One Town Fights to Keep Its Migrants
there was a traffic jam to get into the parking lot of a church. Schoolteachers cried as they tried to comfort students whose parents were suddenly gone. There was standing room only at a prayer vigil that drew about 1,000 people.
And much of the town is reeling. Up to 160 American- born children have a parent who could be ordered to leave the country; many families are relying on handouts.
After the raid, immigrant advocates organized a march. Nataly Luna, 12, whose father, Reniel, was detained in the raid, carried a sign bearing the image of her father, a native of Mexico who had been working in America without papers for 20 years and was taken into custody at the meat plant. “We need you by our side,” the sign read. “You are the best father.”
The Latinos who arrived here in Hamblen County were part of a swelling wave of migrants bypassing traditional gateway states like California and Texas to seek opportunity in the fast-growing South. Word reached their villages that jobs were plentiful.
Latinos now make up about 11 percent of the county’s population and account for one of every four students in its schools. Immigrants toil in meat, poultry and canning plants.
Not everyone in town has been welcoming, though. One theme many expressed: The workers were lawbreakers who got caught. In a store parking lot, several people were talking about the raid. One woman said it could open up employment opportunities. But not everyone agreed with her.
The raid was at 9 a.m., two hours after more than 100 workers had arrived for their shift, when shouts of “inmigración! inmigración!” rang out. Agents cornered and grabbed workers. Some workers reported that agents pointed guns at them. “I stuck myself between the cows,” Raymunda said. It was to no avail.
Within minutes, all were rounded up. They were placed in plastic handcuffs, escorted to white vans with tinted windows and taken away. A helicopter hovered above.
After the morning raid, families gathered in a school. By nightfall, about 100 people, including teachers, clergy, lawyers and other community members had assembled.
St. Patrick Catholic Church’s parish center was converted into a crisis response center. All day, people arrived with food, clothing, toys and supplies for the affected families.
Volunteers, who showed up by the dozens, received color- coded tags: Yellow for teachers, white for lawyers, and pink for general helpers, who prepared meals in the kitchen, packed grocery bags and performed other tasks.
Not all supported the effort. One person wrote on a community board: “This bust is legal, the people are illegals. Why the big sympathy case?”
About 300 people marched downtown one evening to draw attention to the families’ plight. Some, like Colin Loring and his partner, Margaret Durgin, drove for an hour join in.
“We are here to support our immigrant neighbors. The system needs to be fixed,” said Mr. Loring, a retired government worker. Ms. Durgin had a $540 check to help the immigrants.
Before setting out, a nun led the marchers in prayer. “We are here to send a message of love and unity,” they chanted. Along the way, a driver shouted an expletive from his truck.
Angelina Smith, 42, brought her 8-year- old daughter to the prayer vigil, figuring it was an important lesson. “This community is a snapshot of the dissonance of America on immigration,” Ms. Smith said.