Foundations have a duty to defend migrants at the border
Bianca Sierra Wolff is Deputy Director at ChangeLawyers℠. Last month, she traveled to Tijuana to visit migrant shelters as part of Hispanics in Philanthropy’s Border Summit.
Weeks after my visit to the border, I still struggle to share what I saw. I am the daughter of Mexican immigrants, and I couldn’t help but think: that could have been us. My children are just one generation removed from one of the worst humanitarian crises in the world.
And yet, I must speak up precisely because I am in a position of privilege and power. I am an American citizen; a lawyer; and a philanthropist. I believe that I must use every lever of power at my disposal to say this: the border crisis is so much worse than any of us can imagine.
When migrants seeking asylum arrive at the border, they are given a small scrap of paper with a number. And then they wait for days, weeks, and months for their number to be called. If they lose this scrap of paper, they lose their place in line. And for many refugees — women, children, transgender and queer people — losing their place in line is a death sentence.
But it gets worse. Beginning in 2019, the Trump Administration has required all those seeking refuge to “Remain in Mexico” until their number is called.
Think about that for a minute — single mothers with children, unaccompanied toddlers, Queer and Trans migrants — are now left to wait months on in places that are just as dangerous as Afghanistan. It’s no wonder that 60% of migrant women are raped during the dangerous journey and many arrive at the border already pregnant.
I met Yazmin at one of the few shelters that specializes in helping Queer migrants. Like many translatinas, Yazmin fled Guatemala after experiencing sexual violence, including repeated sexual abuse by family members. On her way through Mexico, she was repeatedly beaten and abused. She finally made it to the border, but because of the “Remain in Mexico” policy, she had no choice but to become a sex worker and eventually became addicted to drugs.
Yazmin wants to be whole again. And yet our own government’s policies have forced her — a victim of sexual abuse — to experience her trauma over and over again.
Adan showed me his tiny slip of paper. If his story weren’t so tragic, it might be funny that a miniscule strip of paper will determine the rest of his life.
Back in Cuba, Adan was a was a civil engineer. In order to make it to the border, he, his wife, and their two small children had to travel through 9 different countries. At one point their group became stuck in the jungle, where 50 people lost their lives. When they finally arrived in Mexico, the family was detained and beaten. Adan’s head was split open. I’ll never forget the tremble in his voice when he spoke of his trauma; the fear that comes with being unable to defend your child.
Someone asked Adan what kept him going. “Mis niños,” he said. “I had to stay alive to keep them alive.”
Foundations have a lot of power beyond our purse strings. We have a voice, connections, and reputations. Yazmin and Adan deserve to be treated with humanity, and when our government does not, it is our moral obligation use every single one of our levers of power. Yes, philanthropy is well-positioned to fund the advocates on the ground who are working to challenge these injustices. But we can do more. Will you join us in 2020 so that we can have even greater impact together? We can shift the tide when we all speak up and stand up together in every way we can.
