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Caitlin Penna
Francisco Miranda (left), 14, stands with brother Samuel Miranda, 8, as they pose for a photo for their mother Ana Huerta at the 'Families Belong Together' march in Raleigh.
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Caitlin Penna
Jessica Martinez with son Aaron (left), Michelle Gutierrez, 6, Samuel Miranda, 8, and Francisco Miranda, 14, each hold a sign spelling 'We're children you monsters' at the 'Families Belong Together' march in Raleigh.
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Caitlin Penna
Ana Huerta, leads her family in the 'Families Belong Together' march in Raleigh.
Before Saturday, Ana Huerta and her two younger sisters had never participated in a protest. But, as the mothers of young children and the daughters of immigrants, they could not let the Trump administration's policy of separating and detaining families at the southern border go unanswered.
So, they brought their own kids to downtown Raleigh and, with thousands of others, marched. Families Belong Together protests happened across the country with more than seven hundred events scheduled in opposition to immigration policies that have ripped families apart, landed more than two thousand children in detention centers and forced kids to appear alone in immigration court.
"You need to show you care. This time it's not about politics. It's about love. It's about what's right and what's wrong," said Ana, who was joined by her two sons, her sister Talia Martinez and her two young daughters, and her sister Jessica Martinez and her eleven-month-old son.
"It hits home because I'm a mom now," Jessica said. "We don't really know what's going on in those centers."
Earlier this year, Attorney General Jeff Sessions announced a "zero-tolerance" policy to refer anyone crossing the border unlawfully for federal criminal prosecution, causing parents and children traveling with them to be sent to different detention centers. On June 20, President Donald Trump signed an executive order saying children would no longer be separated from their parents, instead directing families to be detained together. It now appears that the administration plans to hold families indefinitely, despite a 2015 court order limiting how long children can be detained.
There is no system in place to reunite the children — some of whom say they have been drugged in detention — with their parents.
The oldest of seven and a DACA recipient, Ana says it could have easily been her family in that position, had her siblings been born on the other side of the border.
Together, they were one of a few Latino families who joined Saturday's march in Raleigh. The event began with a somber, almost uneasy energy — whether due to the cause or the ninety-degree heat — as a crowd dressed mostly in white walked slowly down Fayetteville Street, carrying signs reading "where are the girls?" and "first, they came for the immigrants."
Ana hesitated at first to bring her family to the protest — ultimately she and her husband decided he would stay home with their youngest. It was important to her that her kids be aware of what's happening; they listened to audio of a young boy calling his mother from a detention facility and she explained "with a lot of tact and holding back tears" why they weren't together.
In a nod to both the prayer and the Metallica song, they handmade a sign reading "as I lay myself to sleep, I pray the Lord ICE sets me free," stamped with the hand prints of her toddler in blue paint. It stopped people in their tracks.
Asked what he thinks about immigrant children being separated from their families, Ana's fourteen-year-old son, Francisco, said it's immature for adults to put kids in the middle of their own tug-of-war. His younger brother, Samuel, eight, worried what would happen to kids who get sick in detention and don't have their moms and dads to take care of them.
"They only get to call their parents once or twice a week," he said.
"We don't like when Donald Trump steals our kids," added his cousin, Michelle, who is six and a half.
Ana said she suspects other Hispanic families may not have been comfortable being so visible given the political climate. The voter registration volunteers who asked participants if they were citizens and where they lived would strike fear in many immigrant families, she remarked.
Even though their mother came to the United States illegally from Puebla, Mexico, Ana says she didn't grow up with that fear; her mother instilled in her and her siblings to hold their heads up high and not waste their time worrying about people who may dislike them just because of their heritage. She remembered, as young child living in California, seeing someone spit in her mother's face and call her a wetback.
"Ignore them," she told the kids. If she feared being detained, she didn't show it to her children.
So, when her mother was deported back to Mexico about eight years ago, Ana hadn't really contemplated the possibility that her own family could be separated. She hasn't seen her mother since, although her siblings have been able visit. Since Trump's inauguration, their mother has encouraged them to move to Mexico; she doesn't understand why they would want to stay in an environment where they aren't welcome.
But Ana says she has always felt supported since moving to North Carolina in 2012 — and Saturday's march underscored that. She's even convinced some of her siblings to move from other states.
"We stand our ground," Huerta says. "Our lives are here. We're not going to plant roots if we run away."