A blog by the Franciscan Sisters of Perpetual Adoration about justice and peace issues

Posts tagged ‘soaw’

A year on the sidelines

This week marks one year until we will elect our next president. Campaigning has already been in high gear for months — months of campaigning and yet, if we had cast our votes this past Tuesday, what knowledge of the country and the candidates would we have actually had?

Media coverage rarely connects the policy statements of candidates (even if they are making them) with the lived reality of the people. Often media’s only focus is a “bump” in the polls. We are not engaged in a popularity contest; we are engaged in choosing a leader who will impact not only North Americans, but the world.

It seems important then that we take the time to know what poverty, the environment, education, immigration, militarism, racial inequities, gender inequities, children, the elderly, health care, etc., look like in America today. We deserve to know what is needed, not just what will play as a sound bite.

Let’s travel to the margins, past the flashing signs of Donald Trump’s hair and Hillary Clinton’s granddaughter Charlotte, to see the world and the election through the eyes of the people and the earth who will bear the burden of our decision next November. I propose a “year from the sidelines” — a year in which we ponder what is needed in a leader, in a party, in ourselves, and in our communities from the perspective of those left behind or blamed by power.

To begin, I would like to share The Rag Blog’s Halloween at Hutto by Elaine J. Cohen that looks at the connection between immigration and militarism. It is easy to talk about stopping people from coming; it’s harder to understand why they come and how the United States is intimately connected to the forces driving people to the border here and the borders in Europe. This blog looks at migrants from Latin America in connection with our own militarism in their region.

Barred window inside of Hutto Detention Facility. Photo courtesy of thewire.com

Barred window inside the T. Don Hutto Residential Center Detention Facility. Photo courtesy of www.thewire.com

As we sat in the waiting area of the Hutto “Residential” Center, an unexpected spectacle unfolded before the three of us who had come to visit. It was Halloween in Hutto.

Originally Peggy Morton and I had planned to take Maria Luisa, field organizer for the School of the Americas Watch (SOAW), to Karnes, another family detention center in Texas, that morning. It was October 30, when thunder and torrents of rain poured down on the hill country.

Still, I left my apartment on St. John’s at eight. In the time it took to walk from my building’s entrance to my car, I was soaked to the bone. Driving south on Lamar was an exercise in focus and I’m sure I cashed in a few of my good karma points as I drove with limited vision and somehow got to Wheatsville South at nine to meet them.

Peggy’s husband, Fred, had told her that a tornado had touched down in San Marcos — near our usual route to Karnes. We went to Peggy’s house where my wet clothes were put in the dryer. We decided that if the rain slowed down we would go north, rather than south — and visit with women at Hutto. Their hunger strike had just begun and we agreed that visiting there would be an excellent first visit to a Detention Center for Maria Luisa.

Over cups of hot tea and vegan pozole, the three of us shared stories about immigration, violence shaped and honed by this country’s military might and the extraordinary connectedness of decades of violence in Central America and the number of refugees coming across the border.

Maria Luisa Rosals had come to Austin on a southern/border states journey to learn about conditions here and share knowledge about the complicity of USian interests as manifest in the instruction of violence at the School of the Americas.

Protests began in 1990 at the School of the America’s base at Fort Benning outside of Columbus, Georgia, and have continued despite the change of name to the Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation (WHINSEC). In a few weeks, the vigil will have its 25th anniversary. Many readers of The Rag Blog are familiar with the organization and its work. For those of you who aren’t, I refer you to the SOA Watch website — because the story today is really about the 27-plus immigrant women on hunger strike in Taylor, Texas.

Though as Peggy, Maria Luisa, and I spoke, it became obvious to us that, in fact, the hunger strike of immigrant women incarcerated under U.S. policy is very much related to the work of the SOAW. Peggy, an active member of the Hutto Visitation Program, has been visiting a woman who has been incarcerated there for over a year. As is my custom, I will not refer to her by her real name. Let’s call her Juana. All three of us signed up to visit Juana, who greeted us with delight.

The Corrections Corporation of America continues to assert ‘there is no hunger strike.’

Although the Corrections Corporation of America (CCA), the private business that runs Hutto, continues to assert “there is no hunger strike,” we were assured that the strike was real. Moreover, the women are highly motivated and optimistic. I asked Juana if I had her permission to mention her in my writing and she said that the women wanted “everyone” to know that, Yes, they are on hunger strike and that No, it’s not because the food is so bad (even though it is terrible) and it is an insult for whoever is telling those lies (hmmm, the CCA comes to mind) to pretend it is not about the absolute injustice that they are incarcerated for their attempt to escape from domestic, cartel, and state violence.

We laughed and exchanged stories about our families and talked a lot about tamales. Peggy was worried that talking about food wasn’t a good idea — but it seemed to cheer Juana — talking about something from her culture. When Maria Luisa and Juana discovered they were from the same area in Guatemala, there were broad smiles and, I believe, some comfort to Juana. In front of her was someone who knew where she came from — and had also come to the U.S. as an immigrant.

It seems that our visit to Hutto took place on the day that the CCA had encouraged its employees to costume up for Halloween. I’m serious. As we sat in the waiting room we watched as an angel in black tulle and a black halo left. A Thor-like Viking came on shift. The costumes were elaborate and at one point Maria Luisa and I caught each other’s glance and I whispered, “This is surreal.” Her eyes widened in agreement.

In the visiting area, the guard was straight out of the Flintstones. When Juana began to cry, I went up to the guard to ask for some tissue. I remarked on her costume, casually asking, “So, what are you?” She broke into a large smile (the first I’d seen) and said, “I’m a cave woman.” Fortunately, she didn’t appear to have a club. I wouldn’t swear, however, that she didn’t have one, hidden under the desk.

While immigrant women languish in this for-profit prison, the jailers play out their domination fantasies as Dark Angels, Vikings, and Neanderthals. Juana shook her head at the strangeness of the display. I suggested that Halloween was kind of like carnival and she managed a crooked smile. As we left, and we had our final hug (one is permitted at the beginning and another at the end of a visit), she again asked me to make sure to tell as many people as possible about their strike and how unjust is their detention.

In the days that have passed since I started this piece, participation in the hunger strike has grown enormously. This coming Saturday, November 7, 2015, there is a call to come to Taylor and show your support for the hunger strikers.

Sofia Casini of Grassroots Leadership reports of “the continuing escalation in numbers of women inside, far beyond the initial 27. We’ve seen retaliation in the form of solitary confinement, two of the strikers transferred to Pearsall Detention Center, threats of deportation, and citations for not leaving their quarters to eat. ICE continues to deny the strike is happening. Loco!”

The rally will be held across from the baseball field to the side of the detention center (1001 Welch St, Taylor, Texas 76574) this Saturday at 2 p.m. Sofia explains that “this time was chosen because it’s when the women are let outside — the hunger strikers asked us to come then so they can see us and gain strength from our presence. Even if they’re brought inside quickly, we’ve been told from women that in past rallies they can still hear the loud, amplified music — let’s raise our voice so high they can hear us, too!”

I was recently reminded that there may be readers who are unfamiliar with the complex mix of politics, racism, and greed that has brought us immigrant detention. Yet I worry that I have written so much about various aspects of the issue in the past year that some of the material may appear redundant. Am I laboring to explain that which I’ve already laid out? Finally I realized that I can’t assume that the earlier pieces have been read.

The School of the Americas Watch, with its insistence that we recognize and expose the complicity of the American Military in the training of the perpetrators of so much violence in the Northern Triangle, absolutely connects to the women on hunger strike in Hutto. It is precisely that violence which has driven them here.

But what of the violence that is the experience of the thousands of immigrants locked up in immigrant detention? Could it be that the monster personas I saw at Hutto were more than Halloween fun? Were these employees of one of the worst private prison corporations really showing us something about what it means to be a guard in a prison incarcerating the victims of violence?

It is the image of the Dark Angel walking around the Hutto detention prison that I can’t shake.

Read more articles by Elaine J. Cohen on The Rag Blog.

Rag metro writer Elaine Cohen moved to Austin in 1997 after she found Accion Zapatista’s website. She became involved with immigrants when she started work as a bilingual substitute for the Austin Independent School District (AISD). After another stay teaching in Mexico (2005-2010) she returned to Austin and discovered the Hutto Visitation Program and became involved in visiting women and children in Texas’ family immigration detention centers.

Two sides of the Latin American Runway

Guest blogger: Lisa Sullivan

Report back on the Nicaragua Network/School of the Americas Watch Delegation to Nicaragua

I begin this article from the runway at Tegucigalpa’s Toncantin airport, infamous for its treacherous landings, as well as a recent coup and killing. This runway is actually a pretty fitting symbol of the visit that I am now concluding, a visit to two neighboring countries with two opposing realities Nicaragua and Honduras. It’s also a fitting symbol for all of Latin America today: the choices faced by them in the South, and the obstacles posed by us in the North.

One side of the narrow runway is jam-packed with U.S. fast food outlets, literally spilling their gaudy signs onto the asphalt where planes queue up. The other side is a clear and stunning view of emerald-green mountains covered with a patchwork of distant farms, evoking a sense of possibility, purpose, connectedness. Sitting here smack in the middle of both sides, I begin to reflect on the journey that I am concluding, a visit to both sides of the tracks, er… runway.

Nicaragua was my first destination. There is, perhaps, no other country that evokes more carino in the Latin America solidarity community than Nicaragua. Tens of thousands of sandalistas visited there after the youthful Sandinistas overthrew the brutal Somoza regime in 1979: to pick coffee, build schools, give vaccinations, then later serve as physical deterrents to U.S.-funded contra attacks.

Eleven years after the revolution’s triumph, a war-torn nation, spurred on by massive U.S. funds, voted the Sandinistas out of power. There followed 16 years of ruthless neo- liberal policies , plunging the nation even deeper into poverty. During those years Nicaragua climbed to the bottom of the economic rung, with only Haiti beating it out as poorest nation of the Western Hemisphere. (In recent years, however, Honduras has replaced Nicaragua in that unenviable spot).

I was last in Nicaragua 2008, just months after the Sandinistas had returned to power. The fragility of that electoral victory and the splintered condition of the party and the nation was visible. Then –and now – we had come to ask Nicaraguan officials to withdraw their troops from the School of the Americas. No Nicaraguan troops had attended the SOA under the Sandinistas, but soon after pro-Washington regimes took their place, Nicaraguans were back in their classrooms.

In 2008 our small SOA Watch delegation had a long conversation with President Daniel Ortega, who was only months in the presidency at the time. He spoke about the SOA impact on his nation, of their training, of the feared National Guard, Somoza’s henchmen. He affirmed that this school did not represent the interests of the people of Nicaragua nor any of the people of Latin America. But he also acknowledged his nation’s fragile position. After sixteen years of absolute economic dependency on the U.S., and with wounds of a U.S.-funded war still raw, the timing was just not right in 2008 to announce Nicaragua’s withdrawal from the SOA. Now, four years later, we decided to come back, to see if the time was right. This time  SOA Watch teamed up with Nicaragua Network to organize a delegation  to learn more about the “threat of a good example” that Nicaragua is becoming. Twenty committed people from around the U.S. and the U.K. took part.

From the moment we stepped into Nicaragua, it was clear that a lot had changed in four years. President Ortega was in a more solid position, having been recently re-elected by a resounding majority. Positive change was palpable at every turn: new roads, new roofs, new water systems, new schools. Even the massive Managua dump had been converted to a state-of-the-art recycling center with new homes and schools for former trash scavengers who are now employees of the new center. Former banana workers suffering diseases caused by exposure to the chemical nemagon, sported spanking new homes and gardens, right across the street from the National Assembly.

The positive spirit of people reflected this reality, especially that of women and youth. Thousands of micro loans are being given to small groups of women whose only collateral is one another. We listened to women share how their homemade popsicle business and corn grinder service had expanded with the loans, granting them a sense of independence and dignity.

Pregnant cows and pigs are being given to women at the lowest economic strata. From afar this might seem minor, but up close, it’s huge. Take Dona Martha, whose pregnant cow and pregnant pig went on to have three calves and five piglets respectively. Because of that, she and her family now have a new roof and new wooden planks on their small house, as well as a new outhouse and electrical hook up. Every inch of her tiny yard is producing something to eat. Squash climb up the branches of lemon trees that in turn shade lettuce and carrots, growing prolifically in the heat. The quality of her life and that of her family is dramatically better.

We met with young people from the Sandinista Youth brigade who talked about their local recycling program and weekend trips to remote communities to plant trees. Susan Lagos shared how this has improved the quality of the town of Ciudad Dario where she lives. She used to avoid a particular area of town where restless teens swarmed about aimlessly. Now, many of these young people joined weekend rescue efforts and environmental brigades. Not only is the town safer, she told us, but kids have shared with Susan a new sense of meaning in their lives.

The Sandinista government says these new programs respond to their three underlying values: Christianity, socialism and solidarity. These three words are not frequently used in the same sentence by most folks in the U.S., but they are found side by side on signs throughout the country and on the tongues of those who explained to us their new model of the society.

The value of solidarity rang clearly in the voice of President Ortega who agreed to meet with our delegation on the last night. The key agenda item was our request that Nicaragua withdraw its troops from the SOA. President Ortega reminded us his nation’s fragile situation, as he had four years ago. In recent years, however, the ALBA block of Latin American and Caribbean nations had offered Nicaragua the economic solidarity some degree of independence from the U.S. However, the U.S. still controlled a large amount of funds for Nicaragua, and they were reluctant to anger their giant neighbor.

Nine days of having witnessed so many positive changes in Nicaragua made us sympathetic to the complexities of what we were requesting. All the other countries that had withdrawn from the SOA were more distant from the U.S. (physically and relationally) and had far more natural resources, giving them a degree of relative independence. Only two months prior, President Correa announced that Ecuador would join Argentina, Uruguay, Bolivia, and Venezuela in withdrawing troops from the SOA. Nicaragua would be the first Central American country to do so.

President Ortega explained that he had taken our 2008 meeting very seriously. He had subsequently reduced Nicaragua’s numbers at the school from 78 in 2008 to only five last year and none so far this year. The time had now come, he told us to stop completely. “The SOA is an ethical and moral anathema. All of the countries of Latin America have been victims of its graduates. The SOA is a symbol of death, a symbol of terror. We have been gradually reducing our numbers of troops at the SOA, sending only five last year and none this year. We have now entered a new phase and we will NOT continue to send troops to the SOA. This is the least that we can do. We have been its victims.” 

We were jubilant. Nicaragua had brought the effort to close the SOA a giant step forward. Six countries had now said NO – and two more in the past two months. This affirmed the importance of working together -North and South- to close this school. Over 300 people from the North have put their own lives on the line for this cause, going to jail to protest this school. Tens of thousands of others had traveled to Georgia to show their solidarity with the efforts. Thousands around the country have lobbied their members of congress to sign on legislation, leading to 52 co-sponsors. With pressure from many fronts, the SOA walls are cracking.

After the meeting with President Ortega and receiving the good news, we arrived at our guest house close to midnight. I was scheduled leave at 4 am by bus to Honduras. No time to shift gears.

But boy, did those gears shift themselves! By the next afternoon I was in Tegucigalpa, meeting with the PROAH team of international observers, accompanying people who have received threats against their lives. Dozens of teachers, journalists, farmers and students have been murdered in the past three years for the crime of denouncing the 2009 coup organized by SOA graduates. Honduras has gained the unenviable title of murder capital of the world.

Within hours, I was giving a talk on a panel on militarization. I painted a picture of optimism of citizen power and progressive governments standing up to U.S. militarization, still fresh with the victory in Nicaragua. My Honduran co-panelist began her talk by saying, “here, things are different.” She spoke of the continued murders and threats, and the increased U.S . interference. A recent shift in the high command of the Honduran military came on orders from the U.S. ambassador. Honduras had become a landmine of danger since the coup, and now it was losing its grip on very sovereignty.

After the conference I was introduced to a young boy who was holding his refreshment cup with a very bandaged hand. He was one of the victims shot by U.S. DEA forces in the Moskitia this past May as his passenger boat docked . The boy received the impact of a high-powered automatic weapon fired by the U.S. DEA forces from the helicopter without warning. They ripped a four-inch hole in his hand. His best friend was killed in the attack, as well as two pregnant women.

After the conference, I looked around the COFADEH office, and noticed that the paint had continued to fade and peel since my last visit. The only new things were more and more photos of disappeared and murdered victims. I realized how presumptuous it was for me to bounce into the room with a smile on my face. But I also remembered sitting in that same room in May 2009, writing about the hope I had experienced those days as Hondurans prepared to go to the polls to say yes to the possibility of a constitutional assembly. At that moment, the country was ecstatic. Hope, change, all through a peaceful democratic process, seemed just around the corner for Honduras. And then came the coup, on the morning of the election, organized to halt a process for peaceful, profound democratic change in a deeply poor nation.

As my plane makes its way through turquoise skies, I can still see a maze of patchwork farms on the this below. I’m not sure if I’m still in Honduran air space, or if we have passed into Nicaragua. From up above, the land looks so similar; from below, so very different. Kind of like those two sides of the runway from where we left. As I write these words, I find tears silently falling onto my little computer. I don’t feel sad, I feel angry. What right is it to steal the dreams of a people who are so poor? How much poorer and how much more wounded do we want them to be? There was so much hope here in May of 2009. With every dead journalist and every dead resistance leader and every dead Libre party candidate, that hope sinks further and further. The hope was ripped away in the middle of the night, behind the barrel of guns aimed at a president who dared to roll up his sleeves to work with the poor, at a nation that dared to dream. The orders came from graduates of the school from which Nicaragua had just withdrawn: the SOA.

I’m landing now, arriving at the nation’s capital, taxing on a runway filled with blue lights, an a sense of order. No fast food joints spilling into it, no stunning emerald mountains flowing away from it. I think back to both sides of that precarious runway of Toncatin and wonder. Which side will Latin America choose? Which side will we let them choose?

About our guest blogger: Lisa Sullivan is currently the coordinator for Partnership America Latina (PAL). This initiative of SOA Watch seeks to connect North and South partners in the movement to close the School of the Americas and promote peace in the Americas. Lisa has helped to organize numerous SOAW delegations to meet with leaders in Latin America, leading to announcements of withdrawal from SOA of five countries.

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