Migration is a human right. As a descendant of the Purhepecha people, the monarch butterfly reminds me that my migration to Turtle Island is an ancestorial practice that has been happening before the construction of colonial borders. The current state of the U.S. immigration system shames my family and many other families for exercising this right. This shame is absurd when the U.S. government is responsible for international policies such as the North American Free Trade Agreement that destabilize countries, leaving families like mine with no other choice but to migrate for better opportunities.

My migration story begins before my birth. In the late 1950s, my great grandfather Jose Carmen Gonzalez Bautista was recruited as a Bracero worker under the 1942 Mexican Farm Labor Agreement with the United States. He, alongside 4.6 million Mexican men, was contracted to work short-term primarily as an agricultural laborer to offset labor shortages during World War II.¹ My great-grandpa was underpaid, subjected to harsh working conditions, and exposed to chemicals such as pesticides. This type of sacrifice at the time provided my great-grandpa and his children the opportunity to obtain their U.S. residency. After a few years, the eldest of his children, my grandma Rosa Dilia Gonzalez Villafuerte, applied for my father’s U.S. residency. As a result, my father would spend his young adult years traveling with my great grandpa between the United States and Mexico as a migrant worker in California.

After my birth, my father continued to work seasonally in the United States because his current job did not provide enough income for a livelihood. My mother decided after two years that she could not tolerate being separated from my father, so they decided to place roots together in the United States. In March of 1995, at the age of three, my mother and I were placed in a passenger bus by the coyote to cross the Tijuana border. During this time the border restrictions and checkpoints were less militant and strict, so passenger buses were randomly selected to check for legal documentation. Coyotes, or people who are paid to “illegally” cross people into the United States, had a network of buses that allowed undocumented people to board buses.

Unfortunately, our bus was randomly selected, and the U.S. Immigration Customs and Enforcement (ICE) forced us off the bus. We were detained and placed in a jail cell. As a toddler, this traumatic experience was my first childhood memory. I remember an officer in a green outfit offering me a juice box and crackers through the jail bars. I remember my mother crying in the corner the whole time we were detained. I remember peeing in a drain with no privacy because there were no toilets available for people detained. We were detained for more than 24 hours. After we were thrown back into Mexico, the ICE officers threatened to take me away from my mother if she ever tried to cross the border again.

My mother felt alone and scared with a 3-year-old to care for but wanted more than anything to have her family together. It took all the courage and strength of my mother to agree to the coyote’s suggestion to try and cross the border one more time. This time around, we were successful, although I experienced the precarity of border crossing one more time in my life after the death of my maternal grandfather.

My story is one of many; there are currently 11 million undocumented people living in the United States and thousands of people detained within 200 detention centers nationally. As a current organizer with La Resistencia, there is a growing concern nationally and locally about the detention centers becoming epicenters of COVID-19. In Washington State, many local organizations and human rights agencies are concerned that the Washington State Congressional Delegates are not taking enough precautions to protect people detained at the Northwest Detention Center (NWDC) from COVID-19, endangering the health of the detained immigrants as well as the health of the greater community.

Many of the detained immigrants at NWDC are forced to immigrate to the United States due to the violence and poverty in their countries. As a result, many detained immigrants are seeking asylum for safety reasons and many fear for their lives. These asylum seekers went through the proper procedure of obtaining asylum by arriving at the U.S. border and asking for asylum, but many are realizing that their fates inside detention centers are becoming more dire each day with the Delta variant. Despite the harmful conditions within NWDC, many detained immigrants continue to have faith in the U.S. government and have organized hunger strikes to gather the support of the community in the Washington state. As U.S. citizens, we must voice our concerns to Washington, D.C. about the high risk of keeping people detained in these confined facilities in order to protect the lives of immigrants inside the NWDC and those detained across the nation.

Detention centers across the nation have the potential to become epicenters for a COVID-19 outbreak. During the pandemic, Dr. Chris Beyrer began a research study in a Texas detention facility to explore whether an it was possible to protect detained immigrants from COVID-19 and if not, whether ICE could prevent deaths. Dr. Beyrer’s research team examined the floor plans of the facilities and concluded that (1) ICE could not protect detained immigrants and (2) if medically vulnerable immigrants were exposed to COVID-19, it would be fatal. Accordingly, medically vulnerable immigrants were released from detention centers to their families.

The COVID-19 pandemic is a serious threat not only for immigrants detained in correctional facilities but also for a wider group of people. The lack of personal protective equipment (PPE), deep sanitation, and social distancing within NWDC exposes both detained immigrants as well as the families of guards to COVID-19, predisposing the greater community to a possible outbreak. Additionally, social distancing is nearly impossible in cramped spaces and shared spaces. La Resistencia reported that immigrants were unable to observe a 6-feet distance within detention centers comprising 1575 detained people. As of today, the detention centers across the nation are still transferring detainees from other border cities, which significantly increases the risk of COVID-19 transmission inside detention facilities. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention have highlighted the dangers of an outbreak within detention centers and advises the implementation of prevention strategies including a halt to transfers. However, the NWDC measures so far have been insufficient in adequately addressing the detrimental effects of the pandemic on minoritized communities.

As an immigrant, I have experienced first-hand the inhumane conditions inside a detention center. Simultaneously, I have also witnessed the resilience of my great grandfather, my grandma, my grandfather, my father, and my mother in fighting oppressive U.S. immigration laws by seamlessly practicing their right to migrate and teaching me to resist injustices.

My migration stories are the reasons I continue to fight for people and children who are currently deported, detained, and denied asylum. We have the same or even more right to be on this land than any other American. Accordingly, we must continue to voice our concerns to our state and federal governmental officials about the inadequate COVID-19 measures and precautions taken in detention centers. It is important that we demand proper medical supplies to arrive at detention centers (e.g., PPE, COVID-19 tests, masks, gloves, hygiene products, and sanitation products) and a stop to transfers from border town cities. We must advocate to begin the release of all detained immigrants under parole and bond to protect their lives and ours.

People who are detained have the right to live a prospering life. As a nation, we should rally behind their demands and provide them with the tools to succeed in this country.