Lights for Liberty: Pembroke Pines, Florida

I wasn't sure what to expect last night.  I liked the idea of being part of a nationwide group of people saying, "We do not approve of this administration's immigration policies which result in immigrants held indefinitely in substandard conditions which result in human rights violations."  But I also knew that my church had only been part of the group for a few days.

I thought we might have the 10-20 people from the congregation who feel strongly on this issue and are able to drive at night, along with a few community activists.  We're fairly close to the Homestead site where unaccompanied minors are being held (45 minutes if the traffic is running smoothly, but the traffic is rarely running smoothly), so I thought the bulk of the community activists would make the trek down there.

Imagine my surprise when we got to church and took the last parking space.  Even on most high holidays, like Christmas Eve, we don't completely fill the parking lot.

The time before the 9 p.m. candlelit vigil was surprisingly inspiring--I had worried it would be dreary/horrifying, like a newscast but with real humans speaking.  Instead we had singing, poetry, and a reading of the words of children being held in awful conditions.

My pastor asked people as they came in to be part of the reading, so the voices were varied, which gave the readings a more genuine feeling.  We also had a period where a woman read the names of children who had died in custody followed by a bit of information about each child.  Then one of our choir members rang a hand chime so that a bell tolled for each child.

The time went quickly, and soon it was time to light candles.  We processed with our lit candles to the front of the church which is at the intersection of two busy streets.  There, too, we sang songs, and one woman had thought to bring a sign.

Traffic zoomed by, with some cars honking.  I want to believe that they honked in support.  And then we blew out our candles, and most people went home.

Some of us lingered, and we had a delightful time with a child and musical instruments.

 My spouse had his violin with him, and she's had lessons.  She could play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," which seems to be the first song that most children learn on the violin. 

In so many ways, this picture sums up the evening:  a mix of ages, genders, religions, beliefs, but finding intersections of solidarity:

As we all interacted, I did think about how lucky we are to be assemble peaceably, light our candles, sing our songs, and criticize our government.  I have always assumed we would always be able to do this, but the current administration does give me pause.  But I also believe it's important to resist--if we just cave in, if we obey in advance of even being asked/ordered to succumb, evil will take complete control.  As Timothy Snyder says in On Tyranny:  Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century, "Anticipatory obedience is a political tragedy."

Last night's demonstrations around the country, and the expressions of support from those who couldn't make it to vigils, tells me that although we're in danger, we may survive.