Two days before the National Day of Non Compliance, I had a conversation with my 14yo son. He'd been away for most of the summer and needed a refresher on SB1070, and to know about my decision to protest and the potential consequences. The conversation took a turn I didn't expect, and was eye opening for both of us...

I was talking to my son just a while ago about some events taking place later this week, and as I was explaining civil disobedience & non violent resistance (It’s like you ripping up that test [2] last spring, even after the teacher threatened your grade), we talked a little more about why I feel SB 1070 is an unjust and immoral law.

Anybody who knows me personally would most likely agree that I probably talk to my kids about race, stereotypes and racial profiling more than anybody we know.  

According to statistics, they are conversations that many who are in a position to do so, avoid. These are not easy conversations to have, and there are many times where I feel wholly inadequate in teaching my children to navigate through this muck. Sure, there are plenty of rainbow conversations about how we’re all heart and spirit under our skin early on, but there are many more that are painful. Like taking a potatoe peeler or cheese grater to your skin. Because sometimes by the time it’s over, you are ready to flay the skin from your own body and every body else’s just to be done with it. Sometimes because someone said some hateful thing to or in front of your child or they said some hateful thing to someone else… but as time goes on, sometimes you learn they have picked up some stereotype or prejudice of their own.

But still, no matter how difficult or painful, these conversations are some of the most important a parent can have with a child.

When I asked my son what might lead an officer to suspect someone was not in the country legally and he answered, with only a little doubt in his voice…

[3]

Arizona in Crayola: Multicultural, I guess. Non-toxic, debatable.

“Their race.”

To which I countered,

“What race are Americans?”

He responded, 

“White.”

With no hesitation. None whatsoever.

And it wasn’t until I looked at him… HARD… and said, “Really?” that he realized what he’d said.

The thing is, it’s not like he’s obtuse about racial stereotypes. I’ve heard him make a damn convincing arguement to a friend that Transformers (which I’ve never seen or commented on) is a racist movie. 

My son is only 14 years old, and already he’s picked up the subconcious message about who is American and who is not. My son is only 14 years old, it already it is imbedded somewhere in his subconcious that Americans are white.

Despite youth, his own identity, despite his father, stepmother, his paternal aunt, uncles, and grandfather, all of whom were born in this country and proudly served in the miiltary, despite his witness of all the years the girls’ dad spent battling immigration to get citizenship, despite my efforts, and despite everything he’s ever learned in church…

Kinda blows that post racial America myth all to Hell. And frankly, doesn’t give me much confidence that people who lived in ”pre racial” America for 30 or 40 or 50 years don’t harbor those subconcious impressions as well.

This law does nothing to secure our borders. It does nothing to address drug trafficking. It does not change the black market of human smggling that our broken immigration system has created. This law justifies racial profiling. It erodes trust in public officials. It divides communities. It tears families apart.

It is a means that neither justifies or accomplishes a desireable end.

Todos somos Arizona.

I've been asked to share some of my experiences living in Arizona under 287(g) with my three children, and how I've seen this issue impact my children and my community.

I had begun to notice little things that suggested my older children, now 11 and 14, were developing a negative perspective of the Latino community, with a particularly bias against Latino men. Last November I had a conversation with my then ten year old daughter that confirmed my worst fears.

“Well, cuz they do a lot of bad things. I mean, they’re always on the news cuz they’re criminals… and stuff.”

I touched on issues surrounding the term illegal alien* a couple weeks ago in , when I mentioned a couple ways I suspected this term has affected my children’s perceptions of the Hispanic community. There was a part of me that wondered whether I was reading too much into things… but let’s just say that’s no longer a concern. Within the last week or two, I read a blog or article about multiracial girls being asked what color their husbands would be. I wondered if Halle had ever heard or been asked something like this. I made a little note to self to bring it up, but Thursday night in the car, she raised the subject. She was talking about how she was going to date a boy for one year when she grew up, and asked if that was too long. I told her it depended on the boy; with some boys, a year might be too long, with another, a year may not be long enough. She suddenly started talking about whether this boy might be white or black and something about so and so… I interrupted and asked if people asked her that, and she confirmed. Then I asked, “Do you guys talk about that?” and she responds matter of factly, “Oh, yeah.” I asked if that was something that had just come up this year, and she said no, it was last year too. I asked how it came up, and she said, just when they talk about who they think is cute. She continued with her story…

“Anyway, so and so asked me once, and I said he would probably be Black or White, but not Mexican, but then I met Tristan, and I like him and I think he’s cute, and he’s Mexican…”

Her voice trailed off.

I asked why she hadn’t thought she would date someone who was Mexican before Tristan.

“Well, cuz they do a lot of bad things. I mean, they’re always on the news cuz they’re criminals… and stuff.”

cue my breaking (anti-racist) heart.

Needless to say, we had an immediate conversation about perception, stereotypes, racism, media bias, and Bull Connor Jr. Nickel Bag Joe Sherrif Arpaio. And we will continue to have these conversations (and others, like how there are a lot more people in the world than just Black, White or Hispanic), because this IS a big problem. And it’s not because this flies in the face of what I believe personally, but because the seed of racism is finding roothold in the heart of THIS child.

Her love is like the ocean...

This is my UU, social justice, civil action child. . This is the child who has volunteered to mentor special needs kids or served in student government or both for three of the four years she’s been attending her current school. This is the child whose teacher has made it a point to contact me no less than three times so far this school year to express his gratitude to and praise the way , which makes me wonder that my daughter’s unreserved offer of friendship is already rare by the age of 10. This is the child who took the initiative, unsolicited, and went to a Spanish-speaking teacher to get a “cheat sheet” of basic conversational phrases, and carried two spanish english dictionaries with her every day for the first two months of school.

.

September 2009. Transgendered persons and their allies met on our campus and discussed topics such as employment law and family relationships. After a day of intense sessions we enjoyed light conversation over dinner. I offered two of the visitors a tour of the garden. Our first destination was the plaque a few feet down the path.

THAT WHICH MIGHT HAVE BEEN,
BIRMINGHAM 1963

SYMBOLIZING THE UNFULFILLED MATURITY OF
FOUR GIRLS KILLED IN THE CHURCH BOMBING IN
BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA, SEPTEMBER 15, 1963

DEDICATED TO THE UNDERSTANDING OF
THE BEAUTY OF INDIVIDUAL DIFFERENCE

JOHN HENRY WADDELL SCULPTOR

We went on. The bronze figures representing four young women stood in their usual places. The girls represented by the figures had not become women. The girls had been struck down.

A woman I had met earlier in the day was sitting on a bench. She had told me when we met that friends were loyal as she made her transition—and a friend had said that she had seemed to come out of the shadows into the light. Others had not recognized her wholeness before or after her transition, but if you were to meet her, I trust that you could see it: ‘SHE WHO IS’ is SHE and she IS whole.

Carrying on with the tour and touching the bronze cloths in the hands of the statue known as the “nurturer,” I told of the time when the elderly aunt of one of the girls had spoken in our worship service. The woman stayed seated on the bench. I then walked with my companions to the statue that faces north. I told my companions that something was in the palm of the statue’s raised hand, open to the sky.

With that, ‘SHE WHO IS’ rose from the bench and joined us at the northern statue. She stood on tiptoe and raised a mirror above the open hand. She saw the reflection in the mirror and murmured,

“Ah, a peace sign. I stretched and my reward was a peace sign that was there all the while, even when we didn’t know it.” She smiled, and her smile was reflected in the mirror.

We lingered, sitting together on the bench, two women who had always been known as ‘she’ and two women who had once been known as ‘he.’ As we chatted I thought about what a gift the day had been. The sun set while we surmised what life might be like in Birmingham today for little boys and girls.

We stood next to the statue that faces south and looked toward the downtown Phoenix skyline. We wondered whether some in our community might be struck down tonight while others might be lifted up. We trusted that the peace sign was nearby, just out of sight.

**************************************************

Postscript, August 2010. The story of the four little girls and some somber portions of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s ‘Letter from a Birmingham Jail’ were part of last Sunday’s sermon. A few days earlier, a transgendered Arizona leader spoke joyously at Phoenix’s Cesar Chavez plaza about the judge’s ruling on California’s Proposition 8. Amid the recent jumble of emotions maybe that evening in the garden started to come back into my consciousness.

It was when I looked at this photo belatedly that I knew it was time to finish the essay. The title of the unfinished draft came back to me. In the photo, ‘THEY WHO ARE’ were sitting on a bench after their arrests demonstrating against an unjust immigration law.

The particulars are unique to each human rights struggle. But regardless of the particulars, time spent sitting together on a bench can inspire creative action toward a brighter future. Trust that the peace sign is nearby, just out of sight.

I have a story to begin to tell. Each of the last 2 nights I have gotten about 4 hours sleep. Tuesday evening we gathered at the UU Congregation of Phoenix and watched "9500 Liberty." The film about Virginia passing a law giving police officers in Prince William County, VA the right and responsibility to profile and request proof of citizenship or legal alien documentation to anyone they chose.

The results devastated the community economically. But what was worse was the hate and fear spewed all over the community and in town meetings by those who supported the legislation.

We here in Phoenix are living through a similar experience. Wednesday UU's from all over the country began arriving. During UUMN in Madison, our minister, Rev. Susan Frederick-Gray had sent out a call nation-wide. Puente, a local Hispanic human rights organization was calling for a National Day of Action against Arizona's Senate Bill 1070 on July 29th, the date when the bill was to become law. Our own Governor Brewer has called those who have come to this country to find work, drug dealers and law-breakers. (Incidentally violent crime is down in AZ according to police records, I checked myself.) And in the AZ side of the border town of Nogales, the police chief has boasted that while the Mexican side is more dangerous, Nogales has not had a murder in over 3 years.

Yesterday, members of my choir, Kellie Walker's choir and other choirs across the valley, gathered at Trinity Cathedral, downtown to sing for an interfaith prayer service to begin the day. After the service I participated in a march to the Courthouse and subsequently to one of the county jail facilities where our Rev. Susan and UUA President, Rev. Peter Morales and a member of my choir was arrested for blocking an entrance to the jail. For a complete listing of all UU's arrested, you can check out my congregation's facebook page [13]. Several hundred UU's who did not get arrested were on the sidewalk until late in the afternoon. We regrouped at the church building about 6PM or debriefing and planning. Our goals was to support those imprisoned and be there for them when they were released. Some of them have court dates. They were bruised and tired, hungry and thirsty. My choir members prepared food for those who were brought back to our building. We heard stories that sadly only confirm the distain that our county law officers have for anyone they take into custody, reading no Miranda rights, manipulating the situation so that some are not allowed to use a phone, manipulating the moving of people, lighting, lack of accommodations, so that no one gets any sleep. And brutality to the point of blood if you ask the wrong questions try to negotiate anything you're told to do.

One man who was protesting was beaten. I don't know who that was. A woman who was not a UU was bloodied in the presence of the UU's being held and another inmate was made to clean up the mess. I am very upset that the attitude of our county law enforcement is brutality is justified and even deserved by anyone who is held in their facility. The contrast was that the Phoenix police were respectful.

A couple of women with health issues were arrested, when they were in a lawful place, taken by surprise. Many of those arrested were fully warned that they would be arrested. We were there to protest an unjust law after all.

If you have not done so, please read the writing of Peter Morales about why our own foreign policy through the 80's until now have decimated the economies of so many of our southern neighbors, that they have no choice but to find work in places that are not their own countries. We are their only option to raise a family and try to have a life. I think this is available at the UUA website. He sent it out just before GA when the UUA board was putting before the delegates the recommendation to boycott Phoenix.

Please be thinking about us. The sheriff has already retaliated in the arrest of the Puente leader, Salvador Reza. Making up the charge of violating his probation, by walking to his car through a parking lot. We are starting a vigil outside of tent city where he has been taken. Tent city is Sheriff Joe Arpario's "overflow" facility. We are beginning a 24 hour vigil until he is released. Could be months until his hearing. It is still hot here. And some of our folks were giving police water. One symptom of dehydration is grumpiness and anger.

We will be sorry to see all our UU friends from across the country leave here to return home over the next few days. Please keep reminding us that we are not in this alone.

Connie Jahrmarkt, UUCP Director of Music Ministries, UUA Credentialed Music Leader
July 31st, 2010

I watched most of the National Day of Non-Compliance with SB1070 on my computer. Taking care of two young children is my primary responsibility, and I couldn't take them with me downtown to the protests, which I feared might turn violent. So I watched with love and awe as my fellow UUs and other human rights supporters massed en force to stand up for justice. I watched as they arranged themselves in civil disobedience. I watched as, one after another, they were dragged away and arrested for standing on public property and speaking their minds. I watched as they supported each other with food, water, rides, legal aid, vigils and emotional support. And I watched as they reached out to the community with strength and love. I have never been so proud to be a UU.

Finally, when my husband got home from work and my daughters went to bed, I was able to head out to join the candlelight vigil. We planned to sing, pray, and bear witness outside the jail that held my minister and other principled and dedicated people. I'd been downtown before, but never near the jail. I had no idea what to expect.

As I rounded the street corner in the steamy night air, reflections of streetlights shimmering in the pavement, I saw something I never dreamed I'd see in my own home town. Helmeted police with riot shields had blocked the street, some on foot, some mounted on horseback. MCSO black enforcement buses lined the opposite side. This intimidating sight made me wonder exactly what Sheriff Arpaio thought a "candlelight vigil" was. What was so necessary about this show of force?

We circled the block to join the other demonstrators already waiting. Some had obviously been there for some time, waiting for the release of their loved ones. As we alternated between song and prayer, some of them hesitantly came forward to stand on the fringes of our group. Some lit their own candles and swayed to the music. Finally one woman stepped forward and asked if she could say something. Someone handed her a bullhorn.

She began by saying that we had come into her neighborhood, that she lived just a few blocks from the jail. She told us that this heightened, unreal police presence was a daily reality for her and her neighbors, that they lived constantly with this level of harassment from sheriff's deputies. Then she said, "You will never know what it has meant to us that you came into our neighborhood to be with us while all this was happening. Thank you for supporting us. Thank you so much."

As the singing resumed, I looked around at the others on the street with us: friends with their arms slung around each other's shoulders, a man holding an infant, a woman pushing a double stroller with two sleeping children inside. I thought of my two sleeping children at home, and imagined raising them in a climate like the one these families must face.

This woman with the courage to speak out, this woman whose name I don't even know, is the face of the struggle for human rights in Arizona. She, and others like her, are the reason I am protesting this insanity. How can I not protest? A judge has overturned portions of SB1070, but the climate of fear and hate remains. Despite Judge Bolton's ruling, the broken system that spawned SB1070 is still in place, as are the legislators and law enforcement that support it. I love my country, and I have no desire to see it swallowed up by the monster of injustice. So I will continue to do what I can. My actions may be small by necessity, but I cannot simply sit and do nothing. In the meantime, I remember the woman at the vigil Thursday night, and pray that she will know peace.

Show me the suffering of the most miserable,

So I will know my people's plight.

Free me to pray for others,

For You are present in every person.

Help me take responsibility for my own life,

So that I can feel free at last.

Grant me courage to serve others,

For in service there is true life.

Give me honesty and patience,

So that I can work with other workers.

Bring forth song and celebration,

So that the Spirit will be alive among us.

Let the Spirit flourish and grow,

So that we will never tire of the struggle.

Let us remember those who have died for justice,

For they have given us life.

Help us love even those who hate us,

So we can change the world.

Amen.

— Farm Workers' Prayer by Cesar Chavez