I Was There Tuesday

On Tuesday I was at the southern border. I will tell you what I saw, and then I will tell you what it means.

What I Saw

I saw families sleeping under the bridge. Not tents. Not shelters. The concrete overpass, because there is nowhere else.

I counted forty-three people in that space. Eleven were children under five. I know this because I walked through and asked. Three of the children had fevers. One woman was eight months pregnant.

It was 34 degrees.

The official statement from border authorities says they are “managing the flow humanely within legal constraints.” I was there. That is not what is happening.

I saw a six-year-old girl who had been separated from her mother three days earlier. The girl did not know where her mother was. The officials did not know where her mother was. Or they knew and would not say. I do not know which is worse.

I saw a man with a broken arm that had been broken for six days. He asked for medical care. He was told to wait. He is still waiting.

I saw this on Tuesday. This is not a story from years ago. This is not a worst-case scenario. This is the routine.

The Language They Use

The government calls this “detention.” That is the word they use. Detention.

Let me be precise about what detention means in this context:

Families held in chain-link enclosures. Children sleeping on concrete floors with foil blankets. People given one meal a day, if that. No adequate medical care. No legal representation. No timeline for release.

If you did this to a prisoner of war, it would violate the Geneva Conventions.

They call it detention. I call it cruelty.

The officials say they are “processing asylum claims according to legal protocol.” I spoke to a woman who has been detained for forty-seven days. She has not seen a judge. She has not been given a hearing date. She does not know when or if she will be released.

This is not protocol. This is indefinite detention without charge.

They have other words too. “Irregular migration.” “Border security.” “Orderly process.”

Let me translate: people are dying, and the deaths have been made administrative.

The Faces

I want you to see the faces.

Maria, twenty-nine, from Honduras. She walked for three weeks to escape gang violence that killed her husband. She brought her two sons, ages seven and four. She turned herself in to border authorities, requesting asylum as the law allows.

They took her sons. She has not seen them in twelve days.

When I asked her what she wants, she did not ask for comfort. She did not ask for sympathy. She asked me to tell someone in power that her children are missing, and she wants them back.

I am telling you.

Carlos, sixteen, from Guatemala. He crossed the border alone because the alternative was recruitment into a cartel or death. He is being held in a facility with adults. He has been assaulted twice. He reported it. Nothing happened.

He asked me if anyone cares that he is here. I told him I do. He asked if that will change anything.

I did not lie to him.

Gabriela, thirty-four, from El Salvador. She fled domestic violence. She has documentation. She followed every legal step. She has been detained for sixty-one days.

When I asked her what she needs, she said: “I need someone to see that this is happening.”

I am making you see it.

The System is Working as Designed

Here is what you need to understand: this is not a failure of the system. This is the system working exactly as it was designed to work.

The cruelty is not a bug. It is a feature.

The policy is called “deterrence.” The theory is that if you make the process brutal enough, people will stop coming.

The theory is wrong. People are still coming, because the violence they are fleeing is worse than the violence they meet here. But the brutality continues, because the cruelty is the point.

Let me say that again: the cruelty is the point.

When a six-year-old girl is separated from her mother, that is not an accident. That is policy.

When a pregnant woman sleeps on concrete in freezing temperatures, that is not a resource shortage. That is a choice.

When a teenager is assaulted in detention and nothing is done, that is not negligence. That is what happens when you treat human beings as problems to be managed instead of people to be protected.

What You Are Going to Say

I know what you are going to say. I have heard it before.

You will say: “We can’t take everyone. There have to be limits.”

I am not arguing for no limits. I am arguing that the limits should not involve children sleeping on concrete floors.

You will say: “They broke the law by crossing the border.”

Requesting asylum is legal. It is enshrined in both domestic and international law. These people followed the law. They are being punished for it.

You will say: “This is complicated. There are no easy answers.”

It is not complicated. A six-year-old girl has been separated from her mother for three days. Return the child to her mother. That is not complicated. That is basic decency.

You will say: “What about our own citizens? We have problems here too.”

Yes. We do. And those problems are real. But using them as an excuse to ignore the suffering in front of you is not solving anything. It is deflection.

You will say: “You’re being emotional. This issue requires rational policy analysis.”

I am being precise. I am giving you names, ages, specific incidents, specific locations, specific dates. If you think bearing witness to suffering is “emotional” rather than factual, the problem is not my tone. The problem is your comfort.

What Needs to Happen

I do not have the luxury of complexity when children are sleeping in cages.

Here is what needs to happen:

Immediately: Release families with children from detention. Process asylum claims in the community with case management, not incarceration.

Within the week: Reunite every separated child with their family. If you do not know where the parents are, you find them. This is not optional.

Within the month: End indefinite detention. Set clear timelines for asylum hearings. Provide legal representation.

Permanently: Stop using cruelty as policy. Deterrence through brutality is not immigration policy. It is violence.

You will say this is not realistic. I will say: you made this system. You can unmake it.

Why I Am Writing This

I was assassinated in 1980 while saying Mass. The reason I was killed is because I would not stop talking about what I saw.

I saw state violence. I saw bodies in the street. I saw people disappeared. I saw families destroyed.

I reported what I saw. I named the perpetrators. I demanded accountability.

They killed me for it.

I am not deterred.

I am writing this because someone needs to say, clearly and without equivocation: what is happening at the border is not a failure of administration. It is a moral catastrophe.

And every day it continues, we are complicit.

What You Can Do

Do not look away.

Call your representatives. Not once. Repeatedly. Tell them you know what is happening, and you demand it stop.

Donate to legal defense funds and organizations providing direct aid.

Show up. If you can get to the border, go. Be a witness. Bring supplies. Offer help.

Tell the stories. Do not let this become background noise. Say the names. Maria. Carlos. Gabriela.

Hold power accountable. The officials who designed this policy have names. The politicians who fund it have names. The bureaucrats who implement it have names.

Say them.

Do not let them hide behind abstractions like “border security” and “legal protocol.”

This is not protocol. This is cruelty.

I Was There Tuesday

I will go back Wednesday.

I will keep going back until this stops.

I am telling you what I saw. Not what a report said. Not what a spokesperson claimed. What I saw with my own eyes.

Children in cages.

Families torn apart.

People treated like problems instead of human beings.

This is happening now.

Not in some distant country. Not in some historical atrocity we study to feel superior.

Here. Now. Tuesday.

You know now.

What you do with that knowledge is up to you.

I have chosen.

What will you choose?