Dorothy Day's Pilgrimage Continues at Casa Juan Diego

The Pilgrimage Continues...
WHO ARE THESE TERRIBLE IMMIGRANTS?

by Mark and Louise Zwick and other Houston Catholic Workers

It was mind boggling. We were sitting in this beautiful dining room
meeting one gracious woman after another, all bright blue-eyed and all
asking about our work.

Sister Loyola Hegerty, former Mother Superior, made a point of
introducing us to all these Sisters of Charity and bragging on us, how
we have served thousands of immigrants over the years.

We in turn bragged on Sr. Loyola and the Sisters of Charity, who helped
us make a great start fifteen years ago by paying off the property of
our present women's center and later helped with many others to
construct the fireproof building we now have. The ability to help so
many so soon was possible through this generosity. The bragging on each other stopped. There was a silence.

Then, solemnly, as if before a judge and jury, Sister Loyola said that
she had something to say. She proclaimed solemnly: "I am an
immigrant."

Our mouths dropped open. It was the aura that surrounded Damien the
Leper, who upon discovery that he had contacted leprosy from the lepers, announced, "My fellow lepers."

We gasped: Sister Loyola is an immigrant! Much worse, all those
beautiful people we met were immigrants. This convent is another Casa
Juan Diego!

Fifty-four percent of Americans, according to Newsweek (April 8) feel
that immigrants have done harm to their communities and forty three
percent fear immigrants and see them as criminals.

What crime have these Sisters committed?

- opening the San José clinic decades ago to serve poor immigrants and
continuing to serve those who pay on a sliding scale according to
income.

- opening hospitals, sixteen of them, in the Southwest to serve the
sick.

- teaching in Catholic schools of the poor.

- going to still other countries to serve the poor in Africa, in
Guatemala.

We asked Sister Loyola if immigration came to the convent to check on
them or to their clinic and hospitals?

Or if the police came busting into the convent as they do at Casa Juan
Diego with guns drawn looking for criminals?

Sister Loyola said they hadn't come yet, but if xenophobia (fear of
foreigners) continues, they probably will--"but we'll be ready for
them," she added.

Other "Criminals"

Juan is another one of those criminals like the Sisters. His boss has
not paid him in over a month--i.e., not a penny for six weeks, which
means no funds for rent, food, utilities. His boss did promise--as he
talked to Juan from his beautiful, expensive home in Sugarland, that he
would pay him someday.

Two of Juan's friends have not been paid, either. Someone is ahead
$10,000 or so. The boss could vacation in Acapulco or Cancún for quite
awhile on this amount. The boss thinks this would make up for his
robbing the men. If they have Mexican relatives who work in these
vacation spots, this would make up for his not paying them. After,
Mexicans are still getting the money.

Robbing men of their pay is a common occurrence among a percentage of
workers at Casa Juan Diego and at other locations. Millions of dollars
are gained by Americans in this way--quite a contribution to the
economy. Maybe this is reason enough for turning a blind eye with
respect to immigration. It pays.

One wonders how many houses have been built, how many new roofs put on, how many ditches dug, how many houses painted by these "volunteers."

Juan, although unpaid, didn't suffer as badly as Gonzalo, who, when he
demanded his pay, was beaten to a bloody pulp because he didn't know his place.

Rita the Thief

Rita, like all the immigrants, wants to work, to get any kind of work.
An American couple asked her to work with the children and offered to
pay her $100 per week.

She was happy to have work and have money to send to her mother, who was caring for her children. Her husband was deceased and her family was really poor.

The hitch in this job was that the husband stayed home some days and
insisted on having sex with Rita. She was uncomfortable with his offers
and refused. "We may be poor wetbacks," she said, "but we are decent."
She threatened to tell the spouse, but the husband was relentless. Rita
told the spouse and was fired for being a thief. No proofs given. Rita
found refuge at Casa Juan Diego.

Rosa the Prostitute and her Friend

Rosa fared no better than Rita. She was hired by a woman who was
fronting for a divorced man who had two little girls. She was told the
job was with a married couple. She was to be a live-in babysitter,
since the couple worked different shifts in their jobs.

The hitch was that it was not a couple, but a single man who actually
employed her. When it was time to go to bed, the man said that she
would have to sleep with him, since there was only one bed. She
refused. She was fired by the man, who accused her of being a
prostitute.

Rosa's friend, a live-in maid, didn't have a bed, either. She slept in
the bedroom of the baby so she could care for her. There was a crib,
but no bed for Rosa. There was carpet, however.

Mario the Crook

Mario does not fit the image of the other "criminals." He is 14 years
old, but looks older. He is light-skinned, dresses nicely and is, to
say the least, handsome with his wiry hair. He is young, but most young
men his age in Guatemala are expected to work.

Like most immigrants, he is dying to work, so goes to the street corners
in the neighborhood.

However, Mario cannot find work, as he keeps getting accosted by older
men wanting to pay him for sex, even waving money at him. They offer
sandwiches or used clothing or offer to help him take a shower. When he refuses, they call him a crook and lazy. Others in the neighborhood
keep trying to line up a place for him to live with an older man.

Mario is upset. He wants to work for money, not sex, and even the
thought of making money this way drives him crazy. But it is so
difficult when your family is hungry.

The older men don't feel that they are breaking the law by employing
"illegal aliens" for sex.

We have talked to these perpetrators. One of them said openly that he
only hires (for sex) teenagers over 18 and added, "I've checked with my
lawyer and the police and they tell me there is no problem. I'm
Catholic, you know." We suggested that they try other areas where they
may find adults, since prostitution is not good for teenagers.

Pedro the Fake

Pedro's hand was swollen out of all proportion and looked more like a
melon than a hand. Pedro was in great pain and burning up with fever.
He had been injured on the job, he said. His boss dropped him off at
Casa Juan Diego.

When we asked Pedro's boss why he didn't get medical help for him, he
said there wasn't anything wrong with him. "Pedro is a fake and doesn't
want to work. He is not getting my money!" The boss refused to pay him
for two weeks of work that was due. Pedro sought assistance at Casa
Juan Diego. The doctors at Ben Taub told us that he just about lost his
hand.

Isabel and her Enterprise

Isabel, a new immigrant, had been sold to an enterprise that specialized
in providing prostitutes for businesses. She was told that if she
worked hard, she could buy her way out.

Originally, the people told her she was to work as a secretary.
Unfortunately, Isabel was very pregnant, so the enterprise decided to
spend some money on their commodity for the first time. They took her
to an abortion clinic, where an abortion would be performed on her child of six months. Isabel was very upset. She had many reasons to be.

Someone in front of the abortion clinic asked why she was crying. She
explained the enterprise and asked help in escaping. The people in
front of the clinic arranged the escape of both.

Immigrant women are vulnerable target for exploitation--a way of
increasing capital.

Marta the Wetback

Marta married a citizen from the United States. They were "well
married" both in church and civil court. Her cousin was a priest.
Her husband Julio, an American, wanted a humble woman, and for this
reason he went to Mexico to look for a wife.

Marta came to the States. She tried to be humble, but Julio was
dissatisfied and no amount of humility would satisfy him. He beat her
up constantly. "What was she doing wrong?"

Julio kept saying he was going to call Immigration on her, since she was
illegal, but he never used the word illegal undocumented. The only
words he used were "dumb wetback." He told her, "You wetbacks are all the same. You don't appreciate anything. I am going to have the Migra (Immigration) come and deport you if you don't behave."

The "Migra" didn't come, but what did come were awful blows and kicks in the face. (It would have been better if Immigration or the police did come.)

Marta came to Casa Juan Diego. Her face was a mass of black and blue
and her jaw was broken.

Crucifixion I

The immigrants experience crucifixion, first on their journey to the
United States when they are robbed or raped in various countries in
which they pass through and during which they spend days without eating, many hours without drinking water, exposure to all kinds of insects and mosquitos, wild animals and snakes. Some never arrive, but are killed or drown on the way.

The crucifixion is a crucifixion of a people caught between dying of
poverty in their own countries or dying trying to get here or being
treated in about the same way that mules are treated once arrived. Once
here immigrants cannot be treated like a pound of flesh. They are not
animals.

Of course it would be better to stay home, but one cannot expect people
to live a life of destitution without enough to feed their children or
send them to school. With the new global economy, with the
multinational companies taking advantage of cheap labor in their
countries, people cannot earn enough to simply live. And with the
requirements of the World Bank for readjusting their economies, Third
World countries have had to redirect all agriculture for export and cut
social and educational services. Many are forced to emigrate.

And then when they arrive in the U.S. they are often victims of
exploitation with experiences similar to those true stories recounted
above. And then they can even feel the hatred some people here have for
them. They ask us why do these people hate them so much?

Crucifixion II: Is our Work Easy?

Please don't thank us for our help. We don't want to romanticize our
work with the poor. Our work is not lovey dovey in the least. We're no
Dorothy Day or Mother Teresa. It is very hard.

People sometimes praise us for perseverance in our work after sixteen
years of giving hospitality, but it is often more like a crucifixion
also for us and our fellow Catholic Workers, who give their lives to the
service of the poor.

The vast majority of our guests are a joy. But there are a few who have
been through too much or who have learned to manipulate and hate others in order to survive.

Our guests, immigrants, battered Spanish-speaking women, pregnant women, homeless immigrant women with children, injured men, are just like any other people in their responses. People respond to our generosity (and to being dependent, totally dependent) by either resentment or gratitude. Many only stay a few days and are able to get on their feet.

Others may have to stay a long time, especially women and children or
injured men. Battered or pregnant women with several small children
need more time to make a life for themselves. Guests may become
dependent and overdependency is not healthy.

Sometimes the reality of being dependent for a lengthy period of time
triggers an incredible hostile reaction and rage.

A few guests who have had many failures in their lives or problem
relationships with their parents place their frustrations or anger at
life on those with whom they find hospitality.

The broken person cries out, sometimes in rage: "Heal me! Fix my
problems!" (or worse)

And we Catholic Workers can help, but we are not God and we cannot solve all the problems. We sometimes lose patience with quarrels among guests and undisciplined, difficult children, or intoxicated, threatening men. Other guests do not meet all the expectations of some other guests, to put it mildly, and conflicts begin.

When people arrive at Casa Juan Diego they are ecstatic with delight and gratitude in finding an oasis of peace and protection and cannot thank
us enough.

They would kiss our hands if we allowed it and call us Don and Doña if
we permitted it. But for those who cannot handle dependency this
changes quickly and they see us as the enemy within a short time.

Some guests call powerful people to report us. We regret that whatever
powers that be that they have been able to find have never offered to
house them.

We can see why Catholic Workers who serve white people soon abandon hospitality all together and refer to their early experience with
housing as their "shelter" phase. They want hospitality behind
them--way behind them.

A little better alternative is to hand-pick the people you accept in
hospitality and limit it to only a few people. Small is beautiful if
you don't like hospitality. You have to be a nut to receive 100 or 200
in various houses each night--and that's what we are, fools for Christ.

We can understand why it is almost impossible to get new people into the two major shelters for families in Houston (besides the great need) and why the Houston Area Women's Center wants to focus on counseling rather than on housing, even though there is a serious shortage of places for battered women in Houston itself. We are sure they get tired of
"shelter rage."

The temptation is to avoid hospitality rage at any cost. Taking chance
on this rage occurring is not worth it. After all, one does not want to
be a masochist.

This work brings us to our knees. It seems that the Lord wants us to be
broken like our guests, to realize that the seed and the Spirit bloom
only in ploughed and cultivated, broken soil, not in the hard, smooth
ground.

It's not easy. Only faith can underwrite this work day after day, night
after night, year after year with no future except today's challenges.
We don't have much of a choice, either: go to our knees or collapse. We
believe or we die.

Pious Bull

People have a little trouble with us after all these years of being at
the Catholic Worker. They say: "You used to be nice liberals, talking
about politics, books, movies and good wine. Now you have become so
darn pious, talking about carrying the cross and the crucifixiion and
all that old pious stuff. Give us a break!"

Over the years we have served various cultures and ethnic groups in the
United States. Our experiences with all of these cultures have
confirmed what Dorothy Day quoted so often from Dostoevsky in The
Brothers Karamazov. In the story, a woman wants Fr. Zossima to tell her how she can have proof and be convinced of immortality.

William Miller tells us in his book about the Catholic Worker movement, A Harsh and Dreadful Love, that when the woman stated that she had to have gratitude as a repayment of the love she gave, Father Zossima responds with the Catholic Worker's radical answer.

To the woman's final demand of how she can have some proof of
immortality, the monk replies: "By the experience of active love. In as
far as you advance in love you will grow surer of the reality of God and
of the immortality of your soul."

And what was meant by "active love," the woman asked. She loved
humanity. Often she dreamed of a life of service to the unfortunate
that filled her with warmth. She could nurse the afflicted; she would
be ready to kiss their wounds. But sometimes she wondered how she would react if she were not repaid in gratitude for her service. What if the person "began abusing you and rudely commanding you, and complaining to the superior authorities of you (which often happens when people are in great suffering)--what then?" She could not bear ingratitude. "I expect my payment at once--that is praise, and the repayment of love with love. Otherwise I am incapable of loving anyone."

Father Zossima answered in words that Dorothy Day has many times
repeated: "Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared to
love in dreams. Love in dreams is greedy for immediate action, rapidly
performed and in the sight of all. Men will even give their lives if
only the ordeal does not last long but is soon over, with all looking
and applauding as though on the stage. Active love is labour and
fortitude, and for some people, too, perhaps a complete science. But I
predict that just when you see with horror that in spite of all your
efforts you are getting further from your goal instead of nearer to
it--at that very moment you will reach and behold clearly the miraculous
power of the Lord who has been all the time loving and mysteriously
guiding you."

For Peter Maurin, Dorothy Day, and many others who have lived in the
spirit of the Catholic Worker, the first mark of their desire to redeem
the universe has been to live at the "harsh and dreadful" front of
active love. In the early period of the movement, Dorothy Day wrote in
the Catholic Worker an editorial on love, and much of it was based on
the reflections of Dostoevsky's monk. 'Hell is Not to Love Any More'
was the editorial's title. It was a statement of the Worker's faith in
love as the ultimate reality: "When one loves, there is at that time a
correlation between the spiritual and the material. Even the flesh
itself is energized , the human spirit is made strong. All sacrifice,
all suffering is easy for the sake of love. This is the foundation
stone of The Catholic Worker movement. It is on this that we build."

Life is stronger than death. Love is stronger than fear and frustration
and we must love our enemies or even those who tell the world we are
terrible people. In Catholic Worker houses one must be prepared to live
the folly of the Cross.

In Matthew 25 Our Lord asks us to care for him in the least ones.

The new immigrants are the least ones of today. They are ignored or
despised by many Christians. We at Casa Juan Diego cannot abandon the most broken ones because a few of them respond in frustration and anger. We share in their crucifixion and hope in the Resurrection.

As Cardinal Jean-Marie Lustiger recently reminded us in the National
Catholic Register:

"The victory of the Risen One is a victory we carry in our hearts, as
John writes (I Jn 5,4): 'The victory that conquers the world is our
faith.'

And this is the proof we're looking for. (In our work) we are tempted
to consider death victorious rather than believe in the Resurrection.
But the disciple who lets himself or herself be taken over by the power
of the Risen One will henceforth no longer fear unhappiness and will be
able to face all the threats of the world.

Why? Because from the tomb, Christ has emerged as conqueror of death
and evil. He loves us--God our creator and redeemer--He who has sent us His son so that He would be our brother and our Savior. We have a part in His death and resurrection.

By the power of the Spirit, along with the entire Church, we are plunged
into the joy of the Risen Lord, who invites us to follow Him into a life
without end."

Amen. Pray for us.

Houston Catholic Worker, Vol. XVI, No. 3, May-June 1996.