The King Of Funny Faces

Yesterday I went to the SLC airport around 4pm. As soon as I came up the escalator, I heard cries, someone in agony calling out for help. There was a group of people standing around watching, not intervening, and I couldn’t see past them. 

The yells were coming from right in front of the security line where I was headed, and as I walked closer, I could see there was a woman face down on the ground with four large plain-clothed men shoving her, holding her down. And the woman was screaming, “HELP ME! HELP ME!” And she pled for her child. I don’t think I would have known in advance what I would do in such a moment, but I hurried through the crowd and straight up to the commotion and asked an airport worker in uniform what was happening and why was no one helping her? They told me the men were ICE. 

I began to shake. I wanted to help her. She was a mom, a woman, under assault, begging for help. Why couldn’t I help her? I think I said something like, “We need to help her!” A uniformed police officer looked back at me and stepped more directly between me and the woman under assault. His body language said he was standing guard and he was prepared to stop anyone who tried to intervene. All I could think to do was to take out my phone and film. If this was a kidnapping, technically currently “legal” or not, at least I could record her face so her family would know what happened. As I began filming, they pulled her up off the ground and started to drag her away. In the video, I hear myself yell out, “Have mercy! Have mercy on her! She’s a human being!”

They forced her out, and we all stood there and watched. I stopped recording. But I couldn’t catch my breath. Men had assaulted a woman in front of me, she had begged for help, and I hadn’t helped her. No one had. The airport had gone quiet. Words began to rip out of me, and I yelled them into the horrible calm. I think I said, “THIS IS CRUELTY! HOW CAN WE BEAR IT?” I may have said that more than once. I may have said other things. I can’t remember. Suddenly I was afraid that I would be arrested now, just as she had, maybe for “disturbing the peace” with my shouting. Later, this struck me as an intentional effect of their actions. This was a violent, traumatic nabbing, performed in public, and it did more harm than just against the woman they assaulted and took away. To a far lesser degree, it still affected all of is. The public display indeed felt like a threat intended to cow every one of us who saw it.

For those who might say, “She should have just complied” you might not have seen the news. People disappeared off the street. People with legal papers, even US citizens, taken away without being read their rights, sent to prisons without informing their families or lawyers, many who still have never been seen again. Their families work tirelessly to find them. Their lawyers try. But there is little to no transparency or accountability. For her, being taken away was a very real threat that she might never see her child again. She begged for her child. And they took her anyway.

There was one victim of this attack. This woman was ripped away perhaps for simply not having the correct paperwork (tho it does sound like she’s saying “I have papers!”). But I also want to note that about 25% of women have experienced violence at the hands of men. We watched four men rough her up, slam her to the ground, pin her down, and then force her away. Police stood by and did nothing. Other men stood by and did nothing. (Later one woman told me a man from the crowd voluntarily went in to help the alleged agents and hold the woman’s legs. I did not witness that part myself, but the idea chills me.) For so many women having experienced past violence and living under the threat of violence, witnessing this was a retraumatization. A show of very non-benevolent patriarchy. An implicit threat—see what we can do out in the open to this woman? Just imagine what we get away with in private to you.

I still stood there after she was gone. I found myself unable to move. I was shaking so hard. I put my hands over my face and sobbed. An airport employee—an older man—came up to me and spoke to me softly, kindly, asking how he could help. (I thought about how none of us did that for the woman.) He led me to a seat, he fetched me tissues. I felt so foolish. I didn’t want to make a scene or make this about me. But my body was having a very strong physiological response, and I couldn’t stop crying or trembling. I hadn’t helped her. No one had.

Another woman came over to me to check in. I could barely speak. She asked if she could give me a hug. After she left, a young woman came up to ask for a hug as well. And then another. Another. All these women who hadn’t yelled, perhaps didn’t feel like they could, were too afraid, cowed by the show of force, didn’t think their voices mattered—a million reasons and old wounds that affect our choices. But they were shaken. And they wanted to reach out to someone. They couldn’t reach out to the woman taken, so they reached out to me. 

I got on my plane and was alone for the next several hours. I wondered where that woman was. If she heard me shout for her. It wasn’t enough, but I hope she did. I hope she felt that someone cared about her. That someone witnessed her with compassion. And I’m left to wonder, what would I do differently next time? How can I use whatever power I have to stand up for others?

Someone said to me (meaning well), “This is not who we are.” And yet, it is. Because we’re doing it. We can’t fix things if we don’t face them honestly. This is who we currently are. AND we can change. We can recognize the humanity of all humans, regardless of paperwork. We don’t have to comply in advance. We certainly don’t have to jump forward to hold down a woman’s legs while she’s pleading for her child and terrified for her life. We do not need to agree with or aid those men, often in masks and out of uniform, kidnapping people off the streets, shooting chemical weapons into crowds of peaceful protestors, breaking into apartment buildings in the middle of the night and zip tying children together before tossing them into unmarked vans. We can call our reps and demand change. We can donate to organizations who stand up for the voiceless. We can stand in the way. We can YELL!

I was raised as a Christian. The majority of this country identifies as Christian. The majority of those who voted for this current government identify as Christian. So I think the words of Jesus matter right now and deserve repeating. 

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

“Do to others what you would have them do to you.”

“Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.”

“Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”