It’s such a weird feeling, but somehow, right now, I’m feeling safe in the isolation of my prison cell. Well, actually, let me rephrase: I’m feeling SAFER in the isolation of my prison cell than many in our community are right now. Wild, right? I know!
As Donald Trump and his administration continue to launch their full-blown attack on our people and other immigrant communities of color, I’m finding it extremely difficult to pinpoint exactly what happened to get us to where we are right now, and who has been complicit in empowering the people perpetrating this cruelty in the form of mass deportations.
But quite honestly, I think that’s exactly how we got here in the first place — numbing ourselves to what was happening right before our very eyes and remaining silent as long as it wasn’t us. Now don’t get me wrong, I commend all those who saw all of this coming and that have been screaming from the mountaintops for the rest of us to wake up. But let’s be real, we all stayed asleep while this pot was brewing. Myself included.
I recall watching the news and witnessing how ICE agents began ramping up their efforts to apprehend folks in community. They were running up on people at their jobs, kidnapping people off the street, busting out car windows, retaliating against political dissenters, and I just remember asking myself: “when did their tactics become this egregious?”
I remember being so angry at what I was seeing. I also remember changing the channel. For that, I have been complicit.
For that, I feel ashamed and disappointed. I hope and want to be better than that.
Recently, things finally hit home. While I was eating some noodles and flipping through the TV channels, I happened to stop at what I thought was just going to be more footage of these mass immigrant roundups. As I heard the news anchor begin describing how eight detainees/former prisoners were thrown on a plane in Texas and deported to South Sudan, my eyes kept focus on my noodles, but still listening intently.
However, when I finally took a moment to look up and glance at the television, I was shocked and horrified to see that I knew one of the men as their pictures popped up on the screen. The one I knew was my homeboy, Tuan Thanh Phan, whom many of us on the fence line have done prison time with and lovingly know as “Brother T”. And he’s Vietnamese, NOT Sudanese!
Confusion led to a million and one questions: “Why would they be sending him to a Africa? What was he doing in Texas? Does his family know what’s going on? Is he okay?”
But most of all, “what the f*ck?”
I immediately pressed a button on my remote control to freeze my TV on the image and went to get somebody who also knows Brother T to confirm if I was really seeing our friend on the television. Once our mutual friend saw the picture on my TV and gave me that awful confirmation, the sickness came sweeping back through as I panicked and scrambled to find out more information.
After days of no luck, I finally came across an article about the deportations on the Associated Press. I remember reading the story and feeling disgusted by what I was reading, especially by a quote attributed to Tricia McLaughlin, a spokesperson for the Department of Homeland Security, in which she tries to justify the deportations by stating: “No country on Earth wanted to accept them because their crimes are so uniquely monstrous and barbaric.”
What a piece of shit!
The story continued to lay out all the men’s prior convictions and went on to share Brother T’s convictions for first-degree murder and second-degree assault and eventual sentence of 22 years in prison. What they didn’t talk about was his humanity.
I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know enough about the immigration system to sit here and teach y’all about the ins and outs of due process rights, injunctions, and all that other legal jargon. That’s not what this story’s about anyway, I’ll leave that to the experts. But I do know Brother T. And the Brother T I know isn’t just that person that committed those crimes decades ago, nor is he what ol’ Tricia McLaughlin claims him to be.
The Brother T I know is someone who has been a longstanding member of the APICAG and has worked hard to show accountability for his actions. The Brother T I know has shared remorse for what he’s done and continues to manage the pain of that remorse everyday by providing a space for others to heal. And the Brother T I know wouldn’t stand by in silence while someone from his community was being mistreated and discriminated against like what he’s having to deal with now. He deserves that same love and compassion.
As of this writing, it’s unclear to us on the fence line where our friend is, and if he’s okay. And it is horrifying that somebody from our state, an alleged “sanctuary state,” could somehow be whisked off to Texas, and then thrown on a plane headed for South Sudan. Our elected officials should be ashamed of themselves, and Governor Bob Ferguson should ask himself if this is the legacy he wants to create for himself by allowing this to happen on his watch. Let’s hope he joins us in doing better. Let’s hope he chooses justice. I won’t hold my breath.
So while we rejoice and celebrate the liberation of some of our community members such as Lewelyn Dixon, I hope we can use some of that momentum to all do just a little more and demand justice for all those who have been criminalized, dehumanized, and marginalized just like our friend, Brother T. The time for action is now!
To get involved, please support and connect with local advocacy organizations such as the Asian Counseling and Referral Services (ACRS) and others doing this important work.
Until next time, keep dreaming!
Felix Sitthivong is an incarcerated storyteller, community organizer, and founding member of the Peoples’ Empowerment Assembly for Collective Equity (PEACE). Sitthivong is also the former president and senior advisor for the Asian Pacific Islander Cultural Awareness Group (APICAG). He is currently serving a 66-year sentence at the Washington Corrections Center in Shelton, WA. Reach him with questions for “On the Fence Line” via Securus (WA #354579) or write to him at Felix Sitthivong #354579, PO BOX 900, Shelton, WA 98584.
Felix Sitthivong is an incarcerated storyteller, community organizer, and founding member of the Peoples’ Empowerment Assembly for Collective Equity (PEACE). Sitthivong is also the former president and senior advisor for the Asian Pacific Islander Cultural Awareness Group (APICAG). He is currently serving a 66-year sentence at the Washington Corrections Center in Shelton, WA. Reach him with questions for “On the Fence Line” via Securus (WA #354579) or write to him at Felix Sitthivong #354579, PO BOX 900, Shelton, WA 98584.
