In Our Backyard
Tacoma Demonstrates Against Northwest Detention Center
Tacoma, WASHINGTON--It’s visiting day at the Northwest Detention Center. The facility, opened three years ago to hold undocumented people awaiting deportation, is set among a tangle of industrial roads near downtown Tacoma. A distant midday sun reflects new spirals of razor wire circling the low grey building as a middle-aged Sikh man and a frightened looking Hispanic family approach the line of police armed with plastic handcuffs and padded gear, here to guard the entrance against today’s planned protests.
Tacoma, WASHINGTON--It’s visiting day at the Northwest Detention Center. The facility, opened three years ago to hold undocumented people awaiting deportation, is set among a tangle of industrial roads near downtown Tacoma. A distant midday sun reflects new spirals of razor wire circling the low grey building as a middle-aged Sikh man and a frightened looking Hispanic family approach the line of police armed with plastic handcuffs and padded gear, here to guard the entrance against today’s planned protests.
Up above the industrialized tide flats of Tacoma a small group of maybe 40, mostly young people, march against the detention center, against all of the new detention centers being built in America today. They say they are marching against a rising tide of xenophobia in this country.
Some of them call themselves anarchists. Their black hoodies, bandana masks and anti-corporate placards strike a surprisingly militant silhouette against a gentrifying downtown, against the new crop of chain restaurants, shiny condos and corporate art that have come to signify urban renewal in twenty-first century America.
For many in this region this band of protestors, with their pamphlet promises of shutting down Tacoma and political theater of marching bands and giant puppets are a visceral reminder of the massive anti-globalization riots that gripped Seattle in November of eight years ago. Protests most often recalled alongside the police brutality that accompanied them.
Whatever superficial reaction these activists may inspire, they are insisting on provoking a discussion regarding current U.S. immigration policy. A discussion that predictably died in Congress last summer and seems to have faded from mainstream American consciousness all together.
But whether the mainstream culture is paying attention beyond an occasional dose of Lou Dobbs Tonight, the acceleration of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement, formerly INS) raids continue to have dramatic consequences for the millions of undocumented workers in this country, their families and advocates.
And detention centers like the one in Tacoma, run by the GEO Group--a corporation dogged by mismanagement rumors and scandals in North America, the United Kingdom, Australia, and South Africa where it runs some fifty prisons and detention centers--have become a frightening symbol of late night roundups and an increasingly hostile climate for undocumented workers in The United States.
A young man--a shadow in black--wearing a mask, sunglasses and gloves appears at my side halfway through the day’s march.
“Are you Sarah?” he asks under his breath,
“Yeah, who are you?” I say, unnerved.
“Good.” He responds enigmatically before dissolving back into the crowd.
These protestors are scared, a fact I came to understand while trying to gain an interview with the organizers of today’s event via email. I was cryptically told to “look for security in black,” who would be happy to answer my questions.
The reasons they’re scared are revealed slowly over the course of the day as protestor after protestor describes the harassment they received from Tacoma police in the weeks leading up to today. Harassment they say includes threats to close down the pitchpipe infoshop, a new anarchist lending library and community center in downtown Tacoma, and police rounds to neighboring businesses that described these protestors as a “homeland security threat.”
The man in black that knew me by name described it simply when he reappeared at my side for an interview. I had asked him why he was wearing a mask.
“They’re trying to catalogue everyone’s faces,” he said frankly, motioning towards police ghosting the crowd with video and still cameras. “That’s why I’m wearing a mask.”
Tacoma onlookers seemed to have a mixed view of the demonstration and demonstrators. Some are contemptuous of the protestors, calling them names. Others seem bemused, openly laughing at them. Still others are curious about the protestors’ message and confused by the police response.
“I don’t understand why the protestors need to be outnumbered by police in riot gear,” said Lynette Reynolds of Roy, Washington who says she came to Tacoma today because she wanted to learn more about the issues surrounding immigration, “I’m neutral and I’m intimidated,” she announced, looking past a throng of protestors towards at least thirty-five riot cops, resplendent in padded riot gear and rubber bullet bandoliers, all grasping angled wooden batons as they protect the entrance of Wells Fargo Bank (a subsidiary of GEO group) and the drums of protest echo off the giant water feature in front of the bank’s entrance.
Towards late afternoon, tensions between police and demonstrators finally resulted in the arrest of two protestors (three were arrested throughout the day). Both of these protestors were pushed into a waiting police van. One young man struggled as his hair was pulled back by arresting police.
“Drama on my lunch hour,” commented one onlooker as the cry of “Viva, Viva anarchista!” rose up through the mesh windows of the paddy wagon.
Back in the Tacoma Tideflats a quieter drama was unfolding as three teenagers were turned away from visiting a friend currently being held at the Northwest Detention Center.
One girl mutters epithets in the direction of the guards who just denied her another visit to her boyfriend, detained here now for a month.
“We just came all the way from Burlington, and they saw one of us looking in the window and they [the detention center guards] said ‘hey you’re looking in the window. Walk away.’”
“My boyfriend’s in there, this is bullshit. ‘Cause we drove fucking far and this is the second time they’ve told us we can’t go in there.
“They’re trying to tell me he isn’t in there when he just called me this morning and said he was.”
Her heavily lined eyes begin to spill over as anger turns to sadness and frustration.
A cold November breeze blows down the unpaved dead end that leads to the detention center. The anonymous gaze of the guard station bears down on us.
“Has he said anything about the conditions in there, about what it’s like?” I ask.
Her friend pulls her hand towards the car.
A half strangled laugh escapes her throat before the car door slams, the engine turns over and the wheels of the dented white sedan they arrived in crunch against gravel as they turn around and drive away.
© 2007 The Common Language Project
