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Miguel and Mary Carmen Gonzalez arrived at the Riverview filler plant; conditions seemed normal. The couple was two of twelve undocumented immigrants employed at the plant. All came into the country legally but stayed over the limit because of a great family life and excellent work conditions that could not be duplicated in their countries of origin.
Mary Carmen’s job was to clean, set-up, and monitor production line equipment. Occasionally, she operated the equipment, completed all required documentation, and scheduled quality checks. Miguel was an operator, also responsible for filling containers. Both jobs were tedious and difficult, but Miguel and Mary Carmen loved the work, appreciated their jobs, and were happy to be in the United States of America, the land of the free, until that day.
That day, as the Gonzalez family feared, ICE agents raided the Riverview-based filler plant. The first notice of a problem came when workers heard the loud whir of helicopter blades. Shortly afterwards, a helicopter landed on the street outside the small plant. A caravan of vehicles, detention vans, an EMS unit, and some unmarked black sedans surrounded the plant. Agents stormed in, scaring the hell out of everyone. Two women fainted on the spot and were rushed to a nearby hospital.
The affected workers were herded together in the break room, told to place hands behind heads, and not resist. Women were taken first, in groups, to the ladies’ room, where a male officer subjected them to invasive body scans. These so-called ‘scans’ included the officer feeling around inside their underwear and bras. The men were subjected to similar scans in the men’s room, but the exams were far less invasive or prurient than those performed on the women.
Mary Carmen shouted at her captors in broken English. “My children are in school! I must go to them, por favor!” She pleaded.
Her cries were ignored. She could only pray that neighbors and teachers would rise to the occasion and care for her kids, as previously arranged. She was devastated, borderline hysterical that her kids would end up in foster care or social services. If she and Miguel were deported, what fate was better for her kids, foster care in America or danger in Venezuela with their parents? What a horrible choice!
Miguel was equally distraught. He turned to his captor. “We are law-abiding people! We have a family! We go to work, pay our taxes, go to church on Sunday. We shop in your stores! We are kind to our neighbors and support our neighborhood school. Our kids are there now. Please, I beg you; let us go and care for our kids.”
Pandemonium erupted, and all detainees began speaking and pleading with their captors at the same time. Some tried to break free and were rewarded with a whack from a billy club.
In the end, agents arrested thirty people, every Latino in the place. Scary men dressed in riot gear led terrified workers away in handcuffs to face civil charges for being in the country without proper documentation or status. A special agent executing a criminal search warrant has the authority to detain all individuals at the enforcement site, including supervisors, for as long as they deem necessary. Not a single white supervisor was among those arrested or detained.
A couple of workers became ill or had medical conditions that resulted in their release. Later, those released workers confessed to guilt feelings and sleeplessness because they were released while others were subjected to terrible abuse and neglect. Others were released, without apology, when agents determined they were United States citizens with proper papers.
Mary Carmen, Miguel, and others were taken by van to what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. Handcuffs were removed, and the workers were shoved inside. Bottles of water were given to each detainee as they entered the empty warehouse. There was no furniture. Mary Carmen and Miguel walked to the back and sat down against the wall. Mary Carmen eyed her husband, buried her head into his chest, and sobbed.
***
News of the raid soon reached administrators at Raupp Elementary School in Lincoln Park. The principal and vice-principal had been made aware of the possibility that Miguel and Mary Carmen Gonzalez would be arrested. The couple pre-arranged accommodations and care with the parents of classmates, but school administrators had an obligation first to notify Social Services and persuade them to sign off.
Before notifying Emma and Emilio or their respective teachers, Principal Curley made a telephone call. Less than an hour later, he welcomed Dolores Martinez into his office. A social worker from the Downriver office of Immigration and Naturalization, Dolores was aware of the recent raids. Mr. Curley filled her in on the family situation and the fact that neighbors volunteered to pitch in. He implored her to consider alternatives to foster care.
Dolores was a kind, caring, and understanding woman. Her personality was one of the reasons she chose social work. She would do what she could but had to follow the law.
“We don’t know whether Emma’s and Emilio’s parents will be deported. They must be given due process. Perhaps they’ll be released with a tether, pending the outcome. I have more latitude when considering temporary rather than permanent placements. We’ll have a different conversation if the parents are deported,” she explained.
“Understood,” Curley retorted. “You can check out the family and home where the kids will stay. I’m sure you’ll find everything in order. Our families are not well off financially, but they live in stable, happy homes. This is a great place to live—the Gonzalez family is an important part of our neighborhood family.”
“Look, Mr. Curley, I will be blunt. I’m not a fan of these raids, separating families, or ripping babies out of the arms of parents. I’m not a fan of arresting otherwise law-abiding, hard-working adults. I’d like to see more compassion and pathways to citizenship. Having said that, I have to do my job.”
“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise, Ms. Martinez.”
“Call me Dolores.”
“And you can call me George.”
“George, these more aggressive enforcement activities by ICE are very troubling to those of us in social work. Citizen-children and undocumented parents live in constant fear, an unhealthy situation. The threat of family separation and economic hardship weighs heavily on the family unit, even its youngest members. While a young child may not completely understand the situation, he or she understands there is a serious problem.
“After an arrest like this, many children are forced to miss school. Some have to move away from the community; they may lose academic focus. In addition, separation anxiety often causes depression, self-doubt, and a deficit in love and attention usually present in the child’s life. My job is to minimize the potential for these types of problems. I applaud this family and the community’s effort to pre-arrange a stable environment for these kids. Let’s hope this is all very temporary.”
“Amen, Dolores. You have certainly made me feel better. Where do we go from here?”
“Do you have a private room and telephone I can use?”
“Right this way.” Curley rose and pointed to the door. Dolores exited in front of him, waited for him to lead the way, and followed him to an empty small conference room.
“Phone’s over there.” He pointed to a telephone on a small table toward the back of the room. “Let me know if you need anything.” He walked out, leaving Dolores alone to make her call.
A short time later, Dolores knocked on his open door. “I have some news.”
“I’m all ears,” Curley smiled and pointed to a seat in front of his desk. Dolores sat down.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gonzalez are being held on a detainer order.”
“What’s that?”
“Apparently, ICE has determined both of them are undocumented . . .” She hesitated.
“Go on . . .”
“Mr. and Mrs. Gonzalez and the others are being held by local law enforcement at a makeshift jail type facility in an abandoned warehouse. ICE has forty-eight hours to bring charges. If everyone follows protocol, and agents don’t charge them, they will be released.”
“What’s the likelihood of that?”
“It’s been known to happen. Besides, even if they are charged, ICE might release them with an ankle monitor after a brief court appearance.”
“That sounds good.”
“Well, not so fast. If the locals file criminal charges, then the Gonzalez’ would have to post a bond or stay locked up.”
“How much would they have to post? These are not wealthy people.”
“I don’t know. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. Do either of them have a criminal record?”
“No! They are fine people. People in their situation should be granted citizenship, not be locked up like criminals. Their kids are citizens, for crying out loud!”
“I understand. But that’s not my call.” She was defensive.
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“No problem. Anyway, we’ll know more after forty-eight hours. For now, I have approval for the children to stay with the neighbors you mentioned.”
“That’s terrific news—it will make this situation far less traumatic when I tell them about their parents.”
“They don’t know yet?”
“No. I wanted to resolve the placement situation first.”
“I guess that makes sense. Do you want me to break the news to them?”
“Can we do it together?”
“Certainly.”
“Do you have a lot of experience with this sort of thing?”
“This sort of thing, as you call it, doesn’t happen all that often, although these days, more than I’d like. Yes, I have experience, but not a lot.”
“This is going to be quite traumatic for these kids, isn’t it?”
“Again, this is all premature, but, yes, if detention or incarceration becomes a long-term situation, it could be quite traumatic. This could take days or months to resolve, in which case we would have to consider a more permanent placement. On the other hand, ICE has the authority to release detainees on humanitarian grounds. In fact, in these early stages, these grounds include detainees being sole caregivers for citizen children.”
“Wouldn’t that be great?”
“That’s short-term. Long-term, those considerations go out the window. We need to get this family a lawyer stat. If they are not released in that forty-eight-hour window, these folks could be deported. If that happens, they lose custodial rights to their kids. We can’t let that happen.”
“Can you recommend a lawyer?”
“Yes. He’s a terrific immigration lawyer, but he’s not cheap.”
“Well, I like the ‘terrific’ part. Maybe the community could chip in. What’s this guy’s name?”
“Marshall Mann. Are you familiar with Zachary Blake?”
“Sure, everyone’s heard of Zachary Blake and his recent string of high-profile courtroom successes.”
“Mann is Blake’s immigration guy. They work together. I just happen to have his card in here somewhere.” She fished around in her purse and came up with the business card.
“Would you mind calling him? Telling him the community will try to raise funds?”
“Sure, George. I’d be happy to. For now, though, let’s get this temporary placement situation resolved. We need to talk to the children and give them the bad news.”
“I’ll call their classrooms. Thanks for your kindness and compassion.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Emma and Emilio were called down to the principal’s office and given the news they had been dreading for years. They were terribly upset, but Dolores was impressed at their maturity. It seemed their parents prepared them for this moment. The children were pleased to hear they would be staying with classmates’ families in the neighborhood. They brightened when told their parents might be released after forty-eight hours. Dolores told the kids she would consult a lawyer on their behalf.
“Do you know what a lawyer is?”
“Someone who represents you in court?” Emma guessed.
“Yes, but it is more than that, sweetheart. A lawyer can help someone with an immigration problem even before it gets to court. That’s what we’re going to try to do here. Understand?”
“I . . . think so,” Emma stammered. She glanced at Emilio, who looked confused and terrified at the same time. She took his hand in hers and smiled.
Quite the little lady, Dolores smiled. “I’m going to call the lawyer right now, so you guys can hear the conversation. Would you like that? I’m not sure he’s in his office, but we can try, okay?”
“Okay,” Emma brightened.
“Here goes.” Dolores dialed Mann’s number on a speakerphone. The speaker rang three times and clicked. A voice sounded through the speaker box.
“Law Offices of Zachary Blake, Kristin speaking. How may I direct your call?”
“Marshall Mann, please?”
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“This is Dolores Martinez. I may have a new case for him.”
“I’ll see if he’s in. Hold, please.” Music on hold came through the speaker until the phone clicked, and the music was interrupted by a man’s voice.
“Dolores! It’s so nice to hear from you. How the hell are you?” Mann chirped.
Dolores chuckled. “Marshall, sorry to bother you, I’m sitting here with a school principal and two elementary students.”
“Oops. Sorry for the salty language. Do I get detention?”
Curley and the kids laughed. “No detention, this time, Mr. Mann. Next time you will have to write ‘I will not use salty language’ ten times on a piece of paper,” Curley joked.
“That guy sounds like a principal. Kids? Is this guy a nice principal or a mean one?”
Emma and Emilio giggled. “He’s a nice principal,” Emma replied, staring at the speaker box.
“What’s your name, young lady?” Marshall’s voice wondered.
“Emma. And this is my brother, Emilio.” She looked over at her brother as if Mann could see them.
“Nice to meet both of you. How may I help you guys today?”
Dolores took over the conversation and filled Marshall in on everything that transpired. Marshall was happy she called—he’d been itching for a fight with ICE and the administration over the crackdown and new protocols. When Dolores finished her story, she paused, and she, Principal Curley, and the Gonzalez children awaited Marshall’s response.
“I promised the principal I wouldn’t use salty language, so, what a bunch of creeps! There are far better ways to handle these things than raiding plants, separating kids from parents, and arresting otherwise innocent folks. The parents don’t have a record of any kind, do they, Dolores?”
“No, Marshall, I’m assured they do not.”
“Good. Well, folks, I’m glad we have temporary shelter. The first forty-eight hours are crucial—I’m sure Dolores told you that.”
“She did,” Curley noted.
“I don’t think the kids will understand this, but, at this point, their parents have three options: They can apply for asylum, withholding of removal, or United Nations convention relief from cruelty or inhuman punishment or treatment. Second, they can ask to see a judge and try to get him or her to stop the deportation on humanitarian grounds. Third, they can choose to leave the country voluntarily, without being forced to. If they choose that option, they will be permitted to gather their belongings, reunite with their family, and everyone could go back to their original country.”
“But this is our home, Mr. Mann,” Emma cried. “Emilio and I have never been to Venezuela.”
“These kids are United States citizens, Marshall,” Dolores reminded him.
“So, option three is out?”
“Conditions in Venezuela are not good, especially for those who chose to leave. Yes, option three is out.”
“Then we’ll see what we can do with options one and two.”
“Marshall, there is another problem,” Dolores warned.
“What’s that?”
“These are poor people. They can’t pay you . . .” Dolores began.
“We’re going to have a fundraiser for your fees, Mr. Mann,” Curley interrupted.
“Go ahead and have your fundraiser, Mr. Principal. What’s your name, again?”
“Curley, sir. George Curley.”
The kids giggled. George?
“Go ahead and have your fundraiser for this family. They are going to have financial issues because they won’t be working for a while. I’ll show up and contribute, and so will my famous partner, Zack Blake. As for the fees, they are pro bono in this situation.”
“Pro bono?” Curley inquired.
“Free of charge. I have been looking for a cause celeb to take on ICE and this administration’s draconian policies. I would pay you to handle this case. Look at all the free publicity I’m going to get!”
“That’s wonderful, Mr. Mann! What a nice gesture! Did you hear that, kids?” Curley’s excitement was contagious, but the kids didn’t understand.
“Thank you?” Emma managed, not appreciating what she was thanking the speaker for.
“Why are you thanking me?” Marshall quipped.
“I . . . I’m . . . not sure,” Emma stuttered.
“I’m going to take care of this for you. If everything goes the way I hope, you will see your parents soon. How does that sound?”
“Terrific!” Emma cried.
“Cool!” Emilio added with a smile.
“Cool, man,” Marshall cooed into the speaker. “High-five!”
“Huh?” Emilio was confused. How do I high-five a voice?
“Hit the speaker, young man!” A loud noise came out of the speaker as Marshall Mann high-fived Emilio. Emilio hit the speaker.
“Okay! We have a deal on a high-five handshake,” Marshall exclaimed. “It was nice talking to all of you. I need you to take me off speaker so I can talk to Dolores and get the details.”
Curley pushed a button, handed the receiver to Dolores, and left the room with the children. He walked them back to class.
“Will Mama and Papa be okay, Mr. Curley?” Emma wondered.
Curley did not want to convey false hope. He believed kids were entitled to the truth with no sugar-coating. “We have a fight on our hands, Emma, but Mr. Mann seems to be a good guy. He sure knows what he’s doing, don’t you think? Hopefully, everything will be fine.”
“I hope so.”
“So do I, honey. So do I.”
