Laura Zhang
Esperanza Immigrant Rights Project
Los Angeles, USA
On June 27th, 2022, 53 migrants were found dead or severely dehydrated in a truck in Texas likely crossing from Mexico into the United States. Those who passed away were from Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, and Honduras- countries from which a majority of our clients at Esperanza come from. Whether we would have seen one of those child’s faces in our intake room or not, a due sense of mourning continues for the lives lost in the journey thousands of migrants pursue to come to the United States.
In my ongoing exploration of human rights work, specifically for immigrant, refugee, and asylum-seeking communities, I am concerned with the language of violence applied in the legal system. For example, I am preparing at this point in the summer to present parts of individual orientations to sponsors and unaccompanied minors which includes explaining forms of relief the minor can possibly qualify for. When Esperanza does intakes with each client, the stories that unfold in a time frame of less than 30 minutes are opportunities to support the sponsors in identifying a form of relief they can find a lawyer for. But when it comes to actually being granted legal relief/protection in the United States, your story is always not enough. Language and narrative become critical in the forms of relief I’ve learned about for unaccompanied minors: general fear in your home country is not enough for asylum, wanting a better life and the opportunity to go to school is not enough for special immigrant juvenile status, that your parents are still subject to violence in your home country yet you are in the United States is room for questioning, more and more. What burden of proof does one carry in the courtroom? How can violence be understood as a tool outside the state’s? What impact does the valuation of suffering when it comes to protection have on immigrants?
At this point in the summer, I’m far more tired than I expected to be. I recently read Jeanine Cummins’ American Dirt, which follows a young boy and his mother on the freight train La Bestia (The Beast) to the United States fleeing gang violence towards their family in Mexico, and both struggled through it and saw so clearly many of the stories of Esperanza clients. Breaking news about migrant deaths adds weight to the intakes we do at Esperanza in which we ask about the unaccompanied minor’s journey to the United States. Stretching my time between the legal and social services portions of Esperanza’s work is dynamic and important, though I am trying to find more capacity to take care of how I am feeling as a result of the work.