Tufts University doctoral student Rümeysa Öztürk was held as a political prisoner for 45 days in a South Louisiana processing facility. She writes:

As a developmental scientist in training, I secretly feel a sense of gratitude for not having a child of my own, knowing how costly adverse early childhood experiences and family separation can be on children’s development. All children should have the opportunity to live, grow, and flourish in nurturing environments, surrounded by the love, peace, and support of their parents, caregivers, communities, and the world around them. Is this the kind of world we envision for our children? Growing up separated from loved ones? Suffering every single day? Who will read these children bedtime stories? How will they love others if they are deprived of the affection they all truly deserve? How will these children be able to hug someone when they aren’t even allowed to touch their mom in the visitors’ room?

In my conversations with women there, I listened to stories of long journeys to the border that involved planes, buses, and boats. I heard tales of people who lost their lives at sea and those who climbed steep hills far away in search of safety. I heard human beings walked without food and water for many days. Many shared their experiences of escaping war, conflict, and violence, revealing a painful reality where they exchanged one form of oppression for another. As the court dates of many women kept being postponed for months and months, one person remarked, “I have war in my country. Living amidst the chaos feels more bearable than being trapped here. At least in my homeland, I had the freedom to move from one place to another.”

Eid al-Fitr passed, and I struggled to celebrate. A Catholic friend told me: “Even God cannot hear us here.” She prayed night and day just the same. I asked her if it was God who could not hear us, or if it was people like me before this experience, who either know nothing about the immigration detention system or prefer to ignore or forget about it.

Within this despair, we found small joys in life, like feeding the birds, finding their nests, and hearing them chirp—a reminder of our freedom and the better days to come. My friends from Latin American countries held hands, forming large circles as they sang and prayed to God, trying to stay hopeful. Friends shared humorous news. They took a moment to watch the sunrise as we returned from breakfast. They appreciated small flowers hidden in the yard; some even used them to make hair accessories. They made small decorations using bread as clay. They made colorful necklaces and bracelets from plastic commissary bags, only to have some officers snatch them and throw them in the trash. Still, the next day, they made them again. Aunts from Russia warmly greeted me with kisses on the cheek, while friends from Georgia gifted me beautiful bracelets and colorful plastic necklaces made with their bare hands. I chuckled as my new friends from around the world playfully offered up their unaware brothers as potential husbands. Friends from Senegal enveloped me in warm hugs, and friends from Cameroon shared the recipes of their favorite African dishes, promising to cook me fufu and eru—one day, when we are free. [Continue reading…]