Marta

Marta called me and asked if I could come talk to her. She said that her father had been taking care of her son in Guatemala but he had died. She wants to return to get her son and bring him back here to live with her. She wondered if there were any options available which would help them re-enter with a visa. I went over there yesterday.

Before I knock on someone's door I call first to tell them I'm there. I've found that often people won't open the door unless they know who is knocking. There are a lot of reasons for this fear. After parking at the curb, I called Marta's number. A man answered the phone. I asked for Marta but he said she didn't live there anymore. I told him who I was, that I was outside and that she was expecting me. He put her on the phone.

She let me in and we climbed the two flights to her third floor apartment. On the staircase a window was broken and the cold air was coming in. Her apartment was cold, too, and I kept my coat on. Like almost all the homes I visit, this one was immaculately clean and sparcely furnished except for various religious iconography. A Christmas tree was lit with colored lights.

Marta thanked me many times before beginning her story. She told me that she wanted to bring her teenage son here to live with her but with things being so difficult at the border, so expensive and so dangerous to cross, she wondered if there was any way to come back legally. I explained the various options that are available people related to a US citizen or permanent resident, to victims of crime, domestic violence survivors and asylees.

She told me that she had been assaulted on the street a few months ago but had been afraid to cooperate with the police for fear that the woman who attacked her would be provoked to retaliate. And, she told me that about three years ago she was involved in something that I might have heard about. Luis had already told me this story. A Puerto Rican man had spent years victimizing immigrants by breaking into their apartments and robbing them at gunpoint. Because the police either weren't able to catch him or didn't care or because immigrants are afraid to report crimes because they fear that the perpetrator will not be caught and come back to hurt them, this man continued to steal the hard-earned cash immigrants kept at home because they don't have bank accounts. People had begun to arm themselves to protect themselves from this man and from others who were feeding themselves on their vulnerability. One night he broke into Marta's apartment. Someone there had a gun and shot and killed him. Marta said she'd spoken to the police about what happened but the case had never gone to court.

I told her that these two events might qualify her for a U visa, as a victim of crime. Then, she told me the story of why she left Guatemala. Her son was the result of a rape at age 16 but she had never told anyone what had happened to her because of her fear and shame. Part of the reason she left Guatemala was because living there with her rapist nearby was too traumatic for her and she was unable to put it behind her. She cried when telling me this and I was sure it was not easy for her to do so. I told her that this might qualify her for an asylum claim but I also said that it didn't sound like she would be prevented from living elsewhere in Guatemala, only in the place where this man still lived.

One thing I've learned is that this culture doesn't find it easy to open up and share painful experiences or personal feelings. Even within families I've seen cases where a woman hasn't told her family that she's pregnant until it becomes absolutely necessary. Is it shame? Denial? Or, fear of being judged for past mistakes? Or, do people assume that it's no ones else's business?
Coming from a culture that encourages the sharing and processing of one's life experiences (to move on or to engage in a process based on the assumption that we can overcome the obstacles in our path) the level of secrecy I've seen amazes me. Obviously, I wouldn't expect Marta or others who barely know me to open up and start telling me their life stories. All I'm saying is that the level of formality and lack of intimacy in personal relationships which I've observed is perplexing to me.

In any case, I understood that what Marta was telling me was not easy for her and had likely not been shared with even her closest friends. Who knows what else she had been through? That level of isolation and loneliness was almost too hard to contemplate. I can't imagine having been raped and not being able to talk about it.

I hope there is something that can be done to help Marta be reunited with her son. It's not likely and I told her that. But, there's nothing to be lost by trying. I kissed her goodby and wished her a Merry Christmas and a happy new year. As I left her apartment I once again cursed the stupid laws that separate families, enable criminals to hurt and rob people, and contribute to the keeping of secrets because of fear and shame.