AFTER CARMEN AND her son, William, were set on fire by gang members and then rescued by a passerby, they fled El Salvador to seek refuge in the United States. In a caravan headed north through Mexico, by chance they met five family members: Carmen’s sister, Cecilia; Cecilia’s husband, Oscar; and the couple’s three teenage children—twin daughters and a son.
When they reached the end of their 2,800-mile trek to the U.S. border outside Tijuana, Mexico, the entire family surrendered to U.S. immigration officials.
That’s where, in November 2018, they met Monica Curca, founder and director of Activate Labs, a nonprofit organization focused on peacebuilding and human-centered “peace design.” The family members (surnames withheld for their safety) were among 30 immigrants for whom Curca’s organization provided advocacy and accompaniment and arranged financial sponsorship upon their entry into the U.S.
Once in the immigration system, the men and women were separated and sent to federal detention centers in Arizona and California; the men were detained for eight months and the women for five. William was separated from the family entirely, Curca explained. He ended up detained in Ferriday, La., in the former River Correctional Facility, a prison converted into an immigration detention center. Having been left for dead in El Salvador, he could have qualified for asylum—a form of legal protection for refugees who fear persecution in their native countries. But the activists working with him could not procure a lawyer, said Curca, and he was so miserable he chose deportation rather than prolong the suffering.
“He didn’t see any hope,” Curca said.
Cecilia and Oscar’s family had also fled El Salvador to escape threats from gangs. Shortly before heading for the caravan, Oscar received a death threat in a call demanding $3,000 in cash in addition to the monthly “protection” fee he had been paying to operate a fruit stall at a local market. Activate Labs sent a recording of the call to Sojourners. In the audio clip, the gang member identifies the family members by name and says, “I will kill all of you.”
“Where we were living, they were extorting [Oscar], demanding more than what he already was paying,” explained Ceci, one of the twins. She said the gangs continue to threaten William, her cousin, with whom family members remain in contact when he is not in hiding. William wishes to return to the U.S., said Curca, because “no one is safe in El Salvador.”
For Curca of Activate Labs, this family’s story, like so many others, dispels the common narrative that immigrants travel to the U.S. only for economic reasons. Though the family was not wealthy, they did not flee their native country to make money; they fled to save their lives.
‘God did not abandon us’
YET THEIR EXPERIENCE seeking refuge has proved as difficult as their journey to the U.S., said Ceci. She and the other women were initially detained for nearly two weeks at San Luis Regional Detention Center in Arizona. “We would spend days without anything to do, and we were so worried about what was going to happen to us,” she said.
Their belongings were confiscated, including their Bibles, but that did not stop them from finding a way to worship and pray in detention. They quickly formed a prayer group; one woman would sing, another gave witness, and the group found a structure to its informal liturgy.
Upon their transfer to Otay Mesa Detention Center in San Diego, they discovered a table with books from which they selected a Bible they carry with them to this day. They also met a woman who had been in detention for nearly two years and had taken on a pastoral role for fellow detainees of faith. “She preached, she had an order and a directive,” Ceci said.
The women would gather in a tiny room for prayer and worship every Sunday morning, but they were very restrained in how they could express themselves; they could not even raise their voices in praise, said Ceci. “If someone was crying or sick, they didn’t allow us to [embrace them] or have any physical contact with anyone.”
The power of their new faith community shone when they came together to comfort a fellow detainee who had stopped eating and was inconsolable. “All she needed was a hug,” said Ceci. “Several of us formed a wall and looked out so another could offer her comfort. When she was embraced, she quickly regained her appetite. All she needed was some kindness, some warm human contact because she was so sad, and in so much pain. ... God was good to us. [God] did not abandon us for a second and helped us open doors.”
Some detention officials respected what the women were doing, while other officers would not even open the room for their weekly services, said Ceci. “We were very limited,” she explained. “Since our release, we have meditated greatly on those experiences. How often [do] we set our own limits in going to church because I am tired? Or, I don’t have time, or I have to do laundry? There is always something to do.”
Life in detention, however, offers nothing but time. “It is a form of mental torture with a person day after day doing absolutely nothing,” she said. “Having the prayer groups was the best form of spending that time with God. I will never forget those experiences.”
Many of their prayers were in gratitude, she said, even as many of the women around them were being deported. “We prayed that God would direct our paths and that the [officials] would be just and fair with us,” said Ceci. “Through today, [God] has not left our side.”
‘Remember those in prison’
ASSEMBLIES OF GOD pastor Noe Nolberto Carias Mayorga, a native of Guatemala who had lived in California for more than two decades before being detained for nearly two months in 2017, also knows the misery of detention. In the Adelanto Detention Center near San Bernardino, Calif., he met immigrants about to be deported because of criminal activity who said they had been treated better in U.S. prisons than in that federal immigration facility.
Because of his detention, Carias was prevented from attending his mother’s funeral in Guatemala and was separated from his wife and two young children. He became sick during his detention and said he was near death due to a lack of proper medical attention in the facility. “But sickness is nothing compared to being separated from one’s family,” Carias said. “But if we look at the situation from another angle, God is the one who commands us and opens to us and the situation becomes so incredible, so beautiful.”
In the detention center, Carias and another pastor held services for their fellow immigrants six days a week. Carias said the scripture that came to mind was from Hebrews 13: “Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you also are in the body.”
“There were people [in detention] who had no hope of being released,” Carias said. “God gave them joy. Even the ones who were deported, they were heartened to continue their faith journey. On one side, there was sadness and suffering. But on the other, we were fulfilling the will of God.”
Some of the immigrants who were released now visit Carias at his church. Even as he awaits another immigration hearing in October, he remains in contact with others who are still in detention. The services he helped create are ongoing.
“I’m not surprised to find that Pastor Noe and other pastors in prison are sharing the word of the gospel and at the same time advocating for the safety of their fellow Christians or anybody,” said Robert Chao Romero, associate professor of Chicana/o studies and Asian American studies at UCLA. “That is part of our [lives]. That is our legacy.”
Romero is a part of the Matthew 25 movement—a coalition of more than 200 churches and organizations formed in California soon after Donald Trump’s election to support vulnerable immigrant communities. The group coalesced around Carias’ case and advocated for his release through letters and petitions.
Members of Matthew 25 provided support for Carias’ wife, Victoria, and their children during her husband’s detention. Assemblies of God members, other religious organizations, their children’s school district, and others sustained them as well—even helping to pay their mortgage so they did not lose their home. “I got to know God more [intimately] than ever before,” said Victoria. “And I also learned not to question God but to trust God.”
The faith of her children also grew, she said, despite the trauma of being separated from their father and the continued uncertainty of waiting for the immigration proceedings that will determine his fate. “But I praise God for everything,” she said. “Our journey is still not over but we trust in God that we will not be separated again and that [God] will give us this victory so that God’s name can be glorified.”
‘How can we ever doubt God?’
THE FATE OF Cecilia and Oscar’s family also remains up in the air. The women were released in May 2019; the men remained in detention in California for another three months. Their trials, originally scheduled for earlier this year, were postponed by the coronavirus outbreak; at the time of writing, the trials had not been rescheduled. The ankle monitoring devices the twins wear—still visible below the hem of their long skirts—have become part of their daily lives.
The family now lives near Washington, D.C., sustaining themselves with odd jobs. After the coronavirus outbreak, they were left without income, so Cecilia and the twins launched the “Protect Our Community” project in partnership with Activate Labs. Using donated and borrowed supplies, the project sold more than 1,200 cloth face masks to supporters all around the country. As a result, Activate Labs was able to donate more than $10,000 in COVID-19 relief funds to three immigrant families, including Cecilia and Oscar’s. Though the uncertainty of the pandemic reminded them of their detention experience, Cecilia was grateful to have a way to support her family, said Curca.
Through Facebook, the family continues the spiritual journey begun with fellow detainees. “Thanks be to God, we touched the hearts of many other people,” said Cecilia’s daughter Ceci. “We brought many people to the truth [of Jesus].” The women detained with them represented many denominations, but nothing mattered, said Ceci, except finding a way to glorify God together.
“There were many ... things that seemed impossible. But when we gathered and prayed, God would touch our lives in a way that we thought, ‘How can we ever doubt God?’” Ceci said. “We were living in the worst conditions, but even then, God proved faithful and showed us saving grace even in detention.”
Annette Jiménez, a journalist with 20 years of experience, works as a program officer for the Community Foundation in Rochester, N.Y.
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