From Punjab to Stewart. Aman's story

Aman is the detainee I visited at Stewart yesterday afternoon. This is not his real name. We were encouraged to change them if we wrote or talked about our experiences, for the safety of the detainees. Aman means "Peace" in his native Punjabi language.  

I  should also say that all of these stories are my best recollections based on the notes I took after leaving the visiting area. Visitors are not allowed to bring phones, cameras or any recording devices in even to the waiting area. We also are not allowed pen and paper back to the visiting area, even though we are in separate rooms divided by a block wall and plexiglass. The only possible explanation for this is the ICE and CoreCivic, the private firm that runs the center, don't want detailed notes about the detainees or the conditions being taken. 

Still, a little contraband gets back there anyway, as I "fuck this", among other things, scratched into the metal window frame and "the system is unjust" written in Sharpie on one of the chairs.  

Aman speaks very little English and I speak zero Punjabi, so we did the best we could. What I learned is that he has been in ICE custody for about 15 months; nine at another location and six here at Stewart. He thinks he will be deported back to Punjab in about two months. 

He arrived in the US via a flight from India to Quito, Ecuador. He then traveled by foot, bus, and taxi to the US border. Look at a map to see what his journey was. From Ecuador through Columbia, Panama, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, Guatemala, Mexico and finally the US.  It's about 2,000 miles point to point in the air. Google can't calculate a driving time or distance and the terrain is extremely rough in some places. 

Aman is a farmer back home. We were able talk a little about what he grows: tomatoes, potatoes, onions. He came to America fleeing political violence. He tried to explain this to me, talking a bit about two parties but we struggled with this due to the language barrier. He showed me two large scars on his upper arm and chest. Aman made a slashing motion indicating he was cut with a sword or machete. His mother passed away and he teared up when he talked about this, which led me to think she may have been killed in the violence (incidentally, I did Google some of his when I got back in the car and found recent articles about violence in the Punjab region of India and English editions of Indian newspapers). 

Aman is in his 40's like me (well, almost), and has two sons back home. They are staying in a Sikh temple right now and he feels they are safe.  

Aman did not have much in the way of complaints about his situation and he seemed resigned to his fate. He said the food and grounds are ok. He only gets to go outside 1 – 2 times per week and no natural light gets in to the detainee area of the complex. When I was there, for the better part of 4 hours, I did not see any detainees in any of the yard areas. He also said they never turn off the lights in their rooms at night. He asked for a Punjabi book, clothes for his trip back home, and to put some money on his calling card account so he could call back home. He said "God bless you" and that he would pray for me and I told him the same

That's it for now. I'll share a bit about Stewart next time and then continue on with the stories.  

Welcome to Stewart, not what I expected.

I went to Lumpkin, GA today to visit detainees at the Stewart Detention Center. I had certain expectations going in, almost all of which were dispelled once I arrived.

I expected mostly Hispanic detainees. I found of the 8 we went to visit only 2 were Hispanic. The others were from Nepal, India, Senegal and Nigeria.

I expected recent arrivals with few local connections. I found people with decades in the US and deep connections. 

I expected a "Detention Center". I found a prison. 

I got to see a father and son reunited after the son spent 72 days in detention. 

I heard stories from the dad, Adam (the detainee I visited about, not his real name), a wife of 12 years, a grandmother, a daughter and two volunteer translators. 

As my traveling companion today told me, this is about the stories, not the statistics. 

I'll share the stories over the next few days. I doubt they'll be what you expect. 

Forrest Gump was half right.

Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get.

And it's like a box of Legos, or building blocks or even a house of cards. Building it up  takes a lot of work. And it's fragile. And one person intent on doing harm or even willfully neglectful can tear it all down.

Nothing good just happens

We are approaching the end of the first half of the year, and in my household, the end of the first half of summer, considering that our kids start back to school so early.

It makes me think about some of the goals I set for the year and summer. Some of them are going quite well some of them not so much. In the going well category, I can look back at my calendar, journal and back in my mind and see where I have dedicated significant amounts of my own time and the time and support of others to help make the things that happened.

I can also see where goals, personal and professional, have fallen short. I can’t find the same bread crumbs of activity across my calendar and on reflection as I can for the things that happened. 

I am sure it’s a shocking revelation, but nothing good or great just happens. Good, meaningful accomplishments (and relationships) take work and dedication and interest and focus. They also require help and support from team members, coworkers, family and friends. And when you look back across your calendar and memories, you can see the tracks. It’s cliché, but success leaves a trail. 

In praise of crappy

I tend to obsess over getting everything just right. If I'm running, I need my Fitbit, the precise miles and times. If I'm writing, it's perfect (at least to me) message, theme, grammar, just the right words. Powerpoints, spreadsheets, you name it. Even this.  All that's great, but sometimes the pursuit of perfect gets in the way of the journey to really good, or even perfect. So, for my blogs, the theme is "crappy". One hundred crappy words a day. And I'm going to see how much more crappy stuff I can do. Because I know if I keep cranking out crappy, sooner or later a gem will come along. So if you follow my blog, no apologies. The crap is coming.  

Amen.