‘I want to live like a normal person’
Those who moved into churches to avoid deportation wonder whether it is safe to leave
As a surge in migrants at the U.S.-Mexico border returns public attention to immigration, there is a quieter, more personal crisis playing out across the country. After President Donald Trump took office in 2017, at least 70 undocumented immigrants, most facing final deportation orders and an administration determined to enforce them, sought sanctuary in churches across the country, according to Church World Service, a faith-led organization that works with people seeking sanctuary. They were the latest wave in a movement that dates to the 1980s, when churches defied the U.S. government’s efforts to deport war refugees to Central America.
With the election of Joe Biden as president, many hoped they would be able to return to their families. And in January, Biden signed an executive order, imposing a 100-day moratorium on deportation. But a federal judge in Texas on Jan. 26 blocked it indefinitely, creating a dilemma for the 21 immigrants who Church World Service estimates remained in sanctuary as of the end of March. Some have chosen to leave the churches, while others are still hesitant to do so. The Post talked to people who have faced that choice. Interviews have been lightly edited for length and clarity.
Maria Chavalan Sut, 46
Entered sanctuary at Wesley Memorial United Methodist Church in Charlottesville, Va., on Sept. 30, 2018. Translated by Alberto Serra Tur and Daniela Santamariña.
Ever since I was 13, I’ve been running from place to place. In Guatemala — when they started killing my whole family, that’s when I started running. We hid in the mountains for many years so we wouldn’t be killed. In my mind, I would see all the dead bodies and all the smells and odors. I would always dream, “What if I got sent back?” I would think, “I’m going to get killed at any moment.”
I came to the U.S. in 2016. I spent the first month in detention. The rooms were very small. I could barely move. You couldn’t even sit on the floor. Later, I went to Richmond and that’s where I was for a while. ICE gave me some paperwork that said I had to present myself to ICE in Virginia. So I went. They gave me another appointment to go to an ICE office in Fairfax in 2018. That day, I got there four hours early. They told me I missed a court date in July 2017. (The court immediately issued a deportation order in absentia when she failed to appear.) I never got the letter. They gave me an ankle monitor. The ICE officers had guns. They reminded me of the military in Guatemala. People from ISAP [ICE’s Intensive Supervision Appearance Program] came to my house every week to make sure I was there. I was there for every visit. They are just waiting for you to make one mistake. I had to go to the ISAP office once a week, too. At the office, they opened old wounds. They ask questions like “What happened to you? Why are you here?” to write some report.
When I came here, to sanctuary, I was not able to think about anything else for over six months. It was horrible. But the church supported me. I came to sanctuary because I didn’t want to hide anymore. I want to live like a normal person. I believe that God has a plan not just for me, but for humanity, for all the injustices. And that’s why I’m here, because I want my justice and I want to fight.
Jeanette Vizguerra Ramírez, 49
Entered sanctuary March 15, 2017, at First Unitarian Church in Denver for 86 days. Reentered sanctuary March 15, 2019.
In 1997, I came to Denver for my safety. The father of my children worked in public transportation and was kidnapped three times in Mexico. He left first, and the family followed. We arrived without knowing the culture, the language. We slept on the floor of a house with a few blankets. My first job was as a janitor, and within a few months I began to see there were so many labor injustices. I began to organize buildings, helping people with their problems. I leapt from being a janitor to an organizer.
I was detained on Feb. 4, 2009. I had two jobs. When I left my second job, a police officer turned on the lights behind me. I said, “OK. He’s probably going to give me a ticket.”
But the first question he asked me was: “Are you legal or illegal in this country?” I told him I was going to maintain my right to remain silent. I gave him my consular card and the vehicle registration and insurance. When he went to the patrol car to check my information, I called my children’s father and told them a police officer had stopped me, take good care of my children. The police officer returned. He put me in handcuffs.
An immigration judge said in 2011 that I had to go home. I appealed. That was pending when I got a call from Mexico that my mother was very sick with cancer. I talked to the father of my children and told him I need to say goodbye to my mother. (Her mother died before she arrived.)
I was there for seven months. I couldn’t find work. I felt like I was losing my children. I decided to return, the same way as the first time. I walked seven days and nights through mountains and finally the Border Patrol caught us. I was detained for three months in El Paso. I got out. But later at a check-in, an official detained me. And he detained me in front of my children, crying, screaming. This was in 2013.
We were able to mobilize the community and I got out again. But because of what happened, I began to look for options. In 2017, I spent 86 days in sanctuary. It ended when I got a stay for two years. Then they wanted to deny it again. So I sought sanctuary again.
I let my children stay with their father to have a normal life, since the person with the problem was me. Those are tough times because, when you are alone in your room, you have these moments of reflection of all the fights you have waged, all the pain and suffering that the system has caused you. People say look at Jeanette, she’s so strong and brave. But I have cried a lot.