Unsolicited Testimony

Since the fatal shooting in my neighborhood by an ICE agent, I’ve been spending a lot of time reflecting on what it means to be human.

I realize that probably sounds existential. Maybe it is. I don’t know.

The comments on social media are awful. “But he was illegal!” “Why didn’t he come the right way?!” And I just scratch my head.

He was a husband. A father. A co-worker. A cousin. A friend. He was a Houstonian.

What happened to human dignity? What happened to seeing a husband and a father instead of someone who didn’t have the right papers?

I see headlines, “Mexican man shot…” and I want to correct them. A Houstonian, a father, a husband was shot.

I know it’s easy to say someone should just apply for citizenship and think, voilà, there it is. But that simply isn’t how it works. That’s a whole other post.

I’ve been thinking about the shooting especially this week, as we brought in our district attorney to answer questions about the case. I looked out at my neighbors and friends in the audience as I moderated the meeting. Some of them were scared. Some confided in me that they were being hunted. I remember them telling me that, and I thought: how could anyone hunt a good, hardworking man just because he looked a certain way? Because he didn’t have the right papers?

I have cried for this man. I have cried for my neighbors who live under a watchful eye, who are being hunted.

I look at my neighbors, the ones who have broken bread with me, shared beers and nachos, talked and laughed with me. They work hard. They have families. They take such good care of their kids and grandbabies. The abuelitas make the best tamales in the winter. My next-door neighbor tends her flowers every day, and she smiles and waves when she sees me. When a storm knocked down her loquat tree, I found her a replacement at a tree giveaway, and she was so grateful. It’s grown nearly two feet since I left it in her care.

Then I think: how can I help? What can I do? And there’s a real feeling of despair. I can help get people registered to vote. I can help people learn to take action instead of complaining. But it all feels so futile.

All I can do is continue the movement. I am only one person.

But it is a new day, and I cannot lose hope today.