For the volunteers at VamosTogether, it’s been a year since we began our response to HB56. 1,000s of fliers and phone calls, 52 blog posts, a half dozen protests, and countless incredible conversations with new friends later, we write this last post (we’re taking a break) to leave our followers with a few thoughts, a year in review titled “The Strange Career of Jim Crow” by Diane McWhorter (author of “Carry Me Home”), and most of all- a huge THANK YOU to all of our wonderful, persevering, and inspiring friends in Alabama.
To all of our undocumented friends in Alabama– we are proud to call you friends and believe in the strength of your pride and your families’ happiness. Laws can never defeat your beautiful spirit. “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” – Albert Camus. Everyday that an immigrant family in Alabama holds their heads up high, goes about their day without fear or doubts, and puts food on the table and smiles on their kids’ faces is a good day… and good days are victories in an unfair world.
To all the organizers and people of conscience in Alabama– we urge you to seek community and strength, not legislative battles. The Republicans have a super-majority and do not like to flip-flop on a promise. No amount of organizing will change the balance of the numbers. Like the Civil Rights Movement, justice will eventually come from the courts and federal legislation (comprehensive immigration reform). If Alabama Republicans have an ounce of political sense then they will manage to pacify angry business interests without going far enough to help immigrant families. The Republicans already write off the black and brown vote in Alabama. Years of fear mongering by Lou Dobbs (who hired undocumented workers himself to staff his estate) and other pundits have made people think of illegal immigration as a matter of sovereignty, security, and crime, when in fact Alabama has never had an immigration “problem.” This right wing discourse and perception is so reactionary and yet so far removed from reality that logic and compassion will be lost principles for the majority of Alabamians, who consider marriage equality to be a biblical issue and healthcare reform to be the epitome of tyranny.
Are we saying that progressive struggle is futile in Alabama? No. Victories do not have to be won at the state level. There is a great craving by the faith community to respond to this crisis, but so far organizing has mainly told them to sign a petition or make a phone call or show up to the State House. That is noble but a futile example of old social movement theory, when new social movement theory (non-state organizing) holds real promise. What should be done is the hard work of forming community- with resource/information networks, safe spaces/territories, rapid response capabilities, hospitality, empowerment, expression and pride. If churches want to respond then they should reach out to the local immigrant community, invite an openly undocumented speaker to share his/her story with the congregation, and ask local undocumented Americans how they can help. Indeed, the biggest impact of HB56 was never the law itself but the fear that came with it- this can be defeated with community. Recently, the term “HB56 vacation” has surfaced, being used by people who fled Alabama in the exodus last fall and have since come back for various reasons. The term, while comical and ironic is not completely an oxymoron; in fact it illustrates a victory of sorts- a victory over fear. Here are some examples of solutions that don’t require a majority vote in the legislature-
The New Sanctuary Movement of Philadelphia has organized a handful of congregations in an accompaniment program, through which churches accompany a family that has a member going through a deportation proceeding by providing pastoral, legal, medical, financial, transportation, or other assistance. Members of the church stay in close touch with the family and accompany the family to all proceedings.
The Be a Sanctuary Project allows private entities to join by publicly adopting pro-immigrant policies. Banks can educate their staff about accepting ITINs. Private colleges can adopt admissions equality policies. Legal and medical offices can offer free or discount services. Churches and non-profits can publicly declare their support for the undocumented community and put their faith into action.
The Librotaficantes have started underground libraries and smuggled into Arizona tens of thousands of books that were banned from the Tuscon’s Ethnic Studies program. Freedom University in Georgia offers free classes to undocumented students. Organizations are organizing a “Freedom Summer” with educational, community, cultural, and empowerment training events in Arizona and some states in the Southeast.
Undocumented youth led organizations (ie UWD & the NIYA) often provide “know your rights,” college application, and youth/community empowerment trainings and DREAMer graduations. These youth become resources for their communities, disseminating information about how to protect yourself and your loved ones from deportations. They also learn about paying taxes, registering for the drafting, Education Not Deportation (END) campaigns, applying to college, and accessing legal and medical assistance. DREAMer graduations are mock high school graduations that give DREAMers a way to “come out,” share their stories, and be openly undocumented voices for their community.
Congregations often offer free English classes and services in Spanish. The Unitarian Universalist Church has developed a six week program for group studies of the issue of immigration, titled “Immigration as a Moral Issue.” Other churches support local charities that help provide for the needs of the immigrant community. But congregations that haven’t educated themselves, welcomed the immigrant community, and formed that bond of community with them will not know how to respond or be ready to respond as the attacks on the immigrant community continue.
Immigrant communities have adopted strategies to defend themselves, and these strategies can be further implemented and expanded upon. In Arizona, volunteers are securing their own communities by taking shifts riding around in cars and listening to a police radio scanner. When a call such as a nearby traffic stop comes in, they drive to the scene and begin filming, translating, and collecting information from the driver. They help contact his/her family, inform him/her of rights, keep the car from being impounded, and use the camera as a deterrent to civil and human rights violations by the police. I observed another strategy recently when a white pickup truck with tented windows and a collection of hunting, fishing, and even a “W” bumper sticker drove by and rolled down the window- inside was an elderly Hispanic woman. Her truck was a proactive measure to protect her from racial profiling.
Lastly, other friends are considering switching trailer parks because the trailer park across the street is private property (it owns the streets). The owners of the trailer park live there and have told me that in the past they have told the police that they cannot enter without a search warrant (same can apply for immigration agents). A friend from Mexico joked with me that they should put up a sign in front of the private trailer park community with some Zapatista flair that reads- “Bienvenidos a Chiapas, Alabama.” A private community, especially one with a co-opt grocery store and a community center with low-cost childcare and youth programming would be a great way to protect and empower an attacked and marginalized community.
This editorial in the New York Times is a great review of the events of the past year, which is contextualized in Alabama’s history of systemic racism and struggle-
The Strange Career of Juan Crow
By DIANE McWHORTER
THE depth of my alienation from home hit me last January, when Alabama shut out Louisiana State for the college football championship. Even in the familiar afterglow of ’Bama’s second title in three years, I had to ask myself, what right did my state have to brag, about anything?
The pride of the Crimson Tide fan is just the relatively fun side of the state’s reason-blind tribalism, the same hard-wiring that produced its other recent superlative, the “toughest in the nation” immigration law that made criminal suspects of an entire class of human beings — and turned those who tolerated their presence into felon accessories. Thanks to H.B. 56 (the “Beason-Hammon Taxpayer and Citizen Protection Act”), passed a year ago by the state’s first Republican Legislature since Reconstruction, I am ashamed of being from Alabama.
The contagion of Alabama’s shame became apparent in April, during the oral argument before the Supreme Court on Arizona’s immigration legislation, the test case for several similar state laws aimed primarily at Hispanics. All have been substantially blocked by federal courts, except Alabama’s, most of which went into effect last fall, catastrophically achieving the goal Arizona calls “attrition through enforcement” — also known as “self-deportation.”
As the court seemed to cast a benign eye on the linchpin of the Arizona law — the requirement that the police determine the immigration status of anyone they stop who invites “reasonable suspicion” of illegal residency — I realized how dismayingly reliable Alabama remained as the country’s moral X-ray, exposing the broken places. So on the eve of the Arizona decision, expected this month, it is useful to review what the imposition of “states’ rights” on federal immigration policy looks like in the one state where this has been accomplished. If Alabama, the cradle of the civil rights movement, can retool Jim Crow as Juan Crow, what have we learned?
Since Alabama has no foreign border and a Latino population of less than 4 percent, the main purpose of H.B. 56 seems to be the id-gratification of tribal dominance and its easy political dividends. A bill co-sponsor, State Senator Scott Beason, was frank about his motive: “when their children grow up and get the chance to vote, they vote for Democrats.”
Mr. Beason, who was later caught referring to blacks as “aborigines,” is from a predominantly white suburb of my hometown, Birmingham, which is gearing up for the 50th anniversary of our civil rights milestones of 1963: fire hoses and police dogs turned on child marchers and a church bombing that killed four black girls. For the 2013 “celebration,” the prize civic leaders were keeping their eyes on was the redemption that flowed from those debacles, notably the Civil Rights Act.
The city had nearly finessed that dialectic during the memorial in October for a local civil rights legend, the Rev. Fred L. Shuttlesworth. Flying into the Birmingham-Shuttlesworth International Airport, the protagonists of the movement — Andrew Young, John Lewis, Joseph Lowery — were greeted at the funeral by Gov. Robert Bentley with words of regret about his segregated youth. So cordial was the network of mutuality that it was at least an hour into the six-hour service before speakers pointed out that Governor Bentley had signed the immigration law that reinvented the sin from which Mr. Shuttlesworth had supposedly delivered us.
As a result, the yearlong anniversary is shaping up to be Groundhog Day. Among other injustices, H.B. 56 bars undocumented residents from pursuing work or entering into any state-related business transactions or private contracts, depriving them of basic dignities and due process. When the Justice Department investigated the state for demanding checks on schoolchildren, the defiant reaction of Alabama’s attorney general prompted comparisons to George C. Wallace’s 1963 “Stand in the Schoolhouse Door” at the University of Alabama.
At least one institution was primed to break out of the loop of bad history. Leading with a reference to the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s 1963 “Letter From Birmingham Jail,” some 150 ministers formally condemned H.B. 56 for preventing them from fulfilling the doctrine of the good Samaritan by making it illegal to give assistance to illegal immigrants, the basis of a suit against the state by three Christian denominations. A statement co-author, Matt Lacey, received dozens of e-mails from the law’s defenders beginning, “I’m a Christian but.” They saw no distinction between the bureaucratic category of “undocumented” and the moral one of “criminal” — a conflation that may also explain Justice Antonin Scalia’s incredulous question to the solicitor general: “Are you objecting to harassing the people who have no business being here?”
Indeed, the suffering of Alabama’s Hispanics went mostly unnoticed until December, when Human Rights Watch issued a report describing entrepreneurs shuttering businesses, crime victims opting not to go to the police, parents fearing to seek medical help for children. These were the law’s intended consequences: to attack “every aspect of an illegal alien’s life,” said a co-sponsor, Micky Hammon, “so they will deport themselves.”
Such unabashed malice made me realize that my shame was really a broken heart. The South’s culture of kindness is real and must account for the most poignant theme of the Human Rights Watch report: how many of those repudiated “aliens” professed an attachment to Alabama. “I love here,” said a 19-year-old, in the state since he was 9. Now the cycle of bigotry is renewed, poisoning a new generation of Americans on both sides.
ALABAMA’S civic conscience stayed unperturbed until a media festival erupted over H.B. 56’s unintended consequences: the brief detention in November of a German executive visiting the revered local Mercedes plant. Benz-gate, and the subsequent Barney Fife-ish treatment of a Japanese manager for Honda, combined with citizen annoyance over the new paperwork to convince the business community and much of official Alabama that H.B. 56 had to be “fixed.” A University of Alabama economist placed the law’s damage to the state in the billions of dollars.
The symbols of redemption rallied. Civil rights and labor leaders traveled to meetings of shareholders, asking them to pressure Alabama for repeal. The annual re-enactment of the 1965 Selma-to-Montgomery march for voting rights was refashioned as an anti-H.B. 56 protest. My heart began to mend at a perverse prospect: in half a century, would Alabama be honoring the remarkable community uprising that overcame H.B. 56? The coup de grâce seemed to occur in March, when Mr. Beason lost his primary race for the House of Representatives.
“I had really hoped Alabama would be a place that could learn from its mistakes,” Mr. Lacey warned me, “but it doesn’t want to be that.” In May the Legislature passed an “improved” bill sponsored by Mr. Beason, even more severe than the original. It forced the police to obtain papers from passengers as well as drivers, and it ordered the state to maintain a database of known “illegals,” recalling antebellum ads spotlighting runaway slaves. The law still exempts domestics, observing the plantation hierarchy of “house Negroes” and “field hands.”
Mr. Beason was most likely emboldened by the forecasts of a constitutional future for his Arizona template, which should impress the court with the gravity of its responsibility. Tempting as it is to raise the specter of 1896 — Plessy v. Ferguson’s “separate but equal” precedent — the better analogy is the 1955 decision known as Brown II, which ordered Southern schools desegregated “with all deliberate speed” but left that task to the segregationists who provoked the humanitarian crisis in the first place.
We know how the fight will turn out, just as it was long obvious the Constitution could not condone segregation forever. But the fight will be ceaselessly reprised, shattering lives before the inevitable is allowed to happen.
At least in Alabama, the civil rights movement, like the football team, knows what it takes to win.
Diane McWhorter is the author of “Carry Me Home: Birmingham, Alabama, the Climactic Battle of the Civil Rights Revolution.”