Turkey

On Saturday Z. texted me from Turkey. He is a gay migrant client who had to go back to Turkey to take care of his ill father. Last time I heard from him, he was looking for a way to get back here because Turkey's national health care relies on having a job, but they don't keep HIV status confidential, so HIV+ people can't get a job, and then can't get health care. I connected him with Aid for AIDS an organization that collects unused medications for HIV and related conditions and distributes them globally. This was before Trump took office, so they were able to help him. I can't imagine the demand they are facing since the US suddenly cut off access to hundreds of thousands of people around the globe, some of whom are now dead or dying, including children. "Remember this guy?" he texts me, naming a man we both know. "He forced me to have sex for a hotel room when I was homeless." "Yes, I know," you told me I reply, "that's terrible." "I trust you, Kate, that's why I wanted to tell you. He says he can help me come back to the U.S. and I don't know whether to trust him." "I would be very suspicious," I wrote back. "I knew that man could not be trusted so I wanted to consult you." "But also I don't know if this is the best place to come because our government is getting more fascist by the day." I never thought I would be typing those words, but this is the time we're in. "And immigrants and the LGBTQ community are both major targets right. now," I add. "I do not think the US is as dangerous as Turkey, I have recently been subjected to violence because I'm gay and the police did not help because I am gay." I want to yank him out of there to safety, but there is not much safety to be found in America right now. "The danger is that they are rounding up immigrants and throwing them in detention centers or deporting them to countries that are not where they came from like El Salvador or Sudan." Even as I text this to him I'm stuck by how unbelievable it sounds. "There are people fighting back, protesting, getting arrested for civil disobedience," I tell him. "OMG this is really a tragedy," he writes back, "it is very sad to hear." I send him a screenshot of a friend's post about bearing witness to the attacks on photojournalists and immigrants at 26 Federal Plaza. "You did a lot of favor to me," he wrote back. "You protected me so much, may God protect you," he writes back "OMG." "These people are like secret police working for the President," I tell him. They cover their faces and won't identify themselves." "One of those who shot video in the Federal Plaza was Turkish and I read the news that he was subjected to violence but I thought it was unfounded." "There was a protest about that on wednesday," I tell him. "This is a crime of humanity," he says. "In this process, immigrants and we homosexuals are seriously damaged. We have no harm to the world. I don't understand what they want from us. I read that the government is closed now, is that correct?" I explain about how the democrats are holding out because the republicans wants to take millions away from health care to give to the rich. "This is like a film script, I can't believe it is actually happening. I am having a big shock right now." I think about how much we are experiencing that shock here and I wonder how much that is keeping people from acting, from resisting. "Currently, similar problems in Turkey," he writes, "the LGBTQ community is trying to fight but we don't have enough power. Government executives decide who we are and how to live this incredibly bad situation." "Politicians and billionaires," I write back. "Exactly, but we are only damaged by these events." We leave it at that but I am troubled by this exchange for days. On the subway I look around and I think, if they had their way more than half of these people would be gone. I imagine an eerie, empty NYC without its immigrants, trash drifting down empty blocks like the COVID shutdown but permanent, and when I shudder, it's not just the blasting air conditioning.