Queridx Juanito,
So many words left unsaid, So Many Memories, So Many Dreams, So Many Laughs.
I never told you how much your strength carried me through and what your sisterhood meant to me during our time in ICE Detention. As the world was entering a frightening pandemic nightmare, we were living our immigration nightmare. Me, a frightened queer from the Inland Empire, and you, a newly arrived queen from Veracruz. But all I remember was your kindness to me in my darkest and most vulnerable time. I remember how you approached me because you noticed I was scared and needed help. I never told you how your small act of kindness at that time meant so much to me because I felt like everything was being taken from me then. You reminded me that ICE had not taken my humanity, my queerness, my joy, and my resilience. Your No Los Dejes Reyna! Que No Te Miren LLorar! And your Si Hermana! put me back together when I felt like I was falling apart. I was so relieved that I was able to find community in such a desolate place, and suddenly, I didn’t feel as alone.
From that day forward, we became inseparable. Two queer siblings in a horrible place taking care of each other. Do you still remember our morning rituals? That horrible Koffee brand coffee we used to drink? Sometimes sweet because we had sugar, sometimes bitter because there was no sweetener, sometimes strong, sometimes bland, and all of it a GAG! I’m laughing because we really felt ourselves having that little moment of respite before the busy days ahead of us. And we really were those planning girlies trying to get out of that place. All the endless soliciting trying to get help for our immigration cases and the mutual coordination to keep track of who actually answered and who we left a message to waiting to hear back. Nonetheless, those little morning coffee rituals, conversations, and planning helped create a sense of normality in my fragile mind at the time, and for that, I thank you.
Thank you, Juanito, because, without you, I don’t think I would have made it inside that violent, homophobic human cage. Our sisterhood was vital to me; even when I thought I couldn’t give more, you reminded me there was still so much in me to keep fighting for. Your high-pitched calling, Hermanaaaaa! That did not fit your little brown body. It always made my day.
I don’t know what I would have done if we had not met at that horrible time, but it helped me get through because it showed me the value of community. You showed me what community love looks like, how we queers need to show up for one another and fill each other’s cups to stay alive and survive. We really played on each other’s strengths to survive that traumatic experience. We lifted each other up when the reality of our situation got too heavy. Do you remember how you would remind me to eat because I was so depressed I couldn’t stomach anything? I still think about that from time to time. And how we demand the guards to give you access to your documents before your Master Hearing? I still can’t believe I did that, and yet we did.
I think that is when I slowly began to find my love for organizing. I remember you saying we would be liberated because I was a smart Perra! Hahaha! Well, believe it or not, those words reminded me that I was smart and that I was fighting for the both of us to get liberated, and I wasn’t going to let you down, Hermana! Because you never let me down, and we cared for each other. I remember how impressed you were when you saw that I was really good at helping folks understand their immigration cases and gather documents for their fights against ICE. From the translation work I did for folks to the letter-writing to ask for extensions, helping others helped me get out of that horrible depression I was suffering, and you were a big part of that, so I want to Thank You, Sis.
I am most thankful to you for standing up for me when I really couldn’t. I still remember how you protected me when I was at my lowest, and you didn’t let that horrible guard get away with his hatred toward us. I remember that day so clearly; it was one of my Master Hearings, and the memory of it still brings me both tenderness and rage. Tenderness because you showed me humanity and care when I was at a breaking point. Rage because I wished I could turn back time and have the words to defend myself against that homophobic guard. But I thank you for protecting me when I couldn’t!!!
That memory is so clear; I can see it frame by frame. It was my second time at my Master Hearing, and they did not grant me bail. I was doing my best to represent myself, but it wasn’t working. I remember coming to your cell right after I returned to the tank, and I just broke down. And you just let me cry my little queer heart out and held space for me. Do you remember? Because I do. I remember the beautiful embrace of your understanding by hugging me and allowing me to fall apart and be fragile, to be human and say I couldn’t anymore. Telling me it’s ok to cry, Mija! Ya vas a ver que todo te va salir bien. No te rindas! I really needed to hear that that day, Hermana. I really did.
When suddenly, that GEO/ICE officer busted the door open and began shouting at us:
FAGGOTS! FAGGOTS! GET AWAY FROM EACH OTHER! PINCHES PUTOS!
And I just cried even more because I could not believe that he was sexualizing that moment of kindness, of tenderness, of sisterhood you were giving me. I remember I just froze and didn’t know what to do, but you did. And you screamed at him as he snatched me away from you and pushed me out of your room. I was full of tears and shame, and yet you found the strength to tell him off and to let him know that we had rights and that we would not let him get away with that horrible interaction. I saw your bravery in full display that day, Juanito because you didn’t allow him to take that moment from us and vilify the moment of sisterhood we were having. That took so much courage, and you did it!
I needed to see that to fight back, activate, and organize. I have always been a person who learns by doing and by watching others. And I am grateful that you were my femmetor, Hermana! Because I now do what you did for me, and I help others in similar situations. I now defend and help people find the tools to protect themselves against ICE. You would be happy to know that I am continuing my education and graduating with a double major next year. I hope that heaven is as beautiful as your sweet Veracruz. I hope that our queer ancestors received you like the Reyna you are in heaven!
When we see each other again, we will laugh like we used to and dance around, listening to SHAKIRA. But this time, in the comfort of a queer space where we could be Joyful Jotas Together! Where No ICE Officer, Borders, or Violence can take our JOY from us!
With Care and Love,
Your Hermana, B.
