May I see my passport, please?

No_Room_at_the_InnLast week, Fools Mission accompanied a mother of two young children on a shopping expedition to replace stolen clothes. She and the kids are living in their car by day and sleeping in the San Francisco shelter system by night, having lost their apartment to eviction because of the deportation of the family breadwinner. Both kids are US citizens, and already suffering with symptoms of trauma in the wake of the departure of their dad.

We were present in the San Francisco immigration court that granted him “voluntary departure”—a decision that opens the door for his children to sponsor him for citizenship in about 17 years. An unmotivated public defender didn’t even request access to his spouse, passport, or funds—asserting in open court that he “thought they had $500” to pay for his return trip to Mexico. (Not so.) Apparently, the system has an interest in shifting the cost of its administrative findings onto a family that’s already lying in ruins. Well aware of the risk of being placed in deportation proceedings herself, the mother was rightfully afraid to appear. The kids never got to say goodbye. As of this writing, the father’s last known location is Tijuana, where he walks the streets without money, change of clothes, phone, or photo ID.

Fortunately, Fools Mission has been able to stay connected to the mom, who was able to reach his sister in Mexico City (a 42-hour drive from Tijuana). Our emergency fund provided money to cover her transportation to pick him up. We can only pray that she reaches him in time. Meanwhile, we are walking with the mom through her application for permanent shelter. Because she is so isolated right now, we’re trying to make arrangements for her to spend Thanksgiving with another immigrant family in Redwood City and make some friends.

The consequences of indifference and cruelty like this are woven into the fabric of human nature. In the year 2042—when brown and black faces outnumber white ones in the U.S.—our children and grandchildren will be the ones to bear the brunt of the consequences of the animosities our immigration system is stirring up today. Personally, I’m sick to death of the suffering on all sides—including ICE officials. I weep for the parents, for the kids, and for the unhappy bureaucrats who oppress them. Because the mom spent her last gas money to get to our round table and tell us her story, she is one of us fools now.