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Elections Are About People: Listen to Them
We can’t afford to continue to make these same mistakes. We must do what Americans seem so loathe to do—stop and reflect.
Dec 07, 2024
On the morning of November 6, many of us found ourselves facing the seemingly inconceivable fact that Donald Trump had become the next president of the United States of America—again. Not only had he won the electoral college, but he had won the popular vote as well. There were no stories we could tell ourselves this time to explain it away. It was a clear victory and a clear loss.
As the hours and then days passed, I sat with this truth, and as I did, I came to realize that this outcome had never been inconceivable. In fact, we should have expected nothing less. We had been heading down this path for too long, so blind to reality that we hadn’t even stopped to check the map before finding ourselves utterly lost.
We didn’t begin this journey when Biden agreed to exit the race. We didn’t begin it when it was clear Trump would run again. Not even after the first Trump win. No, we had been hurdling down this road toward a complete disconnect with large swaths of the American people for quite some time. Looking back, the clearest indication to me was the Wikileaks release of Democratic National Committee (DNC) emails showing their bias toward Hillary Clinton. That moment should have forced a reckoning. But none of us stopped long enough to reflect on how broken our party had become. Instead, we blamed Russian interference for forcing us to hold up a mirror to our own issues.
We did fail. This is no one’s fault but our own. This is not Trump’s fault. This is not the fault of those who voted for Trump. This is our fault.
The Democratic party is the party of organized labor. The party supporting civil rights and protecting minorities. The party of the working class, immigrants, the disenfranchised. But over the past two years, as we watched how the party chose to run the Biden campaign and then the Harris campaign, it was hard to see that party.
I truly wanted Harris to win, of course I did. She would have championed many of the issues I feel passionately about: job creation and economic growth; social and economic inequity; well-funded social services to protect the poor, the elderly, children, and other vulnerable populations; combatting threats to the civil rights of minorities, immigrants, and the LGBTQ+ community; affordable health care options; sensible gun legislation; women’s reproductive rights; and climate change. I disagreed with her refusal to speak out against the war in Gaza and for not insisting a Palestinian-American speak at the Democratic National Convention. But I knew how dangerous any alternative would be. And, not for nothing, I needed to see a woman become president.
Unfortunately, the DNC didn’t allow us to choose our candidate. In silencing our choice, many felt detached from the entire process. By skipping the Iowa caucuses, it was impossible for anyone to challenge Biden’s candidacy. When he left the race, the candidacy was simply given to Harris rather than allowing Democrats to feel like they had made her their choice. At that point it was too late for her to introduce herself to the American people, to make her case, to earn our trust and our vote.
Harris’s campaign spent nearly a billion dollars. Focusing on celebrity endorsements and concert rallies only served to prove Trump’s message that Democrats were the elite, out of touch with everyday Americans. In the final days of the campaign, Harris went on a “blue wall” tour with Liz Cheney to win undecided independents and moderate Republicans. Meanwhile, alienated voters in mining towns, inner cities, and immigrant communities across the country didn’t get such royal treatment. Their votes were assumed. They shouldn’t have been.
On election day, I knew I needed to find some way to occupy my time rather than checking CNN every few minutes and watching the minutes tick by until the polls closed. I was fortunate enough to be able to work the phones from 6:30 a.m.–8:00 p.m. with Drive Your Ballot, a volunteer-run organization in Philadelphia. For thirteen and a half hours I fielded 125 calls from people who needed a free ride to the polls, regardless of their circumstances or political affiliation. When I finally sat down to watch the results come in that night, I should have known what the next day would bring. I feel foolish now not to have known.
We can’t afford to continue to make these same mistakes. We must do what Americans seem so loathe to do—stop and reflect. I know there is an immediate battle ahead, but we must assess how we lost this one first. Because we did lose. We did fail. This is no one’s fault but our own. This is not Trump’s fault. This is not the fault of those who voted for Trump. This is our fault. We didn’t listen. We presumed we knew better.
I wrote a poem a couple days after Trump’s victory and Harris’s loss. In writing through my sorrow, anger, and pain, I was able to hear the voices of those my party is meant to represent, protect, and listen to. We must do better.
Election Day
I wake early, phone lines opening at 6:30.
140 miles north
cars idle on the streets of Philadelphia—ready.
If you want to vote today, we’ll get you there.
For twelve hours, call after call after call.
The sick, the elderly, the infirm.
Disabled, addicted, blind, homeless.
Some broken, some lonely.
Some desperate for an opportunity,
any opportunity.
A woman who speaks little English
knows two words very well
and repeats them emphatically:
“No Trump. No Trump. No Trump.”
A couple at a crappy motel outside the city,
snipe at each other as we talk.
They’ve been travelling too far, are too tired,
have been looking for a ride for too long.
“I think I got to get into this mess today.
Gotta jump into this voting thing,”
a blind man tells me.
“But can’t drive myself, now can I?”
A soft-spoken girl asks,
“Can my driver please be a woman?
I need it to be a woman.”
So, when the next young woman calls
I make sure to ask if she needs any
special accommodations,
“No,” she laughs embarrassed,
“I just don’t have no money.”
The moment I hang up,
the next call comes in.
One after another after another
after another after another
after another.
Until they stop.
The next morning the sun inexplicably rises,
shining down on a state awash in red—
the City of Brotherly Love,
a blue bruise in the corner.
We failed.
We failed Auntie Audrey, 102,
whose niece didn’t own a car.
She’d seen so much in her lifetime,
but not a president that looked like her.
We failed the homeless mother of two,
desperate to traverse the city from her shelter.
“The car needs to be big enough for all of us.
I need to bring my kids.”
We failed because someone forgot.
Forgot who we were fighting for.
Forgot who needed protecting.
Forgot our soul.
They forgot those five men
at the inpatient addiction facility
who needed a second chance.
They forgot that damn couple
in that crappy motel
who went from yelling at each other,
to yelling at me
because their ride hadn’t shown up.
They were hungry. They were done.
We all need to remember.
Because when we forgot,
we didn’t just fail Philadelphia.
We failed our entire country.
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Time and Again, Mass Deportations Have Failed—Trump’s Plans Will Be No Different
The real result from Trump’s deportation plans will be not mass removals of people, but massive time delays and wastes of both Americans’ time and money.
Nov 21, 2024
When a student in the 2000s, I was actively involved in immigrant raid response efforts that churches, labor unions, and community groups organized to mitigate the effects of then-President George W. Bush’s nationwide enforcement actions.
We took resources like clothes, food, and money to affected families in the states of Minnesota and Iowa, and conducted “Know Your Rights Trainings” for undocumented workers on what to do if Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents went to their homes.
Since then, we have learned two things.
First is that enforcement actions, that is, arresting, detaining, and deporting people en masse, fail to stem the flow of undocumented migrants coming into the U.S. The Bush-era deportation machine didn’t stop the flow of people coming north, the lack of opportunities due to the 2007-08 financial crisis did. Deportations during President-elect Donald Trump’s first term paralleled what Bush did, but failed to reach Obama-era levels in terms of numbers. Still, Covid-19—not mass arrests—caused the drop in border crossings, illegal and legal. Crossings picked up post-pandemic with political and economic disasters in Central America and Venezuela driving people north.
How will it look with soldiers in camouflage arresting middle-aged workers picking lettuce?
The second thing we learned is how to play defense.
More to the point—in addition to remembering how to prepare immigrant communities for raids, groups like those I was part of grew to include politicians and lawyers who over the years generated sanctuary ordinances around the country that proved effective the first time Trump was in power. Accordingly, the tools for Trump’s mass deportation plan are well-known and his fantasy of addressing our ongoing immigration crisis by amping up arrests will fail.
Before parsing details, let’s make one thing clear—Trump’s immigration policies are mostly about generating fear, with little by way of serious substance. Just listen to incoming “Border Czar,” former ICE director Tom Homan, who promised “shock and awe”—the phrase used to inaugurate the U.S. war of aggression on Iraq in 2003—to describe the incoming administration’s approach to immigration policy.
Bombast and terror aside, we can expect that Biden-era policies like humanitarian parole for asylees from Nicaragua, Cuba, and Venezuela will be revoked. Restrictions on ICE concerning arrest priorities will also be lifted, like Trump did when he was first president. The president-elect has already said that his “Remain in Mexico” policy will return, which, for anyone trying to enter the United States to seek asylum, means that they cannot reside within the country while awaiting a court date. Trump will also seek resources from Congress to build a nonsensical wall that people desperately trying to get into the United States will either scale, dig under, or run around. Resources will also be sought for hiring additional border patrol agents and ICE officers.
Of the many problems Trump’s deportation machine will face, let’s start with this last one—personnel. Put simply, people don’t want to do Trump’s bidding. Nothing has changed in this regard since 2017, when he ordered the hiring of 5,000 additional agents to patrol the border. In 2018, just 118 people answered the call.
There is also the price tag for arresting and deporting the nearly 12 million undocumented people in the U.S., with estimates placing the cost of mass deportation at over $315 billion, shrinking the economy in the process by between 4% and 7%. Unphased, Trump has said that mass deportations “have no price tag.”
Trump may learn to regret those words, as besides money, the government will have to expend considerable time.
The reason is that the U.S. is a federal system where states and cities can, and have, created sanctuary policies. These ordinances, which are popular with law enforcement, stipulate that local police do their day-to-day jobs of providing security without collaborating with federal immigration authorities to arrest and deport undocumented people. Practically for immigrant justice, sanctuary policies gum up the deportation machine, making the federal government do its job alone. Despite what ill-informed critics claim, instead of creating a climate of murder and mayhem, sanctuary jurisdictions allow local police to work with federal agents when a person commits a violent crime.
There is also the idea that the military will be called to detain undocumented migrants, as Trump has mentioned.
Here the fear campaign is on full display. I mean, it’s scary to think that soldiers would be turned on undocumented people who live all around the country. Yet, pausing to think this through, the military does not have any special information as to the whereabouts of migrants. So, are we to expect military vehicles driving up and down city streets, with soldiers pointing rifles at people they suspect of being in the country illegally? Will the army storm farms around the country and detain half of the essential workers without status who make the food system operate? How will it look with soldiers in camouflage arresting middle-aged workers picking lettuce?
Regardless of the extent that Trump pushes mass arrests, he will for sure whine and complain about sanctuary policies, threatening the politicians who uphold them like he did in his first term. And like his first term, many politicians will resist. California Gov. Gavin Newsom and Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker are already gearing up.
For those areas outside of sanctuary jurisdiction, arrests may increase. This happened during Trump’s first time in power, especially in places like Florida’s Miami Dade county that repealed its sanctuary policies.
Here, the problem is that immigration courts are woefully under-resourced, reporting a backlog of 3 million cases. Some believe that doubling the number of judges will help address these cases—but by 2032. Mass arrests will only further jam up the system. Meanwhile, immigration lawyers are skilled at defending their clients, taking the time to search for how people can change their status, for instance if people have suffered domestic abuse or witnessed a crime.
This will be the real result from Trump’s deportation plans—not mass removals of people, but massive time delays and wastes of both Americans’ time and money.
Still, what is most important in this discussion are our immigrant movement networks. Before and during Trump’s first term, this movement has built an underground railroad of sorts, connecting immigrants with churches, legal resources, and meals if needed. And more critical than things, this movement has for years provided that one thing that Trump and his lackeys are working so hard to wrest from migrant communities—hope. That is, hope that there will be a better day for migrants and their allies to press serious politicians about making real reforms instead of being terrorized and living in fear.
Until that day comes, we fight on.
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Outraged Over False Claims of Pet Eating? Consider the True Horrors of Factory Farms
What we do to billions of animals legally in the U.S. food system is far more extensive, not to mention ghastly, than much of the animal sacrifices that may occur in other people’s religious rituals.
Oct 13, 2024
The stories about Haitian migrants in Springfield, Ohio, eating pets have been debunked. Even the woman who filed a police report accusing Haitian migrants of stealing her cat apologized when she later found her cat in her own basement. Sadly, despite being proven false, the damage from these unfounded claims has been severe. Haitians living in Springfield have been subject to hate crimes and threats from people who believe the lie and have coupled their outrage with bigotry to terrorize a community of migrants who are living and working legally in the community through the Temporary Protective Status designation.
Despite the fact that there is no substantiation for the stories, a friend tried to convince me that Haitians are really, truly eating cats and dogs. The evidence, he insisted, came from police bodycam footage. As it turned out, the footage he was talking about was from an arrest of a woman—who was not Haitian—in another part of Ohio who allegedly killed and ate a cat. This woman was born and raised in America and apparently has a mental health disorder. When I pointed these facts out to my friend, he still didn’t acknowledge his error. Instead, he sent me a description of Vodou (aka Voodoo), a religion practiced by many Haitians, which included descriptions of animal sacrifice. He wrote that it would be better if this religion died out and its immigrant practitioners assimilated into American culture.
Perhaps this particularly pernicious and bigoted moment in our polarized society could be a wake-up call to become a bit more introspective and cultivate some moral consistency in how we treat others.
My head was spinning. There were so many ways I could respond. Should I focus on helping him to acknowledge that his original claim was false? Should I point out that his Irish family and my Jewish family were vilified for their cultural differences when they came to this country and invite him to reflect upon his negative judgments about newer immigrants? Should I talk about the range of religious injunctions, not confined to Vodou, which cause harm to animals? I didn’t know where to begin.
Because we’d discussed animal cruelty many times in the past, after mentioning all the points above, I further responded that what we do to billions of animals legally in the U.S. food system is far more extensive, not to mention ghastly, than much of the animal sacrifices that may occur in other people’s religious rituals. Moreover, I pointed out, he was an enthusiastic participant in the cruelty we inflict on cows, pigs, chickens, turkeys, and other animals raised for food because he regularly consumes meat, dairy, and eggs. Until now, he’d never expressed much concern about the welfare of animals, often telling me that he cares more about people than animals. Suddenly, along with millions of other Americans who erroneously believe Haitians are eating dogs and cats, he claims to care a lot.
In our culture, most people recoil at the thought of eating dogs and cats and believe it would be wrong to do so. But if it’s wrong to eat dogs and cats, then how is it right to eat pigs—known to be as or more intelligent than dogs—or to consume cows and chickens, both able to feel pain just as acutely as cats and cockatiels do? If we look inward to consider who we eat, we may discover justifications but little disgust or moral outrage.
And yet, the abuse we inflict upon billions of farmed animals each year is on a scale nearly unimaginable. For example, dairy cows in the United States are forced to produce a calf every year, and when they are born, the newborns are taken away from their distraught mothers on their first day of life. We then take the milk meant for the calves for ourselves. The cows are then forced to produce 5 to 10 times the amount of milk they would naturally produce to feed their young, resulting in mastitis, a painful udder infection necessitating antibiotic treatment in about half the dairy cows in the United States. After years of this cycle of artificial insemination, birth, and perpetual milking, their milk production declines. At that point, the cows are sent to slaughter, usually to become hamburger or processed meat.
What about chickens and turkeys, whose names we hurl as an insult of cowardice (for the former) and stupidity (for the latter) even though these birds are brave and intelligent? Almost all of them live the entirety of their lives in crowded, ammonia-saturated buildings; are debeaked without painkillers to prevent them from pecking each other to death in their confinement; and, if they are being used for egg production, are likely caged so tightly they cannot even stretch a wing.
Where is the outrage? Where is the disgust? In her book Why We Love Dogs, Eat Pigs, and Wear Cows, psychologist Melanie Joy describes the invisible belief system, which she calls carnism, that leads us to eat certain animals while protecting others. It is this invisible belief system that explains our horror at the thought of people eating pets—a horror we might conceivably express around the dinner table as we gnaw on the rib of a pig or the wing of a hen.
I’d like to hope that the false accusations made against Haitian migrants will help us realize the glass houses we’re living in so that we stop throwing stones. Perhaps this particularly pernicious and bigoted moment in our polarized society could be a wake-up call to become a bit more introspective and cultivate some moral consistency in how we treat others. And then maybe we’ll each take a step toward minimizing the harm we cause humans and nonhumans alike.
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