The immigration debate is political. My choice to feed Mart铆n is not.
Central American migrants carrying a homemade U.S. flag walk in Ciudad Hidalgo, Mexico, on Jan. 23, 2020, part of a group of hundreds that was trying to reach the United States.
Marco Ugarte/AP/File
For the past couple of years I鈥檝e been volunteering to help Guatemalan refugees who have made their way to, of all places, northern Maine. I translate, connect them with social services, negotiate difficulties their children are encountering in school, and generally help them adjust to an environment that couldn鈥檛 be more alien to them (think snow).
While this looks like good work, and I believe that it is, not everyone would agree. I was recently approached by someone who extolled the benefits of a southern border wall to stem the flow of the type of immigration that I, in this man鈥檚 opinion, was abetting. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e part of the problem,鈥� he told me.
I don鈥檛 want to dismiss my detractor鈥檚 criticisms out of hand because, truth to tell, he鈥檚 not wrong. I acknowledge that there are immigration laws, and that, when people follow the law, things tend to run more smoothly. So why do I do what I do? Let me explain by way of example.聽
Why We Wrote This
Immigration policy may be a quandary, but the moral imperative in human interaction is clear to the writer of this essay: If someone is hungry, he feeds them.
The other day I took 17-year-old Mart铆n to a thrift store so he could buy some warm winter clothing. Mart铆n doesn鈥檛 speak English, and Spanish speakers are few and far between in my part of Maine, so he stayed very close to me. I told him that he could pick out anything he liked, but that he should prioritize a heavy coat and boots. When we got to the cashier he opened his wallet, but there was only $2 in it. I assured him that the clothing was my treat, and he beamed.
Once in the car, Mart铆n told me more than I previously knew about his personal story: the long walk from Guatemala to Mexico, crossing the U.S. border, being detained, making his way to Maine with neither family nor friends for comfort and encouragement. As we drove along, his narrative unwound in a matter-of-fact fashion, begging neither sympathy nor approval.聽
And then something happened that gave me pause. 聽
We were stopped at an intersection where a disheveled, middle-aged man was holding up a sign that read, 鈥淗omeless. Please help.鈥� Mart铆n intuited the man鈥檚 need and, turning to me, asked, 鈥淒oes that man have a home?鈥� I told Mart铆n what the sign said and watched as he pulled out his wallet, extracted his $2 鈥� all the money he had 鈥� and reached out the window to give it to the man.
In that moment of elucidation there was much that I suddenly understood. I still acknowledged that, at some level, the man who had told me I was part of the immigration problem was right. But I can鈥檛 get my head around that monumental issue that has stymied legislatures for years. In short, I can鈥檛 take care of everybody. But I could take care of the young man sitting next to me by providing him with warm clothing, just as he had, in small measure, taken care of the homeless man by handing him his last couple of bucks.
I think that, once I divorce politics from the better angels of my nature, the issue becomes clear: If somebody comes to my door and tells me he鈥檚 hungry, I would not first ask him if he was here legally, any more than I would ask an accident victim if he was wearing a seat belt. The only question that would matter in that case is, 鈥淎re you OK?鈥�
Just as I was considering this, I paused in my ruminations to ask Mart铆n if there was anything else I could do for him.
Always hesitant to inconvenience me, Mart铆n pulled himself together and said, 鈥淚鈥檓 hungry.鈥�
And so I fed him.