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“As you exit the plane, you will follow Sergeant Matthews.”
An ICE operative was unloading thirty scared, hungry, filthy children from a government plane. This was a first-time plane ride for almost all of the children, and they were relieved to land safely at what looked to be a small military airbase. A large yellow bus sat running alongside the plane.
Many of the children were screaming and shouting for their parents. The operatives and soldiers did not understand Spanish and were oblivious to their cries. They were unloading the kids regardless of the commotion they made.
Emilio and Emma hung close to one another, holding hands. Emma was determined to resist any attempt to separate her from her brother. Emilio was so young—they had taken him from his parents. Would they now take him from his sister?
Fortunately, as they descended the plane, they were permitted to stay together, holding hands, comforting one another. The siblings followed the guy named Matthews, who pointed to a line-up of kids standing in front of the unmarked yellow bus, the size and shape of a school bus. When the plane was finally empty and all kids stood whimpering in line, Matthews ordered them to march onto the bus and find a seat, loading from back to front.
The kids now understood the routine. One of the men would shout out orders and the kids were required to obey. They climbed up the bus steps and found seats without incident. Matthews waited at the door, a grim look on his face, making sure everyone got on the bus, motioning kids forward with a wave of his arm. When all were on board, the bus took off. Emilio jerked forward and almost fell to the floor. His face scrunched up, the beginnings of a cry, but Emma grabbed him, pulled him back in his seat, and put her finger to her lips.
“Don’t cry, Emilio. I’ve got you. I won’t let them hurt you,” she comforted. Emilio took a deep breath in and calmed. He put his finger to his lips, imitating his sister.
Thirty minutes later, they arrived at their destination—another abandoned warehouse that might have been a Costco or Sam’s Club. Three female attendants exited the building and walked up to the bus. They lined up parallel with the bus, hands folded in front of them. Matthews stood at the door and hand-gestured the kids off the bus, much the same way he ushered them on.
As they exited, the kids were again told to line up. They did as they were ordered, making a long ‘T’ top, standing in front of the three attendants. Matthews walked up and down the line and stood eye-to-eye with each child.
“Do all of you speak English?” He demanded. “Raise your hand.”
Thirty hands shot up into the air. These kids were not captured at the border and separated from their parents. Whether or not their parents were citizens, these children were born and raised in America. They were American citizens, a fact lost on Matthews and his subordinates.
“Good. Bueno. I am sure the diplomats are working on reuniting you with your parents as soon as possible.” The kids looked back and forth at each other. What’s a diplomat?
Matthews continued. “This is a military operation and military rules will apply. Los militares, comprendo?”
The children nodded their heads. Emma wondered why he repeated things in Spanish when all thirty children indicated they spoke English.
“We will tolerate no misbehavior of any kind. There are beds inside. A chair sits next to each bed. There will be no sitting on the floor, comprendo?”
The children remained silent.
“You will receive food and water three times per day. Do not share food or water with others. We have all of your names. You are to call each other your given names. No codes or nicknames.”
Emma grunted. What?
“Is there a problem?”
Emma realized Matthews was addressing her.
“No, no problem,” she replied to the floor.
“Lights out at 9:00 PM—no noise will be tolerated after lights out. If you need to use the bathroom, turn on your bedside nightlight and someone will assist you. Do not get out of bed until dawn and lights on. You rise at dawn. Make up your beds in accordance with step-by-step instructions you will find posted on a nearby wall. After that, you will wash and mop the bathroom, scrub the sinks and toilets. Cleanliness is next to godliness in this facility, comprendo?”
Everyone shook their head.
“On the way over here, we permitted you to hold hands or put arms around each other—no more of that. Touching is a no-no and will not be tolerated. Do not touch another child, even if that child is your brother or sister or has fallen or is hurt.”
Emma and Emilio glanced at each other. Everyone needed a reassuring hug now and then, especially in these austere, almost bucolic surroundings and circumstances.
“You will all go to school together, every day, no exceptions. You will learn about America, her history, her laws, and what makes this the greatest country in the world.
“You will finish all your classwork and homework and do all your chores. If you’ve behaved, you might be granted free time or recess. Does everyone know what recess is?”
“Yes, sir,” the children responded in unison.
Emma already decided that she would use her free time to write letters to her parents. When will I see you again? She wanted them to know how much she missed them and how she longed to be with them. How could this happen in America?
Her worst nightmare, one she could never share with Emilio, was that they might never see their parents again. She decided to maintain hope, write, and hide her letters after she finished chores and homework. She didn’t know whether letters were permitted and did not wish to run afoul of the rules. There was no mail delivery service at the camp. Someday, somehow, when it was safe, she’d get them to her parents. She had already written and hid one letter to her mother. She knew their address—all she needed was a postage stamp.
Dear Mommy: I hope you and Daddy are okay. I miss you so much. Where are you? Where are we? Why did they take us away? Do you know? Please find us and take us home. I love you, your daughter, Emma.
Mary Carmen Gonzalez prepared her daughter for this moment. Emma promised her mother she would obey orders, be brave, and always take care of her little brother. She proudly reflected upon the fact that she followed every single one of her mother’s commands. When they first put her and Emilio on the airplane, Emma believed they were taking her to meet her parents. Instead, the children ended up in this place. Her biggest job in this place was to act as a role model to her brother.
Matthews completed his speech, and the assistants escorted the children to their assigned beds. Emma was pleased and mildly surprised when they brought Emilio to the bed opposite hers. She was concerned that boys and girls might be separated. A large plastic bag sat on each bed. They contained what the children would soon refer to as their uniforms. Each bag contained two unisex shirts, shorts, a sweatsuit, and three pairs of underwear. Each child was also issued a comb, plastic cup, toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, and bar of soap.
After a traumatic first night, the days became remarkably similar. As they settled into a routine, the kids began to realize that they would not be reunited with their parents any time soon. Most became friends. They went to class and played sports together. The camp had a ‘buddy’ system of sorts—the older children could earn ‘big brother’ or ‘big sister’ status by setting a good example for the little ones. Excellent behavior and a positive example would earn points and a chance for free play.
However, the children were still forbidden to touch each other. They woke at dawn every morning to staff members banging on metal objects until every child was out of bed. They were required to scrub bathrooms, remove trash bags full of dirty toilet paper, and clean toilets. Every child, regardless of age, took turns doing these chores.
They ate together. Meals consisted of rice and beans, processed deli ‘beef,’ vegetables, or pizza (if the children were good). On very special occasions, they might earn ice cream or cake.
When a child was naughty, he or she might have to perform extra chores or be denied dessert. If a kid exhibited chronic misbehavior, he or she had to visit the doctor for a shot. Emma would later say these shots caused kids to fall asleep in the middle of class. These shots were reserved for children who threw tantrums, hurt other children, or broke things.
The most common emotions were fear and hope. The children feared punishment and hoped to be reunited with their families. Wherever they were, they knew this was not Michigan. In this place, it was always hot outside. Emma continued to wonder where they were but was too afraid to ask. Attendants assured the children that these conditions were temporary. People called lawyers were working to reunite them with their parents. Emma remained positive and optimistic.
Birthdays were causes for celebration in the camp. The children would be told it was someone’s birthday. They knew this meant cake and ice cream. Everyone gathered around and sang Happy Birthday to the birthday boy or girl. The birthday child was excused from chores for the day and got to enjoy a day of leisure and an extra helping of cake and ice cream.
The most promising events occurred when someone was permitted to leave to be reunited with his or her parents. These events gave everyone hope. Children would make going away presents for the lucky traveler. They were forbidden to kiss or hug the person goodbye.
The children were sometimes permitted to be just that, children. The building was spacious and sounds reverberated and echoed throughout. Kids would make animal or farting noises, giggle, and point to each other as the guilty party. Everyone, including the attendants, would begin to laugh. Some would try to ‘solve the crime’ by guessing who the guilty party was. With fake (or real) fart sounds, the children usually decided that ‘he who smelt it dealt it.’ In other words, the first person to point out a perpetrator was usually the guilty party. When the guilty party was identified, everyone would crack up. Bedtime and lights out were promptly at nine in the evening. As things quieted and children began to drift off to sleep, some mischievous child would let out a howl, moo, or another fart sound and the revelry would begin again.
***
Twenty days passed since Mary Carmen and Miguel Gonzalez returned home to a call from Principal Curley that ICE agents stormed the elementary school and took their precious Emma and Emilio. Mr. Blake and Mr. Mann tried to find out what happened to them, but no one seemed to know where they were. A private investigator named ‘Love’ was trying to find out who authorized the raid, who carried it out, and where these people might have taken the children. So far, no one could provide the couple with any positive news. It was as if Emma and Emilio vanished into thin air. Twenty days after their imprisonment and separation, there was still no news of their children. Their kids were gone, and they were devastated.
Miguel and Mary Carmen prayed every day that their children were safe, healthy, and would soon be returned to them. They trusted Marshall Mann and knew he was working hard on their behalf. But where were the children? Every day they were apart felt like a month.
Marshall would also have to deal with Miguel and Mary Carmen’s status. They were undocumented; their children were not. Even if, by some miracle, the family was reunited, they might easily be separated again. One thing was certain—no matter what a judge decided, the Gonzalez couple would not expose their American children to the oppressive conditions in Venezuela, even if doing so meant not being together.
The most traumatic aspect of the ordeal, aside from the initial arrest and separation, was the waiting. They tried to be strong for each other, continue working, and stay busy; anything to take their minds off their kids. But the days passed slowly, drip, drip, drip, like water torture.
People would visit, offer kind words of hope, and bring meals. Every Sunday, they attended church service, where the pastor and the congregation prayed and offered words of encouragement. One day, to the couple’s great surprise, they were presented with a check for over two thousand dollars. The congregation hosted a fundraiser to help pay attorney fees. Someone created a ‘GoFundMe’ page and raised three thousand dollars more.
The couple had much to be thankful for. They escaped oppression in Venezuela and enjoyed a good life in America. They had good friends, great neighbors, good jobs, and wonderful kids. Wonderful kids . . . the inescapable obsession that always brought their world to a grinding halt—where were their children?
The telephone rang in their modest Lincoln Park home. Mary Carmen answered.
“Hello?”
“Mary Carmen? This is Amy Fletcher. I work with Marshall Mann. We finally have some news. Judge Lieberman has scheduled your case for court.”
“Thank you for calling, Miss Fletcher. Is this important? Does the judge know where the children are?”
“Call me Amy, please. The short answer is no. The judge does not know. But I’m hopeful she can order those responsible for their disappearance to produce names and ranks of the people who took them, records of the operation, and where they might have been taken. There is a lot of red tape to unravel, after all. We are dealing with the federal government, but I am hopeful. This is a positive first step.”
Mary Carmen smiled. These lawyers are godsends. “Thank you, so much, Amy. We appreciate everything you are doing. We will see our children soon?”
“I honestly don’t know, Mary Carmen. This is a case of first impression. Until Ronald John became president, our government has never been this aggressive. They have never deliberately separated families or conducted raids like the ones at the plant and the school. With a court order, ICE, HHS, and Homeland will have to provide information.”
“Keep us posted, por favor?”
“I will. Hang in there. I speak for Marshall, Zack, and everyone at our firm when I say, we will not rest until we locate your children.”
“Thank you, Amy. God bless you.”
Mary Carmen Gonzalez hung up their living room telephone, turned to her husband, and told him the news. The couple looked into each other’s eyes, embraced, and nodded. They walked arm in arm to a small desk in the corner of the room. A bible sat on the desk. A crucifix hung on the wall, directly above. Miguel and Mary Carmen got down on their knees in front of the desk, made signs of the cross, bowed their heads, and began to pray.
On the other side of the call, Amy Fletcher reflected on her conversation with Mary Carmen Gonzalez. Amy graduated, Phi Beta Kappa, from the University of Michigan, majoring in International Relations and World Politics. She was fluent in Arabic, French, and Spanish. While most students were partying or dating, Amy was studying. She was an attractive woman and could have had her choice of men on campus. But she wasn’t interested in men—her career was what mattered.
She completed her four-year undergraduate program in only three years and was accepted to Michigan’s law school before she graduated. She excelled at the graduate level, achieving valedictorian status upon graduation, and was recruited by the finest law firms in the country. Her proud family, faculty advisors, and counselors expected her to choose one of these silk-stocking law firms. She surprised everyone by choosing the Blake firm.
Amy Fletcher was proud of her accomplishments, proud of the fact that she achieved her life-long dream of becoming a lawyer. She was honored to receive such generous and prestigious offers. The law was a calling for her, but her passion was helping people. She could never settle on a career that made wealthy corporations wealthier. She couldn’t represent insurance companies or corporate interests that put profits over people. She applied with Zachary Blake’s firm in Bloomfield Hills. Blake did not typically recruit the best of the best. He preferred to train exceptional people, his way, and make them the best. He preferred to mold new lawyers in his own image.
Zack Blake knew that Amy Fletcher was an exceptional young woman, exhibiting qualities Zack seldom observed in new applicants or even in seasoned attorneys. He recognized Amy’s innate desire to make a difference in people’s lives, one client at a time. He knew she would make a terrific trial lawyer, dominating a legal specialty once populated exclusively by white men. Zack liked trail-blazing and saw an opportunity to mentor a talented female trial lawyer. The male dominated defense bar wouldn’t know what hit them.
But there was an opening in Marshall Mann’s new immigration division. Immigration was a new area of the law for the Blake firm. From the minute Zack added Marshall and established the division, it became a huge success. The government’s unconscionable treatment of immigrants became a rallying cry for the left, and lawyers and politicians did not hesitate to refer business from all over the Midwest. Amy’s undergraduate degree was well-suited to an international practice, and she spoke several languages. Both aspects made her a perfect fit for Marshall’s division.
Zack gave Amy a choice—work with him in the trial division or work with Marshall in the immigration division. Amy replied with two questions. They weren’t the questions Zack expected; they made him realize, instantly, that his recruitment of Amy Fletcher was a wise decision. Zack assumed she would ask which division paid the most money. But Amy Fletcher asked: “Where can I help the most people and what people need the most help?”
Her questions sent chills down Zack’s spine. He knew, at that moment, that he could not let Amy Fletcher walk out the door without accepting an offer from Zachary Blake. He told her that immigration was the hottest legal issue in America, that the division was new and exciting, and was the firm’s biggest growth specialty. Furthermore, immigration was the clear answer to her questions. She could help the most people, as well as those who needed the most help. It was a match made in heaven. The only issue was that immigration was Marshall Mann’s division and Marshall had full autonomy to hire and fire his own legal staff.
Zack arranged a meeting between the two lawyers and Marshall immediately saw in Amy everything Zack promised, an accomplished law school graduate with tremendous legal acumen, a head for business, and the compassion and kindness of the finest underpaid social worker. Marshall had no doubt Amy would, one day, head the division.
Amy happily accepted Marshall’s offer. Once on board, she achieved instant success, becoming Marshall’s second in command in less than two years. Less than two years out of law school, Amy Fletcher was an accomplished immigration specialist, uniquely qualified to assist Marshall in all phases of the Gonzalez case.
Gonzalez was a dream come true. This family desperately needed quality representation. How does the United States government rip children from the arms of their parents, place them in detention centers, and lose them? Worse, these kids are American citizens! Not on my watch. No way. No how. She meant what she said to Mary Carmen Gonzalez: She would not rest until the Gonzalez family was reunited.
***
As Parsons Security, the Dearborn law enforcement officers, and Zachary Blake prepared to leave for Syria, Marshall Mann, Amy Fletcher, and Micah Love sat in an Immigration Courtroom in the McNamara Federal Building in Downtown Detroit. Micah was not happy to be excluded from the Syrian operation, but he understood the importance of this case.
The case was part of a legal cattle call of lawyers and clients awaiting the arrival of Judge Marsha Lieberman. All cases on the docket were scheduled for 9:00 AM sharp and all those with business before the court were required to be present at that time. Unless yours was the first case called, it might be heard at any time after nine and until the court adjourned for the day—hence, the well-known reference in the legal business, ‘hurry up and wait’.
The good news, if one could call it that, was that cases involving lawyers were called first. Some lawyers have matters in multiple courtrooms on the same day at the same time. But Lieberman’s docket was clogged with cases involving lawyers, so this was hardly an advantage. Judge Lieberman took the bench at 9:20 AM and the mundane business of the court began.
Most of the oral arguments were routine, taking five minutes or less. The number of cases and people in the courtroom began to dwindle. Government lawyers sat at a table to Marshall and Amy’s left, and attorneys took turns handling the government side of the various cases.
Micah was fidgety. He was happy he didn’t do this for a living. He was a man of action—how do lawyers like Amy and Marsh put up with this bull? There must be a better way. What a waste of time!
In the Matter of Mary Carmen and Miguel Gonzalez was finally called at 10:45 AM. Amy rose and approached the counsel table to the right of the government lawyers.
“Appearances of counsel for the record?” Judge Lieberman commanded.
“Amy Fletcher and Marshall Mann, for the petitioner, Your Honor.”
“Which of you will argue the case, Ms. Fletcher?”
“I will,” Amy replied, turning to Marshall, who nodded his assent.
“And for the government?” Judge Lieberman requested.
“Daniel Dickson, Your Honor.”
“Ms. Fletcher? This is your rodeo. What seems to be the problem?” Judge Lieberman smiled. Fletcher knew Lieberman well and was pleased with the draw. She’s going to be quite pissed!
“May it please the court—this case can only be described as government-sponsored child abduction. Miguel and Mary Carmen Gonzalez are aliens. They seek asylum in this country. While there are conflicting points of view regarding their immigration status, I would argue their status is totally irrelevant to these proceedings. The subjects of these proceedings are their children. Emma and Emilio Gonzalez were born in this country and are citizens of the United States.
“In an act of unbelievable callousness, while Mary Carmen and Miguel were being released from a detention center in Riverview, ICE agents raided an elementary school. Agents demanded that school officials produce Emma and Emilio. When officials complied, agents seized the children and took them to an unknown location.
“This occurred almost a month ago, Your Honor. As we stand before you today, thousands of children are in the exact same boat as Emma and Emilio. Parents are trying to find their children, children are trying to find their parents, and the government claims they don’t know where these kids were taken. We have been in contact with multiple detention facilities in Southeastern Lower Michigan. The Gonzalez children are not interred at any of them. Micah Love, a private investigator from Love Investigations, is present today. Mr. Love is prepared to testify that he has scoured Michigan looking for the children and they are not here. The question of the day is: Where are Emma and Emilio Gonzalez?
“It is almost one month after their illegal abduction. This is the correct and only term for the government’s behavior, Your Honor. We cannot locate these kids in any ICE detention center. Furthermore, according to my conversations with HHS and Homeland officials, there is no process for reuniting these families. No one at ICE or HHS has a location, phone number, file, records, or anything to help us locate the shelter that houses these kids.
“Zero-tolerance may be a great political sound bite for the John and Golding administrations. But their immigration policies have major legal and constitutional issues. The federal government was woefully unprepared for these actions. There are inadequate tracking systems and substandard facilities to handle the flow. This is America! We are now the country that abducts and places children in cages. What kind of nation does that? What have we become?
“Our petition seeks all records relating to this operation, including the names of the decision-makers and soldiers who carried out their orders, a list of every child detention facility in the United States, and any records that would permit us to track these specific children to their current location. Thank you, Your Honor.” Amy glanced at Marshall, who flashed thumbs up and a smile.
“Mr. Dickson, Ms. Fletcher’s request seems compelling and reasonable to me,” Judge Lieberman began. “What exactly is going on out there? Are ICE agents abducting children, American citizens, no less, and placing them in cages in parts unknown?”
“Your Honor, in the past several months, undocumented immigration at the southern border has exceeded 50,000 people each month. Furthermore, there has been an almost 500% increase in family units entering the country without proper documentation or status.
“As long as undocumented entry into the United States remains a criminal offense, ICE and HHS can no longer look the other way. We are a nation of immigrants who entered this country legally and paid the price to do so. A just nation must also have a system of laws and law enforcement. We must enforce the law. It is unfair to all law-abiding citizens to look the other way in these cases.”
Amy Fletcher exploded in rebuttal, her voice echoing in the courtroom, almost beyond the scope of appropriate courtroom demeanor, surprising even her mentor, Marshall Mann, who turned and suppressed a grin.
“Undocumented entry is a crime, Your Honor, but it is a low-level offense, rarely enforced against asylum seekers, especially families. At least, that was true before the John administration’s so-called zero-tolerance policy. When the administration decides to suddenly make undocumented entry a serious offense, officials have a duty to create an infrastructure to track people in the system and not arrest and illegally incarcerate American citizens.
“This administration has decided that hurting families and children is a viable method of achieving its general immigration policy goals. The government’s policies and actions related to these family separations are an enforcement tool. This should shock the conscience of anyone involved in constitutional law or law enforcement. The scale of harm to these families is grossly disproportionate to the government’s stated policy aims. This is an unconstitutional abomination, Your Honor!” Amy pounded the table.
“These histrionics are . . .” Dickson began to respond.
“I’ve heard enough, Mr. Dickson,” Judge Lieberman interrupted. “I have been on the federal bench for many years. Most attorneys consider me to be a tough but fair judge. I enforce the law and require citizens and aliens to adhere to our system of justice. These draconian policies and their enforcement against American children are a bridge too far. I hereby declare and rule these so-called family separations unconstitutional. I order you to locate all records related to these abductions and turn them over to Ms. Fletcher, Mr. Mann, and their firm forthwith. The family separation program shall be immediately terminated. I order all families separated under this policy reunited, forthwith. Aggrieved parties may petition this court for damages. I will consider separation compensation at an appropriate future date. Have I made myself clear, Mr. Dickson?”
“But Your Honor . . .”
“Have I made myself clear, Mr. Dickson?” Judge Lieberman snarled.
“Yes, Your Honor.” Dickson conceded.
“Wonderful!” The judge smiled. “Ms. Fletcher, I’ll sign an order.”
“We just happen to have one handy, Your Honor.” Marshall Mann spoke for the first time, stood, and handed a document to Amy who, in turn, handed it to Dickson. Dickson shrugged and assented with a head nod. Amy approached the bench and handed the document to the judge. She signed and handed the document to the court clerk who entered it and handed copies back to Amy.
The Law Offices of Zachary Blake now had the full legal authority to locate and facilitate the return of Emma and Emilio Gonzalez. The firm would now have to interview hundreds of agents and engage in a mad scramble to obtain and review hundreds of thousands of records. Would they be able to determine who went where and who went with whom? Worse, Marshall and Amy discovered that agents had accidentally deleted identification numbers from the system that could have been used to locate the children. Only in America, Amy sighed—only in Ronald John’s America.
