Sen. Dick Durbin calls the recent rash of state voter suppression efforts, "a threat to our democracy." Yesterday he held a hearing on this disturbing trend at which the ACLU submitted a statement for the record.
In recent months, state legislatures across the nation have erected new barriers to the ballot through the passage of a range of highly restrictive voter suppression laws. Regressive measures were introduced in more than 30 states, and thirteen states proceeded to adopt new or expanded barriers to voting.
Ariadna Recinas, a single mother, small business owner, and the sole breadwinner for her six children, including four US citizens, was granted cancellation of removal, an important form of immigration relief that allowed her to stay in the U.S. and continue to support and care for her family. The Board of Immigration Appeals concluded that, in this particular case, deporting her to Mexico would cause exceptional and extremely unusual hardship to her children. But under Rep. Lamar Smith’s (R-TX) “Hinder the Administration’s Legalization Temptation” (HALT) Act, Ms. Recinas would have no immigration options and would certainly be deported, thereby leaving four U.S. citizen children with no parent in the U.S.
Imagine you are arrested — not for committing a crime, but because of your immigration status. You are then taken to an unfamiliar location and locked up in a detention center, far away from your family and friends, to await complicated, confusing, and potentially very lengthy and confusing deportation proceedings. Most of your interactions are in English, your second (or perhaps even fourth) language. You don't have any legal representation to explain what your rights are or how to apply for relief you may be eligible to receive. And in the midst of this stressful time, you are sexually assaulted by a guard — the very person assigned to protect you from harm. What would you do? Would you tell someone, or stay silent for fear that speaking up might increase your chances of deportation or further abuse? If you decided to come forward, whom would you tell, or trust?
Imagine you are arrested — not for committing a crime, but because of your immigration status. You are then taken to an unfamiliar location and locked up in a detention center, far away from your family and friends, to await complicated, confusing, and potentially very lengthy and confusing deportation proceedings. Most of your interactions are in English, your second (or perhaps even fourth) language. You don't have any legal representation to explain what your rights are or how to apply for relief you may be eligible to receive. And in the midst of this stressful time, you are sexually assaulted by a guard — the very person assigned to protect you from harm. What would you do? Would you tell someone, or stay silent for fear that speaking up might increase your chances of deportation or further abuse? If you decided to come forward, whom would you tell, or trust?
In 1963, we could have only dreamed of a woman with a realistic shot at the White House, or a female Speaker of the House or Secretary of State. There were no women heading Fortune 500 companies, jetting into space, or sitting on the Supreme Court. The average women had limited educational opportunities and very few career options, and in the jobs they had, on average, they still only made 60 cents on the dollar that men did.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” It’s one of the most common questions we ask our children. And no matter what answer they give — veterinarian, astronaut, president — we tell them the same thing: work hard in school, and you can do it.
But for thousands of young adults raised in this country, it’s not that simple. For those who were brought to the U.S. by their parents without proper documentation, current laws continue to keep their dreams out of reach. For them, unlike the classmates they have grown up next to, pursuing a college education and a career isn’t just a matter of working hard and achieving academically. Instead, they face many roadblocks in their path to success: crushing financial burden, discriminatory enrollment policies, and the constantly looming threat of deportation.
A new video from the New York Times is helping shed light on the plight of those recently deported from the U.S. to Haiti. In the piece, "Strangers in a Strange Land," deportees lead cameras on a tour of the hardship they face daily. The conditions they expose range from appalling to life-threatening — dangerously overcrowded prisons, housing crawling with roaches, and camps lacking even the most basic necessities. The footage paints a picture of a nation without a functioning infrastructure, which is certainly in no position to receive deportees. The devastation Haiti suffered in a massive 2010 earthquake has only been compounded by a recent cholera epidemic that has already killed thousands and is projected to affect between 400,000 and 800,000 more.
A new video from the New York Times is helping shed light on the plight of those recently deported from the U.S. to Haiti. In the piece, "Strangers in a Strange Land," deportees lead cameras on a tour of the hardship they face daily. The conditions they expose range from appalling to life-threatening — dangerously overcrowded prisons, housing crawling with roaches, and camps lacking even the most basic necessities. The footage paints a picture of a nation without a functioning infrastructure, which is certainly in no position to receive deportees. The devastation Haiti suffered in a massive 2010 earthquake has only been compounded by a recent cholera epidemic that has already killed thousands and is projected to affect between 400,000 and 800,000 more.
