Thread: A day in the life of a woman living in sanctuary

A day in the life of a woman living in sanctuary
BY TARA MALONE
Posted Sunday, August 12, 2007
http://www.dailyherald.com/search/print ... ?id=339343

She monitors her MySpace page, greeting every new friend.

She sells make-up and skin cream from an Avon catalog.

She designs blouses and jokes as she stitches about creating her own label. The name? Sanctuary.

She helps her son with homework, tends to her Chihuahua and tidies up the bedroom they all share.

So time passes for Elvira Arellano inside these walls.


Elvira Arellano along with her 8-year-old son have lived in sanctuary above the Adalberto United Methodist Church on Chicago's Northwest side.

VIDEO: A day in sanctuary
http://www.dailyherald.com/video/elvira/index.html

Activists: Sancutary lacks legal authority
http://www.dailyherald.com/news/cooksto ... c=c&tc=&t=

Differing views on standoff
http://www.dailyherald.com/news/cooksto ... =&t=class=

On Aug. 15, 2006, Arellano defied a federal deportation order when she, along with her U.S.-born son, Saul, sought sanctuary in a storefront church on Chicago's Northwest side.

A year later, Arellano - arguably the country's most famous undocumented immigrant - will announce Wednesday whether this is the life she'll continue to lead.

For some, Arellano's standoff with federal authorities represents the reason immigration reform is needed.

To others, her defiance epitomizes a disregard for the rule of law and the need for stricter immigration enforcement.

Yet few disagree that Arellano today is a ubiquitous symbol of the immigration debate unfolding in churches and city halls nationwide.

The 32-year-old mother from Michoacán, Mexico, was named one of 2006' most influential people by Time Magazine.

From her bedroom above the church, Arellano helped organize protests in Chicago and Washington, D.C., urging immigration reform.

And from her second-floor perch, she watched as proponents of a crackdown on illegal immigration shouted for her to "go home." Some called her an unfit mother, a charge, she says, that was tougher to shrug off.

Federal immigration officers discount Arellano's sanctuary, a religious concept with no legal authority. U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement say they will deport Arellano "at a time and place of their choosing."

"ICE's statutory mandate is to fairly enforce the nation's immigration laws without regard for an alien's ability to generate media attention," according to an agency statement.

Arellano came to the U.S. illegally a decade ago. Hired with the help of a fake Social Security card, she cleaned planes at O'Hare International Airport. In 2002, Arellano was snared in a security bust at U.S. airports and pled guilty to using fraudulent documents. With that felony on her record, she faced deportation.

A string of political reprieves ensued when Arellano emerged as an activist for immigrant rights. She met then-Mexican President Vicente Fox and Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich.

But by 9 a.m. on Tuesday, Aug. 15, 2006, Arellano's time had run out. She was ordered to report to the Office of Homeland Security. She never showed.

Arellano instead entered Adalberto United Methodist Church in the Puerto Rican neighborhood of Humboldt Park. The step inside from the busy stretch of Division Street was her last in public.

Shielded by watchful neighbors, protective friends and security cameras, she has not left church grounds since.

If Arellano stays, her days will be long and confined, as a recent visit with her by the Daily Herald shows. Here's a glimpse at the daily reality of a life in sanctuary:

8:30: Arellano wakes to an empty room. Now 8, Saul - Saulito to his friends - already left the twin bed he shares with his mother. He's in the kitchen with Arellano's friend, Jacovita Alonso, who moved into this flat with the pair nearly a year ago.

Arellano stretches in between the dresser, closet and small altar with candles and pictures of Jesus. Sit-ups come next, a concession to 361 days of not moving around much. She's dropped fajitas from her diet, too.

9 a.m.: Wearing jeans, a pressed shirt and black loafers, Saul heads off to a conference of Methodist church leaders. He goes in his mother's stead, as he's gone to Mexico City and Washington, D.C., Arellano sees off Saul and assistant pastor Beti Guevara before taking a shower. She's still not used to never taking her son outside.

9:30 a.m.: Arellano joins Alonso in the kitchen. August heat blankets this room where Arellano spends much of her time. A Chihuahua named Daisy dances around her heels. This tiny, yapping dog is part of the security web that guards Arellano.

9:40 a.m.: The cell phone clipped to the belt of Arellano's denim Capris vibrates. "Hello?" A reporter from Notimex - a national wire service in Mexico - peppers her with questions about her plans for the coming year.

Everyone wants the exclusive, Arellano says. But she plans to reveal on Wednesday what she and Saul will do. Until then, she sticks to the now-routine questions: Does she think Congress will take up immigration reform this fall? How is she holding up?

Arellano responds from the kitchen table with Daisy settled in her lap. "I am here to fight, to stay with my son and to be a part of the legalization," she says in Spanish.

10 a.m.: A kitchen light flickers overhead. She pauses before answering another reporter's question: Do you feel safe here?

Neighbors keep an eye on her. Barbers in the shop across the street call if someone unfamiliar lingers too long. Men playing dominoes outside do the same. Security cameras monitor the front door and back gate, secured by a giant padlock and draped in "Holy Sanctuary" signs. Arellano never is alone. Someone's always there to answer a doorbell and check for strangers. "People have sacrificed many things to help us, to support us," she says.

10:30 a.m.: Arellano pages through the day's edition of a Spanish language newspaper. She reads the coverage of presidential candidates.

11 a.m.: With Saul gone, Arellano tidies up the room they share. She cleans off the bed squeezed between the wall and window that looks into a shaft of the old building. A pastor sent treats for Saul - everything from mini-Oreos to chocolate candy - and a pair of pants for Arellano. She puts the gifts away then changes Daisy's food and lights a new stick of incense.

11:30 a.m.: Arellano tends to the patch of tomatoes, jalapenos, basil and oregano in the church yard. Just inside the gates, this is as far as she ventures outside these days.

Noon: Saul and Guevara return from the church conference. They bring with them $70 in donations. They need the money for laundry, Guevara jokes. She cleans Arellano's clothes at the Laundromat up the street. Just four doors away, it's a world beyond Arellano's reach.

12:30: Arellano chats with a woman from Chicago's Hull House Museum. They hope to publish a book for immigrants new to the region and the country. They want Arellano to write an introduction.

1 p.m.: Arellano's cell phone vibrates on her hip. Professor Amalia Pallares of the University of Illinois at Chicago waits outside along with a photographer from Notimex. Pallares and Arellano chat over a lunch of gyros and salads about La Familia Latina Unida, or the United Latino Family, a group of 35 families facing deportation and, as a result, separation.

As they talk, Guevara returns with today's mail. She gives Arellano three letters. One comes from a man who identifies himself as "your friend, Jim" of the Fox Valley. Tucked inside are five crisp $20 bills. Another letter brings a $25 check for Saul's school supplies. The last is a familiar postmark. A $7 check arrives every week from Connecticut. The checks will continue, the woman writes, until she loses her job or Arellano's sanctuary ends. "Clearly, she's still got her job," Guevara says.

Guevara tears apart two other letters before Arellano can see them. Notes condemning Arellano and her illegal presence in this country arrive daily. "She doesn't need to see these," Guevara says.

1:30 p.m.: Saul heads to the dentist with Alonso. Arellano tries to remember street names she hasn't seen in a year as she gives her friend directions. Arellano's cell phone hums again. It's the daughter of a man who was deported to Mexico months ago. His wife and children remain here. Their story soon will be featured on a Spanish radio station.

2 p.m.: Lingering in the kitchen, Arellano and Pallares talk about the odds of immigration reform this year and ongoing lobbying efforts. The conversation dovetails from politics to pop culture when Arellano and Guevara return to one of their pastimes - casting an actress to play themselves in a film about the past year. "This is how we have our fun," Arellano says.

2:30 p.m.: A group gathers here before heading to Soldier Field for tonight's Democratic presidential debate. Arellano joins them to watch a few minutes of a Bruce Willis film before they leave.

3 p.m.: Two brothers from Waukegan arrive next. Santiago and Ignasio EcheverrÃÂ*a want to write a song about Arellano. They need details about her hometown in Michoacán - the region where they, too, were born - and her journey to this church.

3:45 p.m.: The EcheverrÃÂ*a brothers begin to sing, tinkering with a melody on Ignasio's guitar. Others take up the harmony and before long, five voices fill the kitchen.

5 p.m.: Arellano scrolls through stores online searching for a new school uniform for Saul. Now a third-grader, he needs blue pants and a white shirt.

5:30 p.m.: Still online, Arellano shifts her attention to her MySpace page. In four months, she's got 457 friends.

6 p.m.: Saul watches the movie "Jimmy Neutron," a film he and Arellano have seen so often they recite lines. Still at the computer, Arellano types up messages left for a neighborhood legal clinic. She serves as a secretary, manning the phone and connecting clients with attorneys.

6:30 p.m.: Arellano gets another call, this time from CNN. A producer asks the same questions about immigration reform, stronger workplace enforcement and her future plans. Arellano offers the same answers.

7 p.m.: Guevara and Saul return from a scooter-ride to McDonald's. They bring back two Happy Meals - one for Saul and another for his friend - a hamburger with cheese for Arellano and salads for Guevara and Alonso. On a hot summer night, the reprieve from turning on a hot stove is welcome.

8 p.m.: Arellano and Alonso settle into their evening ritual. The friends watch a telenovela, or Mexican soap opera, called "Destilando Amor."

9 p.m.: When the show ends, Arellano turns her attention to the computer and then reads with Saul. Alonso and Guevara tend to their own tasks as the day nears an end.

10 p.m.: Arellano settles Saul in bed after prayers. She joins her friends in the kitchen to catch the nightly news. The women chat about the day that passed and the day that awaits.

A year later, Arellano - arguably the country's most famous undocumented immigrant - will announce Wednesday whether this is the life she'll continue to lead.

Nothing undocumented about this ALIEN. She's documented as a convicted felon. Hopefully she'll go back to Mexico take her anchor with her and get some sleep. Those potatoe sacks under her eyes is the stuff nightmares are made of. Hopefully, the next story they do on this homely sow will not include her picture. Oh and BTW according to my reporter friend she SPEAKS PERFECT ENGLISH, funny how she pretends not to during every interview.

I think we should ALL look up her My Space and let her know what we think about her.

I can hardly wait.

Dixie

Another boo hoo story from an illegal alien who is making a mockery of our laws and judicial system.

There was a MSM news article this morning that said how Supreme Court Justice Stephen Breyer stressed the "rule of law," that there is a major division in the world is between people committed to resolving disputes through a system of laws and those who are not. Blah blah.

http://www.localnewswatch.com/skyvalley ... &id=146048

Well if this is true, WHAT'S STOPPING THE GOVERNMENT FROM ARRESTING AND DEPORTING THIS FELON!

I don't mean to sound harsh, but I don't get to pick and choose what laws I obey and hide behind political correctness.

Sounds like a pretty good life - having all your needs met.
I WISH THE AMERICAN CITIZENS ENJOYED THE KIND OF SECURITY
THIS LITTLE FELON GETS !

The 32-year-old mother from Michoacán, Mexico, was named one of 2006' most influential people by Time Magazine.

...further, and absolute proof, that Time Magazine is a progressive liberal, worthless far left rag.

Neighbors keep an eye on her. Barbers in the shop across the street call if someone unfamiliar lingers too long. Men playing dominoes outside do the same. Security cameras monitor the front door and back gate, secured by a giant padlock and draped in "Holy Sanctuary" signs. Arellano never is alone. Someone's always there to answer a doorbell and check for strangers. "People have sacrificed many things to help us, to support us," she says.

...it's truly sad to see that America is so filled with traitors with anti-American agendas. That is the price we pay for being a highly diversified Democratic Republic with protected freedoms.

Guevara tears apart two other letters before Arellano can see them. Notes condemning Arellano and her illegal presence in this country arrive daily. "She doesn't need to see these," Guevara says

...you know Guevara is mucho busy tearing apart muchos letters.

She finds it hard to shrug off comments that she is an unfit mother?
Perhaps that is because she is an unfit mother!
She's a convicted felon and she's teaching her son that is OK to defy the law!

It sounds like a decadent and unproductive life. Perhaps a case could be made for her holing up to wait and see if the immigration bill passed. But it failed and now looks like a moot issue for the foreseeable future. It's time for either Arellano or ICE to make a move. The parishioners of that church are either very tolerant or very naive.