which there were precious few, but toward French and Irish Catholics. In 1924 in the town of Greenville, forty Ku Klux Klansmen went after union workers trying to organize French lumbermen. Later that year, the Klan exploded a bomb in Lewiston, which had the largest Franco-American population in the state. At one time, the Klan counted over 100,000 members.

Although the Klan’s influence dropped off sharply in coming years, it did manage to infiltrate the Republican Party in Maine and helped elect Ralph Owen Brewster governor in 1924.

Things are different today. Although French Mainers are still a minority—11.5 percent of the population report French ancestry—the days of conflict are over. In recent decades, the pine-tree state has become more diverse, reflecting immigration and migration patterns across the United States. The groups with the fastest growing populations now are Blacks/Africans and Latinos.

A good case study of the integration of immigrants is what’s happening in Lewiston with the settling of refugees from Somali, beginning in 2001. Although there was considerable friction between residents and African immigrants, relations have improved. Fleeing civil war, the Somalis found a haven and jobs in Lewiston. Paying rent and rehabbing old property, they also started small businesses. A vacant downtown area is now lined with shops, restaurants and markets. And they enrolled their children in public schools. In 2015 Somali high school students helped Lewiston win its first soccer state championship. Two more championships followed.

Biddeford is another city that has welcomed immigrants. Last week Mayor Liam LaFountain (of French-Canadian ancestry) joined residents in mourning the killing of Johan Sebastian Guerrero, 25, an immigrant from Colombia. Authorized to work in the United States, Johan was driving to work when he was stopped by ICE agents and shot. His 3-year-old daughter was in the back seat.

A century ago, Biddeford residents stood up to the Ku Klux Klan. Now, like communities across America, they are suffering the ravages of ICE. On Tuesday at a packed city council meeting, Mayor LaFountain demanded justice and accountability for Guerrero and his family.

ICE agents arrest a women during “Operation Catch of the Day” in Maine. MSN Photo.

“We are here because Johan was a member of this community, our community,” he said. “When one of us is taken like this, we do not look away. We do not stay quiet.” 

LaFontain told immigrants in the city that “you belong here. You are part of who Biddeford is.”

The mayor also called for “humane immigration reform.” For a country reeling from the government’s mass deportation campaign, such reform is long overdue. It’s the only thing that will make us and our neighbors safe.

1936 & 2026–What will we remember?

The black-and-white photos are eerily compelling. A giant airship, the Hindenburg, hovers above the stadium. In a second one, Adolf Hitler and his entourage pass through the Brandenburg Gate.. The Führer is standing in an open Mercedez Benz. A third shows him arriving in the massive Olympic stadium as 100,000 Germans raise their arms in Nazi salute.

We remember the 1936 Olympics as a pivotal event, showcasing the glory and the infamy of the Third Reich. It took place three years after Adolf Hitler came to power and three years before Germany invaded Poland and World War II began. I think of these games with all their ceremony as I watch the final games of the World Cup, hosted by the United States, Mexico and Canada.

When the Olympics opened in 1936, anyone who was paying attention knew of Germany’s persecution of Jews, Roma and others. As early as 1933, the Nazis had instituted an Aryan-only policy in all athletic organizations. Jews were excluded from sports facilities and associations. Other actions were more sinister.

In April of ’33, the government barred Jews from holding civil service, university, and state positions. That same month it instigated boycotts of Jewish businesses and shops. In May, across the street from the University of Berlin, mobs burned over 20,000 books. That spring, the Nazis opened the first of 23 main concentration camps near Dachau.

In the next two years Hitler pushed through a series of “Nuremburg Laws,” stripping Jews of their citizenship and prohibiting intermarriage. Germany also began compulsory sterilization of the “unfit,” mentally and physically disabled persons in nine categories. Euthanasia would come later.

But in the summer of 1936, in preparation for the Olympic games, the Nazi government put on a kinder face for the world. Antisemitic signs and posters were taken down and government pronouncements muted. To show its racial tolerance, Germany included in its Olympic team of 433 athletes one Jew, the star fencer, Helene Mayer, whose father was Jewish.

Considered a triumph of propaganda, the 1936 Olympics showcased Germany as a respectable and welcoming member of the international community, a nation built by hard work, family values and patriotism.

What most Americans remember about the Berlin games, however, was the brilliance of Jesse Owens, who won four gold medals, defying Hitler’s racial ideology. With his stunning victories, Owens became an international hero, with little thought to the racial prejudice he and other African Americans faced back home.

There were 359 athletes in the American team, including 18 African Americans and two Jews. The Jews were Marty Glickman and Sam Stoller, both talented sprinters. Controversy would later erupt when it was learned that on the day of the 4×100-meter relay, for which they had trained, they were pulled from the race, many believe, to spare Hitler further embarrassment.

Despite the success of the Americans, the Germans won the lion’s share of Olympic medals, 38 gold and 101 total, bolstering the Nazis’ claims of Aryan superiority.

As we watch the finals of the World Cup on Sunday in New York, we close one of the most successful international sports events of our time. Sixteen cities in three North American countries have hosted 102 games, rich in ceremony and bonhomie. The 46 teams came from five continents, thrilling fans and spectators with their passion, pride and skills on the pitch.  

I’m wondering, though, how we will look back on the 2026 World Cup, and particularly, our country and what was going on out of sight. In writing this, I am not saying things in America are the same as in Germany in 1936. They are not. But there are similarities.

While athletes from around the world have been chasing soccer balls, the government has been chasing immigrants in what it promised would be the largest mass deportation project in American history. The slogan for ramped up enforcement in Maine was titled “Catch of the Day.” Arresting thousands a day in streets and job sites around the country, the government is holding some 70,000 men, women and children in 212 detention centers, where they await deportation. Thousands more are being flown every day to countries they had fled or other unsafe destinations.

Fathers and mothers have been taken from children. Wage-earners arrested have left families stranded. Men and women have been shot and killed, leaving their blood in the streets.

Targeting not only those without documentation, but 1.3 million here legally under the Temporary Protected Status, the government has in effect instituted ethnic cleansing, considered a crime against humanity. Most of those arrested are black or brown.

Before mass deportation began, the President and others engaged in persistent slander of people from Haiti, Africa and Latin America. Is this not reminiscent of the Nazis’ decades-long efforts to dehumanize Jews, necessary before action can be taken against them? Necessary before “the final solution”?

Years from now, we will recall the glorious World Cup games of 2026, a time when athletes and fans from around the world joined us, competed against us and celebrated with us. Yet so much has been going on behind the curtain.

What will we remember?

Photos from the National Archives

Lessons from the Pitch

I didn’t grow up with soccer. The only time I played was in a pasture in Austria, where I was a student. The school, Seminar Schloss Bogenhofen, was in the countryside near the town of Braunau, infamous for being the birthplace of Hitler.

One of only a few American students, I was encouraged to join my Austrian classmates in a pick-up game of Fussball. On the field, I quickly embarrassed myself with my clumsy moves. I also kept a lookout for cow pies.

Fast forward to Stoneham in the 1980s and my wife and I are standing with other parents on the sidelines at the soccer field off Broadway. Our 10-year-old son has just received a pass and punched it into the goal.

Although he would later abandon soccer for basketball, we gradually developed an interest in “the beautiful game.” Not yet serious fans, we nevertheless enjoyed World Cup and Olympic contests, especially the successes of the USA Women’s team.

This year, with World Cup games coming to Boston, we’ve spent way too much time watching matches on TV. We’ve cheered not only for our country, which showed great talent before losing to Belgium, but for various teams from around the world.

In picking which teams to cheer for, besides USA, I follow two principles. The first is, I like the underdogs. Who doesn’t like an upset? Or a herculean effort by a low-ranked team, like Cape Verde, who pushed Argentina to the limit before bowing out in the round of 16.

The second is, I like teams from places I’ve been, or have friends and family members living there. For this reason, and also because they were such fun to have in Boston, we cheered loudly for Scotland.

For similar reasons, I cheered for Germany because I have cousins there. I cheered for African teams because I was born in Tanzania. I cheered for Portugal because of our neighbors, who came from Portugal. I cheered for Mexico because we once took a train to Mexico City. I cheered for Brazil because we have so many Brazilians among us. And I cheered for Canada because, well, how can we not?

Having the World Cup in North America allows us to see some of the best players in the world. Like Messi, Ronaldo and Mbappé. Erling Haaland and Harry Cane aren’t bad either. And it brings hordes of fans into our cities, stadiums, bars and streets. In the faces of fans from around the world we see the same spectrum of emotions as those we feel—boisterous displays of joy and pride, bouts of anxiety and the agony of defeat.

We also learn about their countries and culture. Googling during water breaks, I find out that Cape Verde has a tiny population of only half a million, or that Uruguay is in the southern cone of South America east of Argentina and south of Brazil. Its name comes from the river Uruguay, which means “bird river.”

Watching the World Cup, I realize that the world we are seeing is richly diverse and abundant in cross-border bonhomie. In many ways, it reflects the demographic landscape that is already here. A nation of immigrants, we revel in the reunion of cultures from around the world.

I also realize, sadly, that this is a world our President and his lieutenants despise. It’s not just his America First doctrine and his disdain for other nations and cultures. Or his contempt for “shithole countries,” and his slanderous rants against Haitians, Mexicans and Somalians. It’s his open espousal of white nationalism and his attempt to rewrite American history.

It’s also his attempt to purge America of its black and brown immigrants. Even as I sit on my couch enjoying a World Cup match, I know that in 212 detention centers around the United States, some 70,000 immigrants are awaiting deportation. Thousands more are being arrested each day. They are in essence no different from the players we see on the pitch, or the fans that follow them. They are no different from us.

As we watch the semi-finals and championship game—and as we celebrate our 250th Birthday—this World Cup has something to teach us. Like the inspiring photographs of the earth taken from the recent moon voyage, the World Cup should convince us that we are, in truth, one world. It’s time we start acting like it.

Becky’s Garden

In our son’s neighborhood in Oakland live Becky (same name as my wife) and Gee, a couple we have made friends with. About our age, they are originally from the Philippines and have made good lives in California, raised three daughters and have many grandchildren. When we are visiting our family, we walk around to see if Becky and Gee are home. Last time we four walked up to Pete’s Coffee house, about half a mile in the Dimond district. During one visit, they took us for lunch at a fabulous Chinese restaurant in Alameda.

In California, succulent gardens are encouraged, as they use less water. As we walk in the neighborhood, we stop to take photos of flora we seldom see in the East.

Becky’s garden is full of succulents, planted or in pots–in front, in the driveway and back yard. In back there is also a huge tangerine tree. Last year, because Becky and Gee can no longer harvest the high fruit, our son and grandson helped. Becky sent them home with bags of tangerines. Our grandchildren took turns with the hand presser, squeezing a bunch of them into juice. Others we peeled and enjoyed.

On our last visit, I took photos of Becky’s garden. Here they are, designed as a poster. Here it is:

If you’d like a digital copy for printing, let me know. You can email me at hbjacques@gmail.com. Or leave me a comment.

DU BOIS, JUNETEENTH AND THE SOUL OF AMERICA

At the dawn of the century, 123 years ago, W. E. B. Du Bois published a remarkable book, titled The Souls of Black Folk. Drawing back the veil that separated black and white Americans, he portrayed in lyrical prose a people of separate and unequal status.

Born in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, just three years after the Civil War, Du Bois studied at Fisk University, then became the first African American to earn a doctorate at Harvard. Sociologist, teacher, activist and author, he fought a resurgent racism that relegated African Americans to the lowest rung of society, denied them voting, and terrorized them with violence.

In his introduction, Du Bois wrote: “The problem of the Twentieth Century is the problem of the color-line.”  I submit that it is still true today.

W. E. B. Du Bois

Tomorrow, as we celebrate Juneteenth, the day enslaved folk in Texas finally learned they were free, we must look again at race as the defining marker in President Trump’s campaign to remove millions of black and brown people from America.

In the 21st century, as in Du Bois’ time, we are witness to the orchestrated dehumanization of people of color. Consider the slander coming out of the White House against Haitians, Mexicans and Somalis. Consider the targeting of minority officials, judges and politicians. Consider the redistricting of voting maps to exclude African Americans.

Consider the daily arrests of our immigrant neighbors—the vast majority who are black or brown. Taken from their families, they are flown to detention prisons to await deportation.

The Brookings Institute reports that in Trump’s second term, well over 100,000 children have been separated from their parents. (Remember the outcry in 2018 when about 5,500 children were removed from their parents?)

There are now some 70,000 immigrants held in 371 detention centers in the United States, and the Trump administration wants more. An estimated 290,000 have already been flown to other countries, the most going to Mexico. But not all are sent to their countries of origin. The New York Times reports plans to send 1,100 Afghan refugees, who aided the United States during the war, to the Congo.

At the same time President Trump has opened the door to 10,000 white South Africans to re-settle in America.

Some 13 million of our neighbors are still vulnerable to deportation, either because they are undocumented or have had their temporary protective status (TPS) removed. Besides revoking their TPS, Trump is now targeting immigrants applying for Green Cards. He is also targeting Dreamers, young adults who came here as small children. As he said in his campaign rallies, he wants them all gone.

A detainee’s wife holds a photo of her husband, held in detention in New Jersey, and their two children.

Under the guise of immigration enforcement, the federal government is waging what can only be described as ethnic cleansing, the term used when a country systematically attempts to remove residents of a certain race, ethnicity or religion. This is a crime.

In his landmark book, Du Bois hoped white folk would come to know black folk, that they would take to heart their essential humanity and intrinsic value as full members of the American community. The same is true about the millions of immigrants, the majority black and brown, who want nothing more than freedom to live in safety, raise their families, work and be a part of the American dream.

America needs immigrants, families, hard workers, builders, care providers, entrepreneurs. But more than that, we need to know the Soul of Immigrants and affirm their humanity. As in 1903, America needs a change of heart.

Profiles in Protest

News and updates continue to stream from Delaney Hall, the troubled detention center in New Jersey holding some 1,000 immigrants the Trump regime considers illegal.

A protester confronts ICE agents outside Daleney Hall.

Becky and I were there last weekend to meet with families of detainees and the wonderful crew of volunteers, including our daughter and son-in-law, who provide support to families with loved ones inside.

Although the NY Times’ coverage is at best meager, several New Jersey mainstream and independent media are covering what’s happening at Delaney Hall. Their coverage includes the hunger/labor strike, violent reaction by ICE officials, removal and isolation of inmates, and the strong presence and advocacy of Senator Andy Kim, Rep Robert Menendez and others. 

Meanwhile, messages of solidarity are coming in from around the country, including from Rabbi Susan Abramson of Temple Shalom Emeth, a principal organizer of the protests at the ICE headquarters in Burlington. 

Here’s what she posted on FB, reporting on the continued weekly protests in Burlington: “400 of us stood against the policies and injustices of ICE this week at Bearing Witness At The Burlington ICE Office. Thanks to all who donated food, snacks, diapers, and toys. We stand in solidarity with Delaney Hall!”

While at the Family Support tent at Delaney Hall, we met some amazing people–dedicated volunteers who provide personal support, food, clothes and a place for families to wait, rest, and have a hot or cold beverage. 

We met Gabriela, the wife of Martin, held inside the prison. Mother of two small children and expecting a third, Gabby is an American citizen, as are her children. Martin, however, is from Peru. He was in the process of filing as spouse of a citizen for legal status. He was arrested by ICE while going to the store for diapers.

An eloquent spokesperson for families of detainees, Gabriela has spoken up with force, calling not only for an end to horrendous treatment of inmates but for their constitutional right to due process and release. We met her inside the tent as rain poured down outside. Her voice was hoarse, and she was sipping hot tea. All the same, she greeted us with warmth and proudly showed us a photo of her husband with their children.

Gabriela Soto with photo of her husband and children.

Because her husband has been considered a leader of the 300 inmates who went on hunger strike, ICE officials attempted to remove him from Delaney Hall. Protesters, however, blocked the vehicle from leaving, and it turned back. Later that night, however, ICE shackled and chained Martin and took him away in an unmarked car via a back exit. He was taken to another detention center in Elizabeth, NJ, and put in solitary confinement. Gabriela has since gone to that site. I don’t know, at this point, if she has been allowed to see him.

The other person I want to mention is a middle-aged man named Daniel. In January he was arrested while going to pay his electric bill. Taken first to Delaney Hall, he was then flown to a detention center in California. Daniel had recently been diagnosed with a brain tumor and had begun radiation treatments. Now he was held far from home and friends. Not willing to let his case go unheard, my daughter contacted a friend in California who found him an attorney willing to take his case pro bono. It took several months for the habeas corpus appeal to be heard, but in May Daniel was finally released on bond and returned to New Jersey. Met by friends and advocates, he has been able to resume medical treatments. Last week he stopped by the welcome tent at Delaney Hall to say thank you for their support. 

The situation at Delaney Hall continues to escalate, and we don’t know what will become of the detainees or their families. Charges of wormy food, lack of medical treatment and brutality continue. Protesters, inlcuding Senator Kim have been pepper sprayed. Ambulances have been seen coming and going. 

What’s happening at Delaney Hall is not just a local crisis. It’s a national crisis. As our daughter reminds us, the struggle is not a 100-yard dash. It’s a marathon. Courage to all as we continue, each in own way, to stand up for those being oppressed.

PS. Thanks for the encouraging responses from S4SJ network members.

What Happens There Matters Here

Sunday morning Becky and I walked through heavy rain to a tent set up just outside Delaney Hall, an ICE detention prison holding over a 1,000 men and women in Newark, NJ. We had driven over from our daughter’s home in a Newark suburb. She had arrived earlier, joining other volunteers to set up coffee and food along with clothing, diapers and toys for families hoping to visit their loved one inside.

“Come to the Tent” in Spanish is posted by volunteers providing support to families of detainees at the Delaney Hall Detention Center.

Situated off the turnpike in New Jersey among huge gas tanks, warehouses, depots and a state prison, Delaney Hall has been the flashpoint for protests of its inhumane treatment of inmates. On Friday, around 300 detainees began a weekend hunger and labor strike and called on Gov. Mikie Sherrill to visit Delaney Hall, a private, for-profit facility, and address their complaints.

The day before, Senator Andy Kim (Dem-NJ) had visited Delaney Hall and met with inmates and advocates. Voicing his support for the detainees, he wrote this on his Facebook page:

I rushed to ICE detention center Delaney Hall yesterday when I heard detainees began a hunger strike. Here’s what I saw:

An 18 yr-old high-school student crying and saying she just wanted to graduate senior year;

A pregnant woman unable to get full OBGYN medical support;

A woman who had a miscarriage in the detention facility and left to manage all on her own;

A mom not allowed to spend more that a few minutes with 4-month-old baby;

A husband of an American-citizen wife and kid;

A carton with the milk inside congealed solid (expiration date is tomorrow); [there were also complaints of worms in the food.]

A man there for nearly a year with no movement in his legal efforts;

A document showing next Tuesday’s court docket showing 74 cases before one judge in one day (averages about 5 minutes a case);

A man telling me ICE is trying to deport him to the Democratic Republic of Congo, where there is an active Ebola outbreak (he’s from South America originally);

Numerous people who were arrested at scheduled interviews for Green Cards (trying to follow the formal process);

A family unable to find out what hospital their family was sent to (ICE said they cannot give any medical updates to families of hospitalized detainees);

The Statue of Liberty as I left the facility to drive home. [You can see the Statue from Liberty State Park in Jersey City, not far from Delaney Hall.]

In another column, I’ll write more about what happens at Delaney Hall, and in the tent where volunteers provide support to families of detainees. Because what happens there, even if it’s not on the 6 o’clock evening news, must matter to us.

Delaney Hall Detention Center in Newark, NJ

Coming home

It happened at Logan as we crowded
to board the Woburn Express. The gray-haired
bus driver with a bad back motioned
for us to stow our own luggage into
the compartment below. There were huge
suitcases and golf clubs and duffel bags
and strollers. Then something happened:
a stocky passenger, fiftyish, stepped to
the curbside and, bending, grabbed and shoved
every piece of luggage into the belly of the bus.

After that, we all climbed aboard, the door
swished shut and we wheeled smoothly into
the Sumner Tunnel to merge on the other side
into I-93 rush hour traffic for the last leg home.
All the time I’m thinking: in a bunch of pretty-much-
all-white frequent fliers, the one stepping
up was black, and you may ask why
do I have to mention black and white,
so I reply yes, why indeed, and
what do you make of this?

“Bam, you’re dead!”

At age seven I was thrilled by the Lone Ranger. We didn’t have a TV, but the family that rented above us did and invited me and my brothers up to watch on their black-and-white.

Years later, I looked forward to “Gunsmoke,” which my uncle would let us watch with him in the family room. Our hero was, of course, Marshall Matt Dillon, who kept the peace in Dodge City, along with his sidekick, Chester, Miss Kitty and Doc Adams.

Then came Wyatt Earp, Maverick, the Rifleman, Have Gun Will Travel and others. What all the characters had in common was they knew how to solve problems and settle disputes. They did this with their guns.

As did boys did across America, I imagined myself as a heroic keeper of the peace. Our parents didn’t allow us store-bought six-shooters, but we made our own versions out of wood. In my reverie, I was the quickest draw in town.

My fascination with Westerns was an early immersion in a culture wedded to guns. Guns represented power, and the destruction they caused was justified by the need to protect and establish order or to settle old scores.

If our heroes shot and killed other human beings, this was all right because they were clearly the bad guys. We enjoyed seeing their theatrical demise. “Bam, you’re dead,” one of us would yell. “You got me,” the other would respond, spinning and falling to the ground.

Over time, on TV and in movies, the weapons became more sophisticated. Colt 45s and Winchester rifles were followed by .44 Magnums and AR7s. Then came Glocks and M60 machine guns. Star Wars and Jurassic Park brought us Mauser pistols and SPAS-12 shotguns. Today, AK47s are the weapons of choice.

Beyond the arguments over gun proliferation and control in America, and whether our Constitution sanctions unfettered access, is the simple reality that we Americans are in love with our guns. We want them, we have them, and we use them— despite the horrendous suffering they inflict.

This is true on a national scale as well. Too often and too quickly we turn to our weapons—ever more sophisticated—in our cities and in the world. We choose war over defense, “death from above” over mediation and conflict resolution.

Accompanying our threats of violence to our perceived enemies is their dehumanization. Nowhere is this more evident than in the words and deeds of our current commander in chief and secretary of the War Department.

The president who labeled Somalians “garbage” and African nations “shithole countries,” has called Iranians “crazy bastards” and threatened to “bomb them back to the Stone Age.”

Hegseth has taunted Iranians as “barbaric savages” and called for “overwhelming violence of action against those who deserve no mercy.”

When you deny your opponents their humanity, it’s much easier to destroy them. You can shoot protesters in the street. You can blow up boats in international waters, summarily executing suspects. You can conduct a “precision” strike into another nation to arrest its leaders, killing 80 people in the process.

And you can start an unprovoked war, unleashing missiles, bombs and drones that you know will kill and wound not only our own soldiers, but thousands of civilians—including children—their suffering out of sight and out of mind.

After 250 years, will we ever understand the true consequences of our violent impulses, combined with our love of weapons? Will we ever learn to holster our six-shooters and commit ourselves to making peace? God help us.