Unequal Justice and persecution of Haitians in Miami, refugees treated like criminals by INS...
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by John Colagrande Jr./PNN Miami Correspondent About a week ago I’m sitting at a traffic light at 59th street Biscayne Blvd in Little Haiti, Miami, and the sound of thunder snaps me out of my daydream. It’s about four o’clock and the sky is real dark. You could tell a storm is coming. It is just a question of time. The streets are empty. The Miami hotels flash vacancy. I’d been thinking about my father again. I drive past Martin Luther King Blvd. and put my headlights on. Traffic is backed up by 79th street and the rain starts to fall like tears from the sky. The rain is soft. I don’t need my wipers. I used to call my father Pop but when he left my mom and me I didn’t call him Pop anymore I called him Sam because that’s what my mom called him. Yeah, Sam’s still a ghost. On 79th street and Biscayne lies the INS building. The Immigration and Naturalization Service building stands out in Little Haiti because of its size and color. The building is seven stories high and its ugly tan is in contrast with a neighborhood that is scattered with vibrant tropical colors. Outside the INS is an ocean of protest. There are about 200 protesters and they’re making noise. In the twilight stormy sky all I see as I drive by is a dark silhouette united against the building they stand across from. I know the protest is about the Haitian refugees. I park my car to join in the resistance. On Oct. 29 about 220 Haitian migrants were detained when their tiny wooden freighter ran aground southeast of downtown Miami. It was broadcast on television around the country. But there are no television screens showing the conditions of the Krome detention center where many of the refugees sit right now like criminals awaiting deportation. And there were no television screens highlighting families being split apart and refugees being denied legal counsel. And there are definitely no television screens right now showing the Cuban refugees happily sipping their café con leches in Hialeah. I live in Miami now but I grew up in Oakland. One time when I was fourteen Sam took me to San Francisco and we went to visit Alcatraz. He was already Sam and I think he wanted to be Pop again but it don’t work like that. He made me feel like I’m not wanted and that feeling just don’t go away. Anyway, I didn’t like that old jail. It smelled weird. In the isolation cells it smelled weird and was dark and I felt alone even though I knew it would all be over shortly and then I’d get to go back home. Except I didn’t want to go back home because home, like Alcatraz, was like an abandoned jail. I always thought the idea was to stay out of jail. I don’t know why Sam took me there. All I know is that I know what it feels like not to be wanted. For a while the Bush administration has been holding all illegal Haitian aliens while releasing other nationalities into the community pending deportation. This is straight up racism. Non inite nan kominate, chants the crowd. Fo fanmi nan Zetazini; false family in United States; Youn imigran es bata pitit, an immigrant is a bastard child. Every now and then a car beeps their horn in solidarity. It would be better if everyone beeps. Is it too much to beep your horn? If everyone beeps their horn, a constant beep, beep, beep, then maybe someone will act, act, act, if for no other reason then to shut the BEEP up. It starts to rain harder. The night sky lets out a roar. Thunders. The chant increases in volume: non inite nan kominate, no unity in community, non inite nan kominate, no unity in community… |