A Ministry of Witness

As I stand in the hallway outside the immigration courtroom, I offer a pen to the people leaving court who had their immigration case continued or dismissed entirely. One woman takes the pen from me, gets her phone out, and begins to write the phone number of her spouse on her arm. I walk up and down the hallway, offering a pen or Sharpie to the people I am with as they work on sending photos of their documents to their loved ones. Whether their case was continued or dismissed, the outcome remains the same for many. They know what is about to happen: As they walk towards the elevator in an attempt to leave the floor, the ICE agents that are posted in front of the elevator will stop them from leaving and arrest them, taking them to a detention center as they await deportation. 

One family – a father, mother, their eight-year-old daughter, and the mother’s sister – arrived at immigration court together for the hearings of the mother and her daughter. The father and sister anxiously waited outside the courtroom in the hallway. The father was nervously walking up and down the hallway, sitting down, standing up – doing what he could to keep his nerves at bay. The mother and daughter came out of the courtroom and into the hallway together. Their cases were dismissed, and they knew what would happen next. As the mother got to work writing phone numbers on her arm, the father began to hug his daughter and hold her, talking to her quietly as he watched his wife. After the mother finished everything, the father and daughter hugged her. I walked with the family towards the elevators, bracing myself for what was about to happen. The ICE officers quickly stopped the family, verified the identities of the mother and daughter, and took the mother and daughter into custody. As the family was separated, the father and sister stepped to the side and hugged each other as they began to weep. As I watched this grave injustice take place, I fought back tears and felt the urge to vomit rise in my throat, wishing that I could do more. 

There are times at this ministry when I cannot help but feel useless. As I watch people tearfully contact their families before they head to the officers, I feel as though I am watching people get attacked by a wild dog. However, I can do nothing to stop the dog. The only thing I can do is offer the people being attacked a band-aid. There are many days when what I am doing does not feel like enough. There is so much more that needs to be changed and done to help more people  — more than I can do alone — and watching this all does not feel like enough. 

On the days when I feel I am not doing enough, I try to remind myself that being present is in and of itself an act of resistance. Although I cannot stop the dog from attacking people, I have the opportunity to be with the people who are being hurt and accompany them for the short time that I can. I am able to bear witness to their suffering and be in it with them to see these injustices in real time. I also have the opportunity to share about these experiences so others who are not here on the ground understand what is happening. 

In this season, my resistance looks like being with people in their suffering and sharing about what is going on — and, for now, that is what is mine to do, and that is enough.

Question for Reflection: Where are you being called to live the ministry of presence?