I’ve
been really busy this month – as the holidays approach, I suspect
that’s true of most of you – but I didn’t want to let November
go by without a Charity Sunday post. After all, this is the month
where we particularly celebrate gratitude, when we’re more aware
than ever of our own blessings, and want to share.
My
chosen charity for today is KIND – Kids In Need of Defense. This
organization, founded more than ten years ago with support from
Microsoft and Angelina Jolie, has a very specific focus: providing
legal services and assistance to unaccompanied children caught in the
U.S. detention system. KIND organizes pro-bono representation for
kids who have been separated from their families, children facing
deportation and children who’ve been trafficked. They also work at
the policy and education level, for more humane and responsive laws
and regulations that do not further victimize migrant and trafficked
youth.
My
heart aches for the thousands of kids torn from their families and
trying to survive in hellish conditions in immigration detention
centers. I’m deeply ashamed that my country is responsible for this
human rights catastrophe. Of course, none of us can change the system
alone, but I believe that every bit helps. Hence, I will give two
dollars to KIND for every comment I receive on this post.
Meanwhile,
as usual, I have an excerpt for your entertainment and to thank you
for visiting. I don’t have any stories about immigrant children in
the U.S., but here’s a bit from Refuge, which takes
place in a refugee camp on the Thai/Myanmar border.
She
found me the next morning. I was sitting on the steps of the
barracks, reviewing Daeng’s last letter. I insisted that he write
to me, even though we talked by phone once a week. He needed the
practice. I always sent his letters back, with spelling corrections.
I was determined that, somehow, I’d help him go to university. That
was the only way to save him from the trap I was in.
I
had expected excitement and gratitude from her, but her face was
twisted by worry.
“Hello,
sir...” she began, tentative.
“Nu.
You can call me Nu. And your name?”
“People
call me Preean.” She pronounced it as two syllables.
“Pleased
to meet you, Preean.” I tried to put her at ease. She stood there
with her eyes downcast, her hands knotted together nervously. I
stuffed the letter in my shirt pocket and waited for her to speak.
“Sir...
Khun Nu... thank you so much for the pencil and paper.”
“Never
mind. I think you needed it more than I did.”
“Still—your
kindness means a lot, to me and to the children.”
“Forget
it. Really.”
She
raised her eyes. I was startled to see that they were dark blue, like
dusk behind the mountains. Also they were glistening with tears. “I
need to ask your help again. Something much more serious.”
On
impulse, I grasped her hands, gently releasing her tense grip. Her
nails were bitten down to the quick. The creases in her palms were
embedded with grime. Nevertheless, her skin was deliciously soft.
Sympathetic tears pricked at my eyes. “What is it? How can I help
you?”
“It’s
Su. One of the children. She’s very sick. Diarrhea and a high
fever.”
“Did
you bring her to the infirmary?”
“They
said it was probably just some bad fish. That they couldn’t do
anything. I think she needs to go to the hospital. She’s burning
up.”
“The
hospital? In Mae Sot? That’s more than two hours away!”
“I
went to ask the commander for permission to take her. He wouldn’t
even let me into his office.”
She
tried to kneel before me. I stopped her, terribly embarrassed, not to
mention worried that someone would see her. “Please, Khun Nu. She’s
much worse today than she was last night. She doesn’t even know who
I am.”
What
can I do? I started to answer. I can’t do anything. I’m
practically a prisoner here myself. But the desperation and hope
I saw mingled in her face stopped my voice.
“We
would need a jeep...” I remembered when the commander sent Kai and
me to town, a month ago, to pick up mail and supplies. Maybe I could
convince him that we needed to make another run.
“Let
me see what I can do. I’ll let you know. Where can I find you?”
“If
you can get a jeep, tie this around one of the supports on the water
tower.” She held out the shoelace that had been securing her
ponytail. It has once been red. Her jet locks flowed over her
shoulders in a shimmering cascade. A lump gathered in my chest as I
gazed at her, so small and vulnerable, so brave. “I’ll meet you
at the turn off for Baan Huay Bua, half a kilometer along the road.
Around noon.”
“But
how...?”
She
smiled. “There are exits. Gaps in the barbed wire. Places where
it’s rusted away. We all know them.”
“Then
why don’t you leave?” I imagined her, free, dressed in bright,
clean clothing, laughing with friends. Teaching in an actual school.
“Where
would I go? My village across the border? It’s gone, burned to the
ground by the generals’ thugs. My parents were murdered. My sisters
were raped. I have no idea where they are now. Without an identity
card, I can’t get a decent job. Oh, maybe I could make it to
Bangkok or Phuket and work in a bar. Flirt in exchange for drinks.
Have sex with tourists. Would that really be any less of a prison
than here?”
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Don’t
forget to leave a comment.
Every one helps kids stuck in legal limbo.
