Despair
When I write to politicians, I write freely. I don’t really consider what will move them to end the absolute evil that is the US immigration system. There was a time, perhaps, when I would have written with tact, and logic, and statistics galore. But beyond knowing that the only thing a politician cares about is money and power, is having an intimate understanding of an abuser.
Yeah, I have a sneaking suspicion that politicians are abusive, because they act like what I grew up with.
As soon as I was able to speak, I remember trying to reason with my parents. I remember pointing out obvious favoritism towards my brother, and then laying out that that was the logical reason for my own jealousy. As I became older, I tried to show how whatever I had done wasn’t worthy of being slapped, or kicked, or told I was a worthless bitch. I became excellent at arguing. I could pick apart a stupid argument down to the molecular level, and explain why each level was successively dumber than the last. I tried to appeal to their better natures, by liking what they liked in music, by agreeing with their political views, by becoming a chameleon to the point that I would try to make my face into whatever wouldn’t set them off. Eventually, I made one last appeal that turned out to be prophetic.
I won’t go into detail about what my mother had done, just know that it was sick. And I told her so. I pointed out that she didn’t even really know me anymore, that by dismissing me over, and over, and over again, and then by flat out abusing me, that she was destroying any chance of a future relationship with me. That someday, I would leave, not come back, and regret nothing. I thought that if I spoke eloquently, convincingly, and reminded her that she was a mother after all, that she would have a “come to Jesus” moment and start to be better. Her face was petulant and neutral all at once. The apathy was clear. I swear you could have heard a heart string snap in that moment, because that’s the day that I realized she was never, ever going to change. She is who she is. From that moment on, I told her only the surface truths. If I divulged something that seemed intimate and personal, it was only because I knew it would please her to feel like she was in the loop, when really, it was information that I didn’t care about. I had a resurgence in hope around the time that I became pregnant with my first child, but both of my parents did such wonderful jobs reminding me why they were unsafe for children that the hope died and hasn’t risen from the dead again.
Politicians are in place over us, much like parents over children. They feel free to see us as trash, they make and keep promises only under pressure, and they know there needs to be a massive backlash to kick them out of power. Its one much more powerful person against a million people that are more like a could of mosquitos- annoying at first but you can learn to ignore them.
So I don’t hold back. I write eloquently, I write passionately, and sometimes I swear out of sheer frustration. My emotions come through very strong, and I am as wordy as ever. I wish I could say I write hoping to change things. But I don’t. I have no hope that I can change things. My only hope is that I can get to the end of my life, meet God, and truly say that I did what I could- but they would not listen to me.
For all that politicians like to talk of God in this country, I don’t think they actually believe in any higher power. They claim that ripping apart families isn’t personal. “For what you do to the least of these, you do to Me. Those who scandalize a child (meaning teaching a version of God that is cruel and unjust) would better have been thrown into the sea with a millstone on their neck, so they can drown painfully. Not everyone who cries “Lord” will be saved- depart from me because I don’t know who you are!” Most politicians in the US claim to follow Jesus, but they wouldn’t know Jesus if he walked into the church gift shop and started chasing people with a newly made whip from church bulletins.
I asked some politicians tonight why they hate me, and my children so much, to deliberately exclude spouses of undocumented immigrants from getting rid of the 3/10/20 year bar. I was half asking them, and half accusing God. Its so hard to believe in a God that’s kind, when people who put his name on their lips are so casually cruel. They must not believe in the God that would rather they drown with a big old rock than torture people while pretending they love him.
Going through the immigration process has stolen my hope, my belief in justice, my belief that people are inherently good, and that anything I do in front of a politician matters. Seeing my Church sell us down river so they can fit into the WASP fan club has stolen almost all of my faith in God. I just want my husband back. I just want to feel whole again. That’s it.
