Arrest Trump

It’s 8pm and my day started at 7am. Today was hectic, with three new intakes, a client in the hospital, and one staff member short. It’s closing time and I am tired as hell but there’s a gaggle of queer asylum seekers crowding my doorway. Two are young people I know well, and the 3rd, M, I have seen with them lately. M is transgender and has serious challenges. She is deaf, but also clearly reliant on the other two for basic things like finding food. K has recently spoken to me about how he would like to get legal guardianship of M, because he says she needs help getting to appointments, taking medication, etc. It is very sweet of him to take on a stranger he met in a shelter when he is barely getting by himself, with a deportation order because he could not magically get from NYC to Dallas for court. When I called Dallas, and eventually got someone on the phone after several rounds of “we can only speak to the client. But we do not have anyone who speaks Spanish,” she responded to my inquiry about requesting a change of venue so robotically that I snapped and asked her if he was supposed to walk from NYC. But now R and K are clearly very worried about M. “She has immigration court on 9/23” they tell me, sharing what they have learned of her story. “She was raped by three police officers in Venezuela ,” they explain. “But there is no evidence”. This is not surprising, we can barely get police here to investigate crimes against trans people, never mind when cops are the perpetrators. So it’s not surprising that there was no investigation or evidence in Venezuela. Clearly they are worried about not being able to prove to a judge why she fled and should be eligible for asylum. "She needs a lawyer," I tell them, knowing that pro bono immigration lawyers are completely overwhelmed. To myself, I wonder if a lawyer would actually be able to help anyway since these days a judge can extend someone’s legal proceedings and give them a future court date only for them to be grabbed by masked men in the court hallway and sent who knows where. Once that happens, lawyers can barely locate their clients, let alone communicate with them. I start to wonder if she should even show up. I have heard from activist friends that fewer people are showing up as word of the masked men spreads. We could try to request a virtual hearing, but I have heard of judges confronting people at the remote hearings, asking them why they needed to be virtual as though completely oblivious to the screaming, crying chaos right outside their heavy wooden courtroom doors. I’m still thinking about this as I leave the building and start literally dragging myself home. When I get too tired, my leg gives me trouble and I limp. My thoughts are swirling as I traverse the Port Authority. And then I see an older man coming from the other direction. He is bearded and his grey hair is a little askew. I recognize his Arrest Trump shirt but can’t pinpoint his name. I say hello anyway, but since I am wearing a New Alternatives shirt instead of a political message, he’s not sure who I am either. "I think we’ve been arrested together I say," and he nods. “I have court this week” he says and then we continue on, because what else can you do?

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