Yes

"It was the man who got me," the immigration court guard commented, "the way he was crying..." The other guard looked at her, shaking her head. "His little daughter just stared straight ahead..."

I watched the young man with blood running down his face speaking breathlessly to the reporters on my '82 Zenith. "They are beating us!" he gasped in stammering English. The wonderland of an exposed wire city that I loved so much a few short weeks ago was in flames. "They are trying to kill us!" he said, eyes wild and nearly interrupted by blood. "Will you continue protesting?" the reporter asked. "YES" he answered, without a pause.

"They can't send that kid back to Mexico" the lawyer in the cheap looking suit complained to the guards. "He'd be killed on sight".

"I am not comfortable with our conversation a couple of weeks ago" I finally said to one of my fellow teachers. "What conversation?" she asked. "You know, the one where you called me inconsistent in front of thirty-two students. I felt like you were calling me out. I respect your opinion, but I would prefer you didn't criticize me in front of the kids" I answered. "I would do it again," she responded "you're being hypersensitive".

Every time I walk through the gate of the Stewart Detention Center I am reminded of a concentration camp I visited in the Czech Republic. I am not trying to make a Nazi analogy. I am speaking pure aesthetics. I look up at the arch over my head and look for the "Work will set you free" sign that is somehow missing.

"Mexico" and "Honduras" were carved into the benches. All over the benches. Alejandro looked small, yet stout and strong. After watching the judge berate the previous defendant, it was now Alejandro's turn. My heart was beating out of my chest. I glanced at Michelle, her eyes were squeezed shut and she had her hand up to her mouth. I knew she was praying. I wondered if she could hear what was going on and if her thoughts were strong enough to make it all stop and set this kid free.

Sometimes, in moments of adversity, I dance in these weird soft shoes I wear to work. They fit my feet really tight and they make me feel like I am barefoot. I normally just do my dances in my classroom, but sometimes, I jump down the stairs and out of the exit in the back of the building. I really don't feel so optimistic about anything, but I still just jump into the air like a ballerina and fly.

Alejandro's lawyer's hold music filled the room through the speaker phone on the judge's desk. It was embarrassing at first and then weirdly calming and other worldly. We were all just waiting for something to happen.

"I am granting you voluntary departure and will not consider asylum" the judge stated defiantly. "And bond?" the lawyer asked through the speaker. "Bond denied" the judge answered. Alejandro's head snapped backwards and his eyes toward the sky. "And ladies" she added, staring me right in the eyes. I forced myself not to cry and stared back at the black robed cunt in front of me. "Thank you for taking your time to come here. But I am not putting him back on the streets".