Thread: Elvira: Living in God's Country, No way out {sob}

I didn't see this anywhere. It's a hard read. Was in the magazine section of the Sunday Chicago Tribune. Shows pictures of the small bedroom Elvira and her son share. She doesn't leave the place, someone takes her son places. This is worth skimming. If you go to the link there is some video.



www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-m ... b01_layout


NO WAY OUT
When the immigration-reform bill died in Congress, the door closed on Elvira Arellano's hopes of finding a path from her sanctuary to legal status in the U.S.
DON TERRY

August 5, 2007

The 29th Puerto Rican People's Parade is making its boisterous way up Division Street. Thousands of people line the route through the heart of Humboldt Park when the horn-honking, whistle-blowing procession suddenly comes to a halt in front of a weathered three-story building. The colorful floats, grinning elected officials and a river of idling motorcycles and muscle cars stretch back for blocks while the drummers and masked dancers leading the parade break off to pay homage to a Mexican woman smiling weakly as she stands behind a window of Adalberto United Methodist Church.

Elvira Arellano, perhaps the most famous undocumented immigrant in America, is waving a miniature Puerto Rican flag at the marchers. Arellano and her son, Saul, have been named honorary grand marshals of the parade, held a couple of hours after the more staid Puerto Rican Parade downtown. Standing behind the plate-glass window, the woman whom Time Magazine named as one of the People Who Mattered in 2006 is just a few inches from the street she hasn't touched since the day she moved into the church a year ago.

As people crowd around the window, posing for pictures, blowing kisses and placing their palms over hers on the glass, what comes to mind is a surreal mixture of hope, defiance and visiting day at Cook County Jail.

Saul is marching at the head of the parade with Beti Guevara, the assistant pastor at Adalberto. When the marchers reach the church, Guevara takes the little boy by the hand and guides him through the thicket of people gathered around the window. Guevara jumps on a bench and leads the crowd in a passionate chant in Spanish, "Puerto Ricans and Mexicans fighting hand in hand!"

Guevara slaps the window with her open palm, rattling the glass. Arellano waves her flag.

Swaying to the joyous salsa sounds flooding the street, Arellano looks stiff and self-conscious. She's had, after all, a long, hard year. She and her now-8-year-old son sought sanctuary in the church on Aug. 15, 2006, the day she was to report to the Office of Homeland Security and be deported to her native Mexico. She entered the U.S. illegally 10 years ago and used a fake Social Security card to get a job cleaning airplanes at O'Hare Airport for $6.50 an hour. In Mexico, she had earned about $1.20 an hour working six days a week, 12 hours a day in a factory on the border.

She was arrested at home in 2002 in connection with a security crackdown at U.S. airports in the wake of Sept. 11. She pleaded guilty to using the falsified Social Security card, a felony, but a series of legal reprieves allowed her to stay until her luck ran out last August and she was ordered to return to Mexico. Her son, however, was born in the U.S, making him an American citizen. Chicago is the only homeland he knows.

Saul's citizenship entitles him to stay, but his mother says she will never leave behind the child she has raised by herself for most of his life. Not without a fight. An estimated 3 million children are American citizens who face losing their undocumented parents to deportation. Arellano is determined that Saul and the others not be forced to make the draconian choice: their parents or their country.

[b]No one imagined that the standoff between a single mother and a powerful federal agency would last so long; it was supposed to be over within days, maybe a few weeks. Either she would give up or men with guns and badges would rush into the storefront church at 2716 W. Division St. and put an end to the impasse. [/b]"We were ready to go down in a blaze of glory," says the church's pastor, Rev.Walter Coleman. "We really thought the Feds would come in."

But as of this festive June afternoon, that hasn't happened. No one knows why--the authorities won't comment on their plans--and now Elvira Arellano's second summer in sanctuary is beginning with a parade.

On the sidewalk, her friend Jacobita Alonso is raising money for her and Saul, selling soda, water and buttons with a photo of mother and son. The buttons exclaim, "I Support Elvira and Saulito," as his mother and playmates call him. Alonso also moved into the church shortly after Arellano and Saul to provide support and company. She usually takes Saul to school in the morning and picks him up in the afternoon. She sleeps in a small back room, off the kitchen. "It's not a hardship," she says. "It's a privilege."

A woman walks by wearing a T-shirt proclaiming her pride in her Puerto Rican heritage. Noticing Arellano in the doorway, the woman's happy face instantly twists into anger. She points both thumbs toward the ground and hisses, "Go back to Mexico."

Arellano shrugs. She's heard it before. And worse. She has been criticized for using Saul as her spokesman at various events around the country. The criticism hurts. Why, she asks, can't people understand? "[Everything] I do is for my son. If I could go [to the events], I would," she says, raising her voice for the first time in several days of conversation.

The recent immigration-reform bill offered the prospect of legal status for Arellano and others who are in the country illegally--though Arellano also faces charges related to her false ID. When the measure failed in the Senate last month, the prayers at Sunday service were more passionate than usual at Adalberto United. A little girl broke down as she prayed for her father, who had been deported to Mexico, leaving the family struggling to survive. Several adults wrapped the child in their arms, fighting back their own tears.

Rev. Coleman looked down at his Bible. "We've been dealt a blow this week," he said. "Last Sunday we lived in a nation with broken laws. This Sunday we live in a broken nation."

Arellano sat in her usual place in the front pew, holding her head in her hand, her eyes closed, as the sobs and prayers washed over her. After church, she said the collapse of the reform bill was like "a kick in the stomach."

"It was a big blow to all 12 million of us," she says, referring to the estimated number of undocumented immigrants in the U.S. "We had hopes that the government would take a big step forward. As the saying goes, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Now we will have to be stronger."

Arellano has been an advocate for immigrant rights since stepping out of the shadows after her arrest in 2002. She co-founded La Familia Latina Unida--United Latino Family--an organization of families that could be separated by deportation. Of the 35 original families in the group, seven have seen a parent deported, Arrelano says. Six were deported before she sought sanctuary, and one father was sent back to Mexico last Christmas. Though she is in the U.S. illegally, she tells every visitor to her sanctuary: "We are not criminals or terrorists. We are mothers and fathers."

Her protest has inspired other churches to take in undocumented immigrants who face deportation. A group called the New Sanctuary Movement has active organizations in 22 states, with hundreds of churches involved, says Wesley Aten, coordinator of NSM. Besides Arrelano and Saul, a total of 10 families have openly sought sanctuary in Seattle, Los Angeles, San Diego and New York, and perhaps several more have done so secretly, he says.

The previous such movement was in the 1980s, when U.S. churches provided sanctuary for undocumented immigrants fleeing civil war in Central America, and the practice dates back to ancient times. Sanctuary, however, is symbolic; it provides no legal protection. The government can arrest a suspect or fugitive at any time, anywhere.

Rev. Coleman, a longtime Chicago political activist, says that since Arellano moved in, about 100 people have asked the church for sanctuary. "The first question we ask them is, 'Do you want to fight and expose yourself to all the grief Elvira has suffered?' " he says. "A lot of people want sanctuary in the old sense. They just want to hide. Elvira isn't hiding. She told the government exactly where she was. It was a very public civil disobedience. It put a human face on the debate."

Coleman says he directed the people hoping to join Arellano to other churches in the area, and a few expressed willingness to publicly provide sanctuary in the future. "We really didn't think this out," he says. "We just did it. This sanctuary is not based on the church. It's based on the faith of a woman who turned from a victim to a witness."

Adalberto's pastor has been rocking boats in Chicago for decades, and both prayer and protest are considered acts of faith at Adalberto. That's why Arellano, who was raised Catholic, joined the Protestant congregation years before she sought sanctuary in its storefront. "I started coming here because I like what they do when it comes to social justice. For me, the most important thing is my faith, not the religion," says Arellano, who speaks English but is more comfortable speaking Spanish through an interpreter during interviews.

Before he became a minister in the 1990s, the lanky Coleman, known to friend and foe as "Slim," was an activist in the struggling streets of Uptown. He was an early white supporter of Harold Washington's successful campaign to become Chicago's first African-American mayor in 1983. He is married to another longtime activist, Emma Lozano, the sister of Rudy Lozano, the slain Mexican-American labor organizer and immigrant-rights advocate. Emma Lozano has been working with Arellano on immigration issues for years. "Elvira's motivation is her son," Lozano says. "Her motivation is love."

Arellano and Saul sleep in a tiny room in a small apartment on the church's second floor. There are rules Saul has to follow, like any child living in sanctuary with satellite television trucks parked out front from time to time: No playing in the pastor's study; homework first, TV second; pick up your wrestling action figures, say your prayers.

"It's a normal life," Arellano says, with a slight smile.

Arellano and Saul's food and clothes are mostly donated by friends and strangers, like the man in Vermont who sends a check for $7 each week. "I've always been used to working," she says. "When Saulito asked for things, I could buy them. Since I've been arrested, I have had to tell him I don't have the money." She says her son "has learned not to ask for much."

Saul says he is happy. He has his wrestling figures and he has his mother. But he misses his own bed and the Nintendo game he left behind at their home in Pilsen. He wants to stay in Chicago and become a fireman. "I want to help people," he explains. He puts his head down on a table and is quiet for a minute. He sighs and says, "Sometimes I don't understand what people are asking me."

Then he jumps up from the table. Enough talk. It's time to play soccer. "Who do you want to be?" he asks a visitor. "Team USA or Mexico?" Stepping into the sunlight bathing the back porch, Saul calls over his shoulder: "Close the door. The rats will come in. I'm afraid of rats."

Arellano and Saul have each had a birthday since taking sanctuary. Saul turned 8 the week before Christmas; Arellano 32 in January. They have watched the snow fall and turn gray on Division Street and the leaves on the trees in back of the church go from green to brown to green again. They have celebrated birthdays and holidays. "In 1997, I came into the U.S. and celebrated my first Thanksgiving," she says. "Every year I celebrate. The first pilgrims celebrated it. I am a pilgrim."

The final decision to take sanctuary was made in a hurry. There was little time to pack or plan. Arellano and Saul left their beloved Daisy, a Chihuahua mix, behind with friends. When things settled down at the church a couple of weeks later, Daisy, Saul and Arellano were reunited. "We were a family again," Arellano says. The first sound anyone hears when approaching their apartment is Daisy's high-pitched yelps. "I don't get scared of anything," Arellano says. "Daisy is with me and she won't let anybody get close."

There have been days when she looks into her son's eyes and suggests they give up and go to Mexico. "This government does not allow us to be happy," she says. She tells Saul that in Mexico they would be welcome, treated like normal people instead of criminals. He could get to know his grandparents, his aunts and uncles. "But he says no. He says we are going to stay here. This is his home, his friends are here. He doesn't know anybody in Mexico. He's sacrificed a lot. I just have to ask God for the strength to keep fighting."

She spends her days cooking, cleaning, sewing and conducting interviews with reporters from as far away as Korea. On a day there is a protest or march, she checks the batteries in the five bullhorns in the church kitchen. She answers the phone for an immigrant-rights group and waits for Saul to return from school.

Saul can come and go freely, and he has taken advantage of his mobility to travel across the country pleading his mother's case, with Rev. Coleman or Coleman's wife as guardian. He has spoken at rallies outside the White House, in Los Angeles, Boston and Miami. He even went to Mexico City to address the Mexican parliament, which adopted a resolution opposing the U.S. effort to deport his mother.

But he is reluctant to leave his mother for long. "He seems to feel guilty going places," she says, "[but] he gets lonely living here." She says she once had to tell him a fib to get him to spend the night at a playmate's home, assuring him that he would be coming back in a few hours. She didn't sleep well that night. Her son returned the next afternoon, beaming. "It's difficult for me," Arellano says. "I'm here and I can't take him anywhere. I have to wait for other people to take him. It breaks my heart."

Last September, Arellano stood in the doorway of the church, feeling lost. It was the first day of 2nd grade for Saul, and she watched as a friend took him off to school. She was afraid someone might do something to him on the way, or maybe la migra--immigration authorities--would come for her, and when he got home she would be gone.

Even after a year, she's nervous every time he leaves. After church services, Saul often plays on the sidewalk in front. But he says he prefers playing in the back. "There's a gate," he says. "No one can get in to get us."

In the first weeks of the standoff, the church was open around the clock. Sometimes up to 40 supporters spent the night, sleeping in pews, on cots or on the floor. Some, like Taribio Barrera, 35, a construction worker with his own immigration woes, stayed for months. "I couldn't change my clothes for two weeks," he says. "My jeans were standing up by themselves."

He spent much of his time at first on the roof, taking shifts with other volunteers acting as lookout. If la migra came, there was little the volunteers could do other than provide witness. If anyone else came, they would resist. "We were afraid about racists coming," Barrera says. "There were threats. There are still threats. All it takes is one lunatic."

When Arellano talks about those early days in the church, she begins to cry. She remembers her "inner struggles," her doubts, her fears that her friends and supporters would be dragged off to jail or deported for protecting her. "It's not easy telling this government that I'm not leaving," she says.

When she goes outside, she uses the back door so she doesn't leave church property. The back porch and the blacktop parking lot, big enough for maybe four cars, is Arellano's only chance to feel the sun on her face and the wind in her hair. The parking lot is fenced in and the black, wrought-iron gates are kept locked with a thick chain. On either side of the parking lot are two long, wooden planters where peppers, avocados, mint and tomatoes grow in what she calls "a garden of hope."

On a gusty afternoon in June, the garden has been watered and Arellano is sitting on the top step of the back porch, emptying the contents of a plastic beach bag and placing the items on a towel beside her. She pulls out matches, charcoal, a conch shell and a bowl she calls a Poposhcome, which was used in an Aztec ritual to "communicate with the ancestors and the Great Creator."

She lights the charcoal and some incense in the bowl, then leans forward and waves the smoke into her face. She asks the ancestors for energy and strength and wisdom to continue her fight. "It's the same when I pray to God to protect me and my son," she says. "It's just a different way."

The last item she pulls from the bottom of the beach bag is a book, a best-seller titled "Una Vida Con Proposito" or in English, "The Purpose Driven Life" by Rick Warren.

"It's the third time I'm reading it," she says.

In the past year, thousands of people have come to visit Arellano inside her storefront sanctuary--congregations of various denominations, college students, officials from the Nation of Islam and ordinary people bringing flowers and a few dollars. A handful of visitors--including a small band of Minutemen and a dreadlocked homeless advocate from Los Angeles wrapped in an American flag--have come to protest her continued presence in the U.S. They want her on the next plane to Mexico and demand that the government enforce immigration laws and police the borders.

About a week after she took sanctuary, a delegation of African-American ministers arrived. and gathered around her, placing their hands on her bowed head. "At that moment I felt very protected," she says. "It was very good that a different ethnic group came to pray with me. God doesn't look at race or color."

The last of the people's parade is passing the church when Saul joins his mother in the window. He leans against her as she waves her flag with one hand and with the other lifts a digital camera to her eye. She takes a picture of the marchers taking her picture.

Saul doesn't stay long in the window. He goes out on the sidewalk to play, and Elvira Arellano stands alone behind the glass.

Wait a minute....she is here illegally..had a bady here so she could have an anchor baby...she knew what she was doing...now told to leave....and is upset that we want her to leave???????????????
What part of ILLEGAL does she not understand....and not even waving an American Flag....
she knew what she was doing....they caught up to her...she had fun while here...now go home and take your kid with you....surprised she only had one....more sympathy if she would have had 3 or 4...

When the immigration-reform bill died in Congress, the door closed on Elvira Arellano's hopes of finding a path from her sanctuary to legal status in the U.S.

Then why is she still here????

If she cares so much about her son (and where or who is his dad - does she even know who he is?) she can take him to Mexico with her. Heaven borbid we separate them! She has no business in the U.S. She is a lawbreaker.....it's as simple as that.

It takes a lot of gall to hole up in a church and even more gall for a church to be breaking the law in harboring a criminal. Actually, any church that does this, as far as I'm concerned, IS DOING THE DEVIL'S WORK.....playing right into his hands. I prefer God myself.

Even if they passed some sort of amnesty she probably would not qualify because she is a convicted felon.So give it up Elvira cause you don't have a snowball's chance in Hades !!

Every year I celebrate. The first pilgrims celebrated it. I am a pilgrim."

There have been days when she looks into her son's eyes and suggests they give up and go to Mexico. "This government does not allow us to be happy," she says. She tells Saul that in Mexico they would be welcome, treated like normal people instead of criminals. He could get to know his grandparents, his aunts and uncles. "But he says no. He says we are going to stay here. This is his home, his friends are here. He doesn't know anybody in Mexico. He's sacrificed a lot. I just have to ask God for the strength to keep fighting."

If I wasn't so angry I'd laugh at the thought that this convicted felon is deranged enough to think she is a pilgrim of the United States. Go home Smelvira and take your anchor with you. If he's got grandparents, aunts and uncles back in Messyco they can all anti up live the usual 40-50 to a house and make ends meet.

Doesn't this sound just like the mentality of the dems in senate, they will push their agenda until they get it through by hook or by crook. They do not take 'no' for an answer, they do not abide by the rule of law. Our immigration is broken - bs, we need reform - more bs. This law-breaker will continue to 'hide-out' and ignor the rules until some way some how she will be allowed to stay! Ignor the laws until the laws are changed to please you. This criminal behavior sets a bad example and leads to more of the same old same.

No one imagined that the standoff between a single mother and a powerful federal agency would last so long; it was supposed to be over within days, maybe a few weeks. Either she would give up or men with guns and badges would rush into the storefront church at 2716 W. Division St. and put an end to the impasse. [/b]"We were ready to go down in a blaze of glory," says the church's pastor, Rev.Walter Coleman. "We really thought the Feds would come in."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

This proves the situation was "set up" to put the federal govt. in the worst public position. If ICE went in, with drawn guns, the pictures would have been in every national newpaper.

Let her stay in the church. It's her self imposed prison. The church can pay her room and board. I hope they take in a thousand illegals. We'll cal "PRISON ELVIRA".

ICE has limited resources and should go after hardened criminals first.

Yes, she must go! This particular situation is a watershed for many folks here in the Chicago area. She has been a pain in our sides for over a year now.

What is it going to take for her to get the message? In the linked video she made comments something like “I will pack my bags and go back to my country, I don’t want to stay in country where I’m not wantedâ€

Originally Posted by IndianaJones

Doesn't this sound just like the mentality of the dems in senate, they will push their agenda until they get it through by hook or by crook. They do not take 'no' for an answer, they do not abide by the rule of law. Our immigration is broken - bs, we need reform - more bs. This law-breaker will continue to 'hide-out' and ignor the rules until some way some how she will be allowed to stay! Ignor the laws until the laws are changed to please you. This criminal behavior sets a bad example and leads to more of the same old same.

Again . . . its both parties that pick and choose which laws suits them. Watergate anyone? Iraq anyone? Illegal wiretapping anyone? Bush is the dumbest and one of the most evil, vile pawns to ever curse the White House and this country.

While I am sick to death of Elvira pawning Saul all over the globe on her behalf, the smartest thing ICE has done yet is to let her wither away in that makeshift crapfest being called a church. In her delusional act of defiance she has become her own worst enemy by imprisoning herself. I agree with Magyart. May she rot in that makeshift hell.