Born into privilege By: Donna Nasimov

As I sit inside the detention center, all I can think about is how hungry I am, how I wish I could lie down and take a nap because my back hurts me and my feet are throbbing from a full day of work and I know that I am not only selfish, but completely asserting my privilege right now. I was born in America and whether or not that was luck or planning, the fact remains that I have always had a safe, loving, healthy, privileged life. The young men and children I see in front of me on a daily basis, despite their situation from which they fled their home country, or the cruel inhumane actions of a flawed justice system, continue to show resilience, strength, bravery, happiness, and hope. It doesn’t escape my constant thoughts that if I had just been born somewhere else, it could very well be me in the same type of situation. I commend these fathers who risked their lives to try and make it to the United States for a chance to change their lives for themselves and their families. At the end of a 10 hour work day I will walk out of this detention center, get in my car, go back to the hotel, take a hot shower for as long as I want, surf the internet, play on my phone, speak to my loved ones, watch some TV, and sleep in a comfortable queen sized bed, all the while these men have been in a detention center for months, have suffered irreparable harm from the emotional and psychological trauma of being separated from their children, and will continue fighting to prove to our justice system why they deserve a chance to change their lives.

Today we are working on prepping these clients for their credible fear interviews. Many of these men have already had a first interview, and as they recount their first experience with the Asylum Officer, I internally cringe. These interviews were happening right after the separation from their children, they were given no information regarding their children such as where were they, how were they, or why they were separated, and during this entire traumatic experience, they were now required to step in front of an Officer and tell their story and explain why they can no longer stay in their home country. But how can you expect to be confident, or remember the reasons they fled in the first place when all you want to know is where your child is? Are they safe? Will I ever see them again? Will they remember me? These men were in such a state that they were manifesting physical symptoms for their stress. Some of them were hot, had a headache, had trouble breathing, felt heaviness in their chest, but were still forced to try and recall why they were here.

Despite everything, the children continue to play, smile, draw, color, and run around. The fathers tell a different story. Every few minutes their eyes dart around the room locating their child, whether to confirm they are okay or still there, for a few seconds every few minutes, their eyes darken with worry. After what these men have already been through to get to the United States, only to have the US separate them from their children, its no wonder they continue to be skeptical and worried. How long will this last? These men deserve the chance to be heard and explain their stories. Mostly, they are just happy they can share their story and have someone listen. So thats what we do. All day long, we listen to them tell their stories, we document it with declarations to help them in their case. We are sad when they are sad, we are empathetic when they are telling us the ugly details of whats happened to them in their home country, we smile and laugh when their child draws us a picture, or they tell us about a good time.

The official name of Karnes is the “Karnes County Residential Center”. But naming a place a “residential” center does not hide the truth that this is a detention center meant to detain families. Yes they have a painted tree mural, yes they have school to keep the children busy, yes they have more freedom then other places these men describe to us, and yes they have access 24 hours to food, but no, this is not a residential center, it is a detention center. These men and children all wear a variation of the same outfits, they are assigned a “neighborhood”, a room, a bunk bed. They can’t even choose which bed they want! They have set meal times, and structured activities, and while they may have access to fresh air and the outside, their outside is surrounded by buildings, bars, and fences, and even if they did somehow manage to escape, being in the middle of Texas with nothing near, they would have no where to go.

The truth remains that at the end of my long day of work here in the “residential” center I will walk out freely from this place, watch the beautiful sunset like I have every day since Sunday, and go back to my hotel while hundreds of men will be tucking their children into the bunkbed they share with them, enclosed in a place that they are definitely not free to walk out of, at least not yet.

This post was originally published at "STU Karnes Project", a blog coordinated by Donna Nasimov. (https://stukarnes.wordpress.com)