Honduran migrants in Iowa show the folly of Trump's border wall
Rekha Basu: Instead of shutting down the government to build a wall, instead, build comprehensive immigration reform
Some 400,000 federal employees are compelled to work during the government shutdown but going unpaid, potentially in violation of labor law.
Add into that number, those sent home unpaid and it's close to a million.
Everything from food inspections to cleanup of a lead-contaminated Chicago public housing project is on hold; the national parks closures have even jumbled an Iowa couple's wedding.
This is all because of Donald Trump’s insistence that Congress approve billions of dollars in taxpayer funding for a border wall with Mexico that he alone cooked up, and promised Mexico would pay for. The so-called border "security" plan is more about politics than security, and hurts people in wide-ranging ways on both sides of the border.
Not only would building it, now estimated at $18 billion, cost money far better spent on improving America's infrastructure and giving kids a chance at a college education. It would rob countless people from south of the border of a chance to make their case for lawful admission. And it would rob numerous employers, including in Iowa’s agricultural sector, of workers they depend on.
The vast majority of border-crossers aren’t jeopardizing anyone's security. Many are fleeing threats to their own lives and their children's. Consider the plight of Jackie Torres-Toro, now living in the Iowa City Catholic Worker House with her son, Isaac Lopez Torres. Beginning Oct. 16, they spent 34 days walking from Honduras to the Tijuana-California border as part of the Migrant Caravan, and then another month sleeping on sometimes rain-soaked streets of Tijuana.
Gang threats on the family forced them to leave her hometown of La Lopez Areyano, Torres-Toro said during a recent Facetime interview through an interpreter.
Everything from food inspections to cleanup of a lead-contaminated Chicago public housing project is on hold; the national parks closures have even jumbled an Iowa couple's wedding.
This is all because of Donald Trump’s insistence that Congress approve billions of dollars in taxpayer funding for a border wall with Mexico that he alone cooked up, and promised Mexico would pay for. The so-called border "security" plan is more about politics than security, and hurts people in wide-ranging ways on both sides of the border.
Not only would building it, now estimated at $18 billion, cost money far better spent on improving America's infrastructure and giving kids a chance at a college education. It would rob countless people from south of the border of a chance to make their case for lawful admission. And it would rob numerous employers, including in Iowa’s agricultural sector, of workers they depend on.
The vast majority of border-crossers aren’t jeopardizing anyone's security. Many are fleeing threats to their own lives and their children's. Consider the plight of Jackie Torres-Toro, now living in the Iowa City Catholic Worker House with her son, Isaac Lopez Torres. Beginning Oct. 16, they spent 34 days walking from Honduras to the Tijuana-California border as part of the Migrant Caravan, and then another month sleeping on sometimes rain-soaked streets of Tijuana.
Gang threats on the family forced them to leave her hometown of La Lopez Areyano, Torres-Toro said during a recent Facetime interview through an interpreter.
Those began after her two brothers, who worked for the city bus system, became the targets of extortion attempts. “Her entire family is being extorted by criminal gangs in Honduras,” according to David Goodner of the Catholic Worker House. “They threatened to kill her whole family. When Jackie left, they told her they would kill her if she ever came back.”
She had lost her husband to a random street robbery and shooting eight years ago when he was 28 and she was 20, and he was riding his bicycle home from his factory job, she said. But it wasn't until this recent episode that she feared for her family's safety because the criminals knew them and the clothing factory where she worked.
Unaware of the Migrant Caravan, she set out with her sister and 10-year-old son, Isaac. At the Mexico-Guatemala border, her sister was caught by authorities and deported. The Trump administration had pressured Mexico to disperse the caravan before it reached the U.S. border. But in Mexico's eastern city of Reynosa, Torres-Toro says a priest arranged buses to safely transport migrants to Aguascalientes in the country's center, where they resumed the journey by foot.
Isaac suffers from a seizure disorder and is paralyzed on one side. When he had trouble walking on blistered feet, someone would carry him. Sometimes local police would help.
They stayed in Tijuana a month before climbing a fence into the U.S., where they were caught and sent to an immigration detention center. Goodner said in the five days they were there, Jackie got no food or water and Isaac was fed a burrito and a glass of water each day. They were then relocated to a shelter, Torres in an ankle bracelet to monitor her movement.
The Catholic Worker community got involved after a friend saw them living on the streets and contacted the Iowa City group to help them. Torres-Toro was given Emily Sinnwell’s number there (Sinnwell translated for us) and agreed to house and sponsor them for asylum. Because they lacked identification, they couldn’t travel by air, so a friend of Sinnwell’s put them on a bus to Iowa City. They arrived Christmas day.
Honduran migrants from caravan arrive in Iowa City
Though they're allowed to be here until the asylum application is processed, Torres-Toro is technically in deportation proceedings. That's unless she can prove she has a credible fear of persecution in Honduras. Since 1996, people who could establish such a fear in their homelands based on race, religion, nationality, political opinion, or membership in a social group have been eligible for asylum, but that has gotten harder under Trump, as Sinnwell notes. Trump contends being targeted by gangs doesn’t count. He also tried to block anyone who entered the country unlawfully from being considered for asylum, though that was struck down in court.
While she waits, Torres-Toro helps serve meals to poor people and does other chores at the house, wearing an ankle bracelet. “She’s a wonderful person, and Isaac is a lovely young boy to have around,” Sinnwell said. Like so many others fleeing violent homelands, they are no threat to anyone, and could be assets to our communities.
That's clear enough to a national non-profit organization of law-enforcement professionals called the Law Enforcement Action Partnership that it has taken a stand to resist federal immigration enforcement against undocumented immigrants. They say that would make communities less safe. "When immigrants fear deportation, they don't talk to police — even to report serious crimes against themselves or their families," said spokesperson Mikayla Hellwich, who said Iowa members are especially outspoken on that point. "Dangerous people go free, and everyone no matter their citizenship status, is at risk."
Instead of closing government over some pie-in-the- sky wall, the president should listen to them, and to people like Jackie Torres-Toro, and work toward long-term, comprehensive immigration reform.
Contact: rbasu@dmreg.com
She had lost her husband to a random street robbery and shooting eight years ago when he was 28 and she was 20, and he was riding his bicycle home from his factory job, she said. But it wasn't until this recent episode that she feared for her family's safety because the criminals knew them and the clothing factory where she worked.
Unaware of the Migrant Caravan, she set out with her sister and 10-year-old son, Isaac. At the Mexico-Guatemala border, her sister was caught by authorities and deported. The Trump administration had pressured Mexico to disperse the caravan before it reached the U.S. border. But in Mexico's eastern city of Reynosa, Torres-Toro says a priest arranged buses to safely transport migrants to Aguascalientes in the country's center, where they resumed the journey by foot.
Isaac suffers from a seizure disorder and is paralyzed on one side. When he had trouble walking on blistered feet, someone would carry him. Sometimes local police would help.
They stayed in Tijuana a month before climbing a fence into the U.S., where they were caught and sent to an immigration detention center. Goodner said in the five days they were there, Jackie got no food or water and Isaac was fed a burrito and a glass of water each day. They were then relocated to a shelter, Torres in an ankle bracelet to monitor her movement.
The Catholic Worker community got involved after a friend saw them living on the streets and contacted the Iowa City group to help them. Torres-Toro was given Emily Sinnwell’s number there (Sinnwell translated for us) and agreed to house and sponsor them for asylum. Because they lacked identification, they couldn’t travel by air, so a friend of Sinnwell’s put them on a bus to Iowa City. They arrived Christmas day.
Honduran migrants from caravan arrive in Iowa City
Though they're allowed to be here until the asylum application is processed, Torres-Toro is technically in deportation proceedings. That's unless she can prove she has a credible fear of persecution in Honduras. Since 1996, people who could establish such a fear in their homelands based on race, religion, nationality, political opinion, or membership in a social group have been eligible for asylum, but that has gotten harder under Trump, as Sinnwell notes. Trump contends being targeted by gangs doesn’t count. He also tried to block anyone who entered the country unlawfully from being considered for asylum, though that was struck down in court.
While she waits, Torres-Toro helps serve meals to poor people and does other chores at the house, wearing an ankle bracelet. “She’s a wonderful person, and Isaac is a lovely young boy to have around,” Sinnwell said. Like so many others fleeing violent homelands, they are no threat to anyone, and could be assets to our communities.
That's clear enough to a national non-profit organization of law-enforcement professionals called the Law Enforcement Action Partnership that it has taken a stand to resist federal immigration enforcement against undocumented immigrants. They say that would make communities less safe. "When immigrants fear deportation, they don't talk to police — even to report serious crimes against themselves or their families," said spokesperson Mikayla Hellwich, who said Iowa members are especially outspoken on that point. "Dangerous people go free, and everyone no matter their citizenship status, is at risk."
Instead of closing government over some pie-in-the- sky wall, the president should listen to them, and to people like Jackie Torres-Toro, and work toward long-term, comprehensive immigration reform.
Contact: rbasu@dmreg.com
Labels: Des Moines Register, Rekha Basu
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