Freedom Lost
He knows this is some mistake. He followed the rules, has a good visa. Right? Why did they arrest him again? Something about his tattoo? He’s had it for years, never thought of it as a problem. It shows his brother’s name. That’s all. He can’t stop his leg from shaking. “What am I afraid of? I’ve done nothing wrong”. Yet the pit of his stomach is a knot of anxiety. He came here to escape the hell that his homeland had become. With the economy bottomed out, crime was rampant and it wasn’t safe. He came to America in hopes of finding the American Dream. He worked hard. Even paid taxes. This is all a mistake. When his boss comes to vouch for him it will all be ok. But why can’t he stop his leg from bouncing?
“There’s nothing to hold him on, most of these people!” grunted a large official looking man from outside the door. “I understand that…I know but…fine you take him then!” He could hear the hard slam of the phone. He had been told it would take a moment to verify his information. Suddenly two officers entered the room. “Don’t look us in the eye, keep your head down and do exactly as instructed” one of the officers shouted. Instictively he glanced at the person shouting at him then quickly dropped his eyes to the floor. “Don’t speak english? Well this is America. We don’t speak your shitty spanish or whatever you call a language. So listen closely because I don’t repeat myself. Stand up and put your hands out in front of you. NOW! Let’s GO!” Terrified he did as instructed. Why were they putting him in chains? Does he not get a phone call? What the hell did he do? Blood was pumping into his ears and he suddenly felt like passing out. “MOVE!” the other officer shouted. Had he missed a command? He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. This had to be a nightmare. As he shuffled out the door he looked to the officer behind the desk, but he wouldn’t look up. “You and all your gang buddies are going feel right at home in El Salvador!” the first officer said menacingly. El Salvador! He’s Venezulan. And what gang? He got loaded into a van with the ICE label on it. He was in more trouble that he could fathom.
There were two other men in the van, with icy stares. Who were they? Are they the real gang members? “There’s been a mistake! Please!” The officer shoved him into the empty seat. “The only mistake was letting you into our country in the first place! Now shut up!” His heart was pounding now. Where were they taking him? What was in El Salvador? How would he let his wife and son know where he was? Do they know where to look for him? Surely he can plead his case to the judge. They can’t just deport them, can they?
The windowless van stops and they are ushered out into the cold night air. Bright lights burn down on them as they are led in a line to a waiting airplane. This is not right! He desparately glances around for something to give him hope. “Head down fucker!” he hears shouted and the last bit of hope is lost.
Now he stands in the El Salvadorian prison, condemned as a gang member with noone even asking or looking into who he was. His head is shaved as are all the men in his cell. All wear the white shirt and shorts, all have the blank look of despair and hatred. Nobody ever leaves this prison, alive anyway. They are merely cattle now. Fed beans and rice. No excercise. No freedom. Can’t even take a piss without 50 or more staring. Hardly matters now. He knows who to hate. And he doesn’t want to hate. But it gives him something to rest his emotional starvation on. He holds on to the memory of his family, who he didn’t even get to say goodbye to. Why did God forsake him? Only questions. No answers.
