鈥楢ll in, or all out鈥�: What one source鈥檚 story showed our writer about belonging
What happens when one immigrant moves to a place that鈥檚 historically lacking in diversity? While reporting on Immigration and Customs Enforcement operations in Maine, our writer found a deeper story of race, identity, and home.
When Immigration and Customs Enforcement launched Operation Catch of the Day in Maine, Nyamuon 鈥淢oon鈥� Machar says she watched a community show up.
The operation prompted some cheers in the Pine Tree State. But in Portland, the state鈥檚 largest city, the enforcement surge inspired a groundswell of support for immigrants. Native-born Portlanders gave children rides to school and delivered food to those too afraid to leave their homes.
I interviewed Ms. Machar, whose family immigrated to Portland as refugees when she was a child, for a magazine cover story on the city鈥檚 reaction to the surge. I was moved and fascinated by her account of her father, who died recently. He asked to be buried not in the United States, where Ms. Machar has lived nearly all her life, but in his home village in South Sudan.
That request, and Maine鈥檚 dual response to the enforcement surge, have made Ms. Machar reflect on what it means for an immigrant to call the United States home amid a deportation campaign that purports to be the largest in American history. At a moment of national reckoning over immigration, I hope this special episode of our 鈥淲hy We Wrote This鈥� podcast can offer a fuller portrait of immigrants鈥� lives in this country.
Episode transcript
Cameron Pugh: Hi, I鈥檓 Monitor staff writer Cameron Pugh.
In mid-February, Monitor photographer Alfredo Sosa and I arrived in Portland, Maine, to report what became a magazine cover on the city鈥檚 response to immigration enforcement. Yet we had very few interviews with immigrants lined up. I knew that was a vital perspective for the story, but I also suspected that those caught in the eye of an enforcement surge might be wary of talking to a reporter.
Then we met Moon Machar. I got in touch with her by asking a different source a journalist鈥檚 most useful question: 鈥淲ho else should I talk to?鈥� When we arrived at her office, at the Maine Association for New Americans 鈥� otherwise known as MANA 鈥� I knew little about her. I knew that she was an activist and documentary filmmaker, and that she worked here at MANA.
But as we got to talking, sheltered in her cozy office, I saw that her perspective offered deep insight into today鈥檚 discourse on immigration. She told a classic American story: Her parents had given up their lives in Ethiopia [where Moon was born] to offer her a better future. Yet, after her father鈥檚 recent passing, she learned that he had never felt entirely 鈥淎merican.鈥� It鈥檚 something many immigrants experience, even after living decades in the United States.
Her words resonated with me. Much of my family immigrated to the U.S. from Jamaica. When my grandmother talks about her life there 鈥� the green-blue water of the Caribbean Sea, the sweet smell of the mountain air 鈥� I can always detect a bit of longing. Not quite that she regretted leaving, but that she wonders what her life would be like if she鈥檇 stayed.
I couldn鈥檛 fit all of [my conversation with Moon] into my report. But I knew it should be shared with the world. As I thought about how to represent her story, letting her tell it herself seemed like the most authentic way forward. I decided to put together an audio portrait that I hope will give a more intimate account of our conversation, her father鈥檚 legacy, and the meaning of immigration in the United States.
Moon and I had a rich discussion 鈥� about immigration, race, Maine, and her life. Alfredo played a large part. An immigrant himself, he connected with Moon鈥檚 experience in a way that made our conversation all the more engaging and meaningful.
[music]
Pugh: Moon and I began by talking about what she had experienced as immigration personnel carried out their enforcement operation in Portland. That evolved into a conversation about how she, an immigrant and longtime Portland resident, fits into the community in one of the least diverse states in the country.
Moon and her family arrived in Maine when she was five. As she grew older, she realized that she was different from the other kids in school. Yet she also saw a synergy between the two parts of her identity. Today, as President Donald Trump and his supporters cheer for mass deportations, she wonders what it means to call the U.S. home.
Moon Machar: Mainers are known for being very proud, hard working individuals. And I very much call myself an African Mainer, because it just goes so naturally with the way my father raised us. And you know, some of the character qualities that he wanted us to perfect.
Where鈥檚 home, right? And I get told to go back home right here. And I left home in 鈥�95, so if I was to step there, I鈥檓 not going to feel that comfort, and it鈥檚 going to take me some time to feel comfortable there as well. So it left me in this complex [state] of like ... holy crap. So the home that I love, right 鈥� and I love being here, I love being a Mainer 鈥� the reality is a good portion doesn鈥檛 want me. You know what I mean? And that rejection that you feel.
Pugh: For Moon鈥檚 father, 鈥榟ome鈥� remained some 6,000 miles away, in South Sudan.
Machar: I recently lost my dad. And one thing that my dad said, he said, 鈥淒on鈥檛 bury me in this country.鈥� And so we had to send his body back to his village so his sisters could bury him. And, you know, at first, I was very annoyed. My mom was very upset with me, because she wanted him here in South Portland, where she has a place to be able to visit him.
Even though my dad came here, and we鈥檝e had like, almost 30 years, and we鈥檙e here, and he鈥檚 worked in the Jordan factories 鈥� like, everybody loved my dad. They loved watching him walk down with his thrifted gear and stuff like that. This whole time, in his heart, this is not 鈥� this wasn鈥檛 his home. And that鈥檚 the reality, you know? 鈥楥ause he was already in his adult life and was established, so there鈥檚 always this yearning for him.
I鈥檓 very much a daddy鈥檚 girl. That was my entire world. And I鈥檝e never 鈥� sorry. [She pauses, becoming emotional.] I think I鈥檝e never not known where he was in my entire life. Whether it was on trips, or whatever it is, he鈥檚 always checking. I always knew 鈥� I was like his little probation officer 鈥� I always knew where my daddy was.
And now, because he鈥檚 not even in this realm with me anymore. And this idea of this land that I have no choice but to go, and to tend, because that鈥檚 where my father is.
Pugh: Today, Moon is a mother herself. Her daughter was born here in Maine, and she鈥檚 always felt like a Mainer. Moon thinks often about the resilience it must have taken for her parents to uproot their lives and move to the U.S.
She also feels a dual pressure: To assimilate to the U.S., while also holding onto the culture and values her father instilled in her. As we chat, Alfredo asks her whether 鈥� and how 鈥� she can do both.
Machar: I think about 鈥� my parents moved here, right around my age, and it鈥檚 like, 鈥淲ow, I鈥檓 a coward.鈥� Because ... how brave of them. I still feel like a kid. I couldn鈥檛 imagine taking my daughter now, and being like, 鈥淟et鈥檚 move 鈥� I guess we鈥檙e gonna struggle here.鈥� Because I鈥檓 too scared. My parents had to make that decision, and come here and do that. And now when I think back, I have a lot of guilt.
I have to now acknowledge, 鈥淵ou know, Nyamuon, you have a home, because all your grandfathers are buried there.鈥� And so how do I hold that? And now I feel scared to say that, or show any pride. Because America 鈥� they want me to be American. Like, what does it mean to be American? The American, American thing. And so if I say, 鈥淚 love it here. But I鈥檇 also like to be who I am, and where I鈥檓 from, and honor my bloodline and my ancestors,鈥� it causes conflict. Because it鈥檚 like, you have to be all in, or all out.
Alfredo Sosa: Is there a world where you can be both?
Machar: Where you can be both. I know. I know. And I think now, in my adult life, I鈥檝e given a lot to this community. And I鈥檝e started to think about the kids in the village. And when I go, I鈥檓 going to have to share this same heart and this passion to people who are my people. But I鈥檓 going to have to reintroduce myself, and then I鈥檓 going to have to learn them.
Pugh: Alfredo and Moon shared a moment of understanding about what it鈥檚 like to be caught in between two places 鈥� feeling 鈥渁t home鈥� neither in their homeland, nor in the United States. But Moon鈥檚 understanding of what 鈥渉ome鈥� means has evolved over time. It鈥檚 less about the physical place and more about how it makes her feel.
Sosa: And there, you are an American.
Machar: Yes.
Sosa: I mean, this is what happens to me. There 鈥�
Machar: Yeah.
Sosa: When I go back home...
Machar: Yeah.
Sosa: I鈥檓 not one of them anymore.
Machar: Yep.
Sosa: And here, I鈥檓 not one of them.
Machar: I鈥檓 not one of them.
Sosa: So you鈥檙e like in between, right?
Machar: Yeah.
Sosa: You鈥檙e in this weird space.
Machar: Yes, yeah, yeah. I think that I always say 鈥� I guess home, for now, is wherever I can smell my mom鈥檚 coffee.
Mackenzie Farkus: This special episode of 鈥淲hy We Wrote This,鈥� featuring Cameron Pugh and Alfredo Sosa鈥檚 interview with Moon Machar, was produced by me, Mackenzie Farkus, for 海角大神. Watch for Cameron鈥檚 story to appear on our homepage and on our app in the coming weeks. Our sound engineers were Ian Case and Alyssa Britton. Original music by Noel Flatt. Copyright, 2026.
