Hello UMBC Community Members,

UMBC’s Hillel is holding a healing space in response to this past weekend’s tragedy in Pittsburg from 10 a.m. - 4 p.m. today in Campus Life's Mosaic (Commons 2B23).

For additional religious/spiritual support, reach out to Rabbi Jeremy Fierstein via phone at (908) 770-5695, Rabbi Gabriel Horan at (917) 600-9289 or contact our staff at interfaith@umbc.edu.

For other religious/spiritual related questions, please contact Erin Waddles, Coordinator for Student Diversity and Inclusion at waddles@umbc.edu or Idania Ramos, Mosaic Intern for Religious and Spiritual Student Engagement at idramos1@umbc.edu

Thank you,

-Mosaic Staff

Written By Karina Aquiahuatl Villagran, Mosaic Intern for Hispanic, Latinx and Indigenous Student Engagement in Campus Life

91 days have passed since July 26, 2018.

That was the deadline set by Judge Dana Sabraw to reunite forcibly separated families who came mostly from Central America, seeking asylum in the US. per Judge Sabraw’s orders, children younger than five had to be reunited with their parents within 14 days and the rest of children within 30 days. As of late August 2018, 565 children still remain under the custody of the Office of Refugee Resettlement (ORR). The ORR is a branch of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, charged with caring for unaccompanied immigrant children. Less than a quarter of the 565 children are not reunited with their parents due to safety concerns. For more than half of these children, reunification looks slim, as their parents were very likely tricked to undergo deportation to their home countries where dangerous conditions limit communication.

Let us keep in mind that 91 is exclusive of the days from October 2017 to June 27th, 2018—the time period in which more than 2,000 children were torn away from their parents. 2,000 screams humanitarian crisis, but just oneis just as cruel. Thinking about the trauma that these children and their parents likely face today due to their experiences at home, on their way here, and in the US is heart-wrenching. The common journey from Central America to the US is unspeakably distressing for all those courageous enough to start their lives over for better opportunities. People see and experience things that should never be done to a human being. These trauma-inducing experiences did not stop for the 2,000 children who came with their parents, and they certainly continued in the States through this separation.

If you can, try to imagine the impact that the separation of a family has on a parent. And a child? A family? A community?  What does it say about us as a society, that family separation still happens without serious repercussions? Where is the justice for the parents who are likely crying at this very moment over their children who are living with strangers and not them?

(Spencer Platt, Getty Images, 2018)

Unfortunately, family separation is nothing new to the United States. This is an issue that has affected several different ethnic and racial groups in our society. Historically, the United States has separated countless children in the era of slavery and Jim Crow, Japanese internment camps, and boarding schools for Mexican and Indigenous/Native American children.

On my journey across the border with my then 12-year-old relative, I did not meet trauma. In fact, my relative demanded I wait for the trip to Maryland in a safer underground house. I was away from the men with whom he stayed where the chances of witnessing or experiencing human violations were high. I do not know trauma, and I wish these children didn't either.. However, I am well acquainted with the fears of family separation through the instability of DACA. Just the thought of family separation is haunting, so much so that I wake up with tears rolling down my face from nightmares about it. I cannot imagine what it must feel like for those who have been separated.

I sincerely hope that these children under ORR custody can lead lives with stability, forgiveness, resilience, and kindness despite the wrongs that they have experienced.

Written By Mark Gabriana, Mosaic Intern for East Asian and Pacific Islander Student Engagement in Campus Life

Many times in the past, I have referred to myself as someone “from the Orient”, or as an “Oriental”. Before attending university, it didn’t make me feel like I was being insensitive or calling myself a slur, this however has changed. The only reason I started becoming sensitive to the word “Orient” is because other people in college would tell me that it is culturally insensitive, which I found to be perplexing at the time. On top of that, people who made me aware of this term were typically not part of the Asian-American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) community. Many of my AAPI friends have run into the same situation, in which they refer to themselves as Oriental. People outside the community have lectured us about not using the word.

While some AAPI community members today don’t see any harm in the usage of the word, its history is closely tied to racist campaigns against AAPI-identifying groups. The word “orient” originates from the Latin word for East, but the phrase “the Orient” is a Eurocentric term that refers to everything to the east of Europe. This doesn’t just mean East Asia and the Pacific Islands, but it also encompasses parts of the Middle East and South Asia, which are geographically and culturally different than East Asia or the Pacific Islands. The creation of the word was an erasure of the cultural diversity existing within East Asia, the Pacific Islands and Asia as a whole.

Historically, Americans launched multiple campaigns against East Asians, using the term “Oriental” as a discriminatory racial slur. First targeting the Chinese: the mass immigration of Chinese workers came during the late 19th century, who stirred anger and resentment from Americans. The Chinese Exclusion Act, which lasted from 1882 until 1943, prohibited any Chinese immigrant from entering the country. The attitude that led to the Chinese Exclusion Act was quite similar to some contemporary views of immigrants, because Chinese immigrants were accused of taking away American jobs, and were even prohibited from marrying white women. This law was eventually lifted in 1943 only because the American government was allied with the Chinese fighting the war against the Japanese.

(Anti-AAPI Propaganda, Dr. Seuss)

This focus of racism against the Chinese soon took a backseat in 1941 — the Chinese were not being called “Oriental” anymore. After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, the term “Japs” was a common derogatory manner to refer to the Japanese people. In addition, the term “Oriental” shifted to refer to Japanese people after the Japanese Pearl Harbor attack. Simultaneously, the Chinese were being viewed as America’s Asian ally because of their assistance in the Japanese war. Looking at this shift, we can see that the term “Oriental” was not being used to refer to Pan-Asian identity— but rather as a form to degrade AAPI identity and nationalities within the AAPI community.

Now, the language has changed: “Oriental” stopped being used as a racist remark because the US is no longer actively targeting Chinese or Japanese populations. As the years passed, its negative implications were felt less, to the point where members of the AAPI community may have forgotten its origins along with AAPI history. For example, most people don’t think on a national scale about Pearl Harbor on December 7, the Korean War is also referred to as the Forgotten War—even though in both cases, many American lives were lost. Similarly, for the word “Oriental” the past has been forgotten and disregarded, only recognized as officially insensitive in U.S but not understanding the context of why it is offensive. It took the federal government until 2016, over 100 years after the word was used as a racist term, to be removed from all legal documents. Although the word has been mostly desensitized, it is important that we don’t forget where it came from, and start to remember the members of the AAPI community who were targeted in the past. Their history is integral to our AAPI community and our identity as a community today.

Resources

If you would like to learn more about the origins of the term "Oriental", there is a great video that talks it here.

Written By Emily Melluso Graduate Assistant for the Office of the Vice-President for Student Affairs

Content Warning: Includes cases of graphic sexual assault. Unless otherwise noted, all definitions and statistics referenced in this article are sourced from the Tahirih Justice Center website.

As we move through the final stretch of this year’s Critical Social Justice week, we have explored several barriers that immigrants experience in the United States.  We have learned about the ignition of courage within individuals, how this light connects them together, and can bring them into spaces of safety, community, and recovery. Since October is domestic violence awareness month (read more here) and during CSJ there are events centered on the experiences of undocumented immigrants, I think it is important to see how these two topics interact . First, what is domestic violence?“Domestic violenceis a pattern of abusive behavior in a relationship that is used by one partner to gain or maintain power and control. Domestic violence may include physical and sexual violence, threats and intimidation, emotional abuse, and economic deprivation” (Tahirih Justice Center, 2018). As part of our learning journey with critical social justice is the discovery that there are always dark lived events and experiences but it is important to note that justice, safety and recovery are not equally accessible to everyone individually.

For some, they must travel a very and strenuous trek to find a safe place for both them and their loved ones. Some must go through injury, harm, and danger before they can access healing. I would like to share just a single narrative of those dark places in our global society.I would like to once again warn you of the graphic sexual content of this post.

The following is a true story of a woman who experienced intimate partner violence. Norma’s story is an excerpt from Tahirih Justice Center, a non-profit that supports immigrants fleeing violence from their countries of origin.

Norma was only 15 years old when she was abducted, raped, and forced into marriage by a violent older man who threatened to kill her family if she refused. At 20 years old, while pregnant with their child, Norma was hospitalized after a particularly brutal beating; the baby barely survived. Norma’s father convinced her to go into hiding and hired a private attorney to file for divorce, in secret, on her behalf. They knew it was only a matter of time before her ex-husband found out. Fearing for her life, Norma fled to California.

Now free from her ex-husband, Norma began a life in the United States, as an undocumented immigrant. Years later, she fell in love with John*, a U.S. citizen who was initially was smart, fun-loving, and handsome. After living together as a family for three happy years, John began drinking heavily and staying out all night. Norma was stunned and heartbroken when he admitted to cheating on her. John begged for Norma’s forgiveness and swore he would change.

With promises of a business they could own together, a bigger house, better schools for the children, and a renewed sense of commitment, John convinced Norma to move to Houston. They bought a house with their shared savings, and John finally proposed marriage. It didn’t take long after getting married for John to start drinking again. This time, it worsened. John started beating and raping Norma. As a method of control and humiliation, he would lock Norma outside or force her to sleep on the floor of the home they owned together. He became increasingly emotionally abusive, blaming Norma’s performance as a wife and a mother for the physical and emotional pain he inflicted.

When she finally built up the courage to leave, John used Norma and her children’s undocumented status to exploit, intimidate, and threaten her. He promised to have them deported if they called the police, and he destroyed Norma’s personal documents to prevent her from filing for immigration relief on her own. He removed her name from their shared bank accounts, canceled her credit card, and eventually forged her signature on a document transferring full ownership of their house to his name. John showed Norma that he could take everything from her, and made her fear reaching out for help as much as she feared him. Norma’s voice got smaller and smaller.

Just when Norma started to give up, a member of her congregation noticed that she needed help, and offered her a place to stay for nothing in return. She connected Norma to a domestic violence support group at the Houston Area Women’s Center, where she was referred to Tahirih. Norma’s neighbor lifted her up, community resources connected her to a path forward, and Tahirih helped her access protection under U.S. law.

Her own perseverance and the support of her community helped Norma find her voice again, stronger than ever. Now, Norma gives back to her community by joining the fight to end violence against women. She tells her story to domestic violence survivors, church groups, radio shows, and in women’s prisons as evidence that fear can be overcome, survivors are never alone, and there is always a path forward.

While domestic violence is a national epidemic in the United States, immigrant women and girls are disproportionately impacted. There are many factors which make this population especially vulnerable, including reliance on abusers for legal immigration status or limited knowledge of the English language. Immigrant women and girls in the United States are almost twice as likely to experience domestic violence than the general population. For undocumented women and children in the United States, their histories with domestic violence are often two-fold. Many come to the United States seeking refuge, asylum or protection from relationship or gender-based violence at home including forced marriage, female genital mutilation/cutting, honor crimes, human trafficking, rape, torture, and domestic violence. For immigrant women and girls, their struggle for humane treatment may not end with arriving in the United States. One in three women around the world will be raped, coerced into sex or otherwise abused in her lifetime (Tahirih Justice Center, 2018). These same women and girls are also less likely to leave their abusers due to fear of immigration consequences, such as being deported and separated from their children or families.

WHAT IS TAHIRIH?

The Tahirih Justice Center is the only multi-city, national organization that provides direct service and policy advocacy for women and girls seeking support, visas, asylum and other forms of protection from gender-based violence. Tahirih has five locations in the U.S. including the Baltimore location which opened in 2010. Tahirih’s numbers in 2017 include 502 Baltimore clients and their family members protected through free legal services; 171 Baltimore clients and their family members connected to vital social services; and 1,764 community members and frontline professionals trained. For more information about the types of legal protections available, visit https://www.tahirih.org/what-we-do/direct-services/legal-services/. For more information about the reaction of Tahirih to Attorney General Jeff Sessions’ revoking of asylum protection for victims of gender-based violence, visit https://www.tahirih.org/news/breaking-news-asylum-protections-revoked/.

HOW TO GIVE HELP

Please consider donating to the UMBC fundraising page to reach our goal of $1,000 to support the efforts of our local Tahirih Justice Center as they fight for the protection of women and girls under the law.

HOW TO GET HELP

If you are an immigrant woman or girl who needs help, or know someone who needs help, please visit https://www.tahirih.org/locations/baltimore/baltimore-programs/.

Programs and services offered in Baltimore include free legal services and social services, training and education, trafficking prevention, and poverty alleviation and family stabilization programming, including life skills workshops and a medical debt forgiveness project.