Editor’s note: This commentary is by Kate Larose, director of the Financial Futures Program at the Champlain Valley Office of Economic Opportunity. She lives in St. Albans and can be reached atkatelarose1@gmail.com.
[I] was arrested for the first time ever on Sept. 4 in Washington, D.C., on day one of the Brett Kavanaugh confirmation hearings. As I sat on the marble floor of the Dirksen Senate Office Building in an act of peaceful resistance — arms locked with other Vermonters as we chanted our wishes for our democracy — it brought back memories of a previous visit to D.C.
I was wandering the halls of the National Portrait Gallery and had come upon the social justice exhibit just before closing. The larger-than-life portraits of leaders who struggled for equality — Martin Luther King Jr., César Chávez and Eunice Kennedy Shriver — were there along with folks I ought to have known but who were never included in my history books. As I neared the end of the exhibit, I saw a small portrait of an old white man hanging in a corner: Supreme Court Justice Earl Warren, who is best known for writing the unanimous ruling in Brown vs. Board of Education. What I didn’t know until that day is that he had previously been a proud member of white nationalist groups. That he was responsible for locking up Japanese Americans in internment camps. That, in fact, he had built his career based on this type of vitriol (which was likely why he was nominated in the first place). I must have stood in that corner and stared at his painted face for 15 minutes feeling angry and confused. But as I walked away, I felt full of hope.
My arrest happened as I contemplated a Supreme Court justice who had the courage and needed self-reflection to change his mind. As my hands were placed behind my back and plastic cuffs tightened, I wondered what it takes for this sort of shift in human thinking to occur.
We were placed in the elevator and rode down to the basement. Because we all had cash for our bail money, we were loaded into vans bound for a processing center rather than the station. It was a hot day, and they apologized to us, a van full of white women, for the heat in the back. The air conditioning was on, they promised, and it would cool off soon. Let us know if your seatbelt feels too tight. The ride was a short one, and I spent it thinking about the ride Freddie Gray had in a similar van three years prior, less than 40 miles away. And hoping that if my black son ever gets arrested, he will be told, as I was, to watch his head as he is gingerly guided into the back (but knowing that probably isn’t how it will go).
When we arrived at the processing center, we were unloaded one by one to sounds of cheering. Our cuffs were loosened and we were led to rows of chairs. There was an ice chest full of bottled water. During my three hours there, I was offered ice cold water no less than four times. I would slip my cuffs off and on in between sips to unscrew the bottle cap. I was processed, fingerprinted, and sent on my way, more hydrated than when I had arrived.
This morning I read that a 7-year-old girl from Guatemala died in U.S. Border Patrol custody. She and her father were seeking safety. They walked up to agents to turn themselves in, and they were separated. She had not eaten or drank water for several days, and she was not offered any food or water during her eight hours in custody before her seizures began. She died of dehydration.
In June the Vermont Legislature passed J.R.H.2, a joint resolution “expressing a profound hope that the family separation policy will not be reinstated, and imploring the Department of Homeland Security to reunite the separated families immediately.” The resolution did not include language about giving dying children water. This is a human right that should not require proclamations or resolutions — a right that I once thought was as inalienable as not separating families. As human beings, we are hardwired for compassion. But unless we know one another, talk to one another, look one another in the eye, the “other” is not real to us. I now believe that this is what it takes to change minds. I wonder who Justice Earl Warren met, talked to, and befriended on the journey to changing his mind.
To be clear, the act of changing our minds is not just a political need, but a human one that affects us all. Action fueled by good intentions or with lack of information can end with consequences just as dire as that of inaction. I experienced this on my first trip abroad as a 19-year-old in Zimbabwe. As I drove through Harare I couldn’t believe the sheer number of street children living on their own. I decided to do something, so I collected money from my fellow students and went shopping for food, shoes and clothing. I walked into the public square with a large sack. At first there were five children. Then 15. Then 50. All pleading for help. One voice caught my attention. “Miss, please can we have that bread? My brother and I will share it.” The boy looked to be about 8, and he pointed to a child standing next to him who looked to be about 5. I handed the bread to the 5-year-old. Perhaps they were brothers. Perhaps not. But that exchange ended with the two boys punching, kicking, clawing, and biting one another for a bite of food. There was blood, and I was pushed into a shop window, abandoning the sack to a mob of desperate children. Though I had a desire to help, I had not thought through the safety implications (for myself, or for others), and it ended badly.
The issue of asylum is also about this balance of safety and humanity, and in getting to know the “other.” In February I will be flying to the border to bear witness to the experience of people traveling in these caravans, and will accompany families as they request asylum from our government. I will go with a deep belief that keeping families together and granting safety to people fleeing violence is the just thing to do. And I will also go willing to have my mind changed about how this might be achieved in a way that keeps people safe.
I will be personally inviting every single Vermont legislator who voted no on J.R.H.2 to join me, and I will commit to fundraising their travel expenses. This includes the following representatives: Lynn Batchelor (Derby Line), Steve Beyor (Highgate Springs), Patrick Brennan (Colchester), Thomas Burditt (West Rutland), Bob Frenier (Chelsea), Doug Gage (Rutland City), Marianna Gamache (Swanton), Rodney Graham (Williamstown), Bob Helm (Fair Haven), Mark Higley (Lowell), Marcia Martel (Waterford), Constance Quimby (Concord), Carl Rosenquist (Georgia), Brian Savage (Swanton), Brian Smith (Derby), Warren Van Wyck (Ferrisburgh), and Gary Viens (Newport).
Will you join me at the border to meet the families who have walked for months in search of safety? Will you join me in being open to having our minds changed?
