Why do they hate me?

The following is a story about serving at Rose’s Bounty this past Friday, March 21, 2025.

We had enough volunteers Friday. This freed me to walk up and down the registration line handing out “know your rights” red cards asking, “Are you or anyone in your community concerned about immigration.” I received three notable responses:

• No. Most folks who felt they were safe because of the color of their skin or the color of their passport, acknowledge a sense of sadness, mingled with guilt, that others were not safe.
• Yes. Many trusting eyes met mine, thanking me for the work we were doing at the pantry. Yes they would like to take some red cards for themselves, their neighbors, their family members. Usually these “yeses” were followed with stories of immigration statuses in limbo, neighbors who would not leave their apartments, or family members who were detained. The visible fear, mixed with a relief that there were people who cared, was palpable. My eyes often filled with tears as I left the client with a red card and the words, “You belong here. We want you here.”
• Silence. Behind that silence was often a wordless bottled-up fear. I estimate I placed my hand gently on about 10 clients and spoke the words, “You belong here.” It was my prayer and a cry to God. Many did not understand my words, but I know that these undocumented citizens understood that there was a place where they were welcome.  My hand and welled-up-eyes communicated that there were others who saw their flight, even if we did not understand its depth. Human connection was all I could offer.

There were two responses that did not fit into the above categories.

One woman did not respond with the usual “thank you” nor did she remain silent, instead she looked at me with utter innocent confusion, “Why are they doing this? We are not all criminals. Do they really think we are criminals? I have been in this country for X years and I have never done anything but work. I pay my taxes. I don’t understand. Why do they hate us?” I had no response. I had only tears rolling down my face as I responded, “I don’t know. I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.” This woman’s disbelief confirmed for me that our current administration’s treatment of immigrants has to do with only one thing: hate. Racism too, but hate feeds racism. 

Another woman exploded. The raw emotional anguish I witnessed haunts me still. I tried to calm her, but I realized quickly that not only was calming her fruitless, it also wasn’t a helpful response. This woman’s suffering needed to be expressed and she needed someone to listen. Through tearful shouts she declared, “I have been wiping their parents’ butts for 25 years. They do not want to take care of their parents. They do not do the things for their parents that I do. Why do they hate me?” As I left this woman, Jesus words on the cross wove with her words, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why do you hate me?”

The weight of the federal administration's attack on our communities was evident on Friday. The immigrants I spoke to, waiting in line for fresh produce and meat and dependable food staples, are simply humans. They are members of our community. They work. They raise their families. They laugh. They snuggle in bed on cold winter days and rejoice when spring arrives. And they cry. They rage. They wonder: how can this be happening in a country that claims to be a democracy? How can this happen in a country that declares it is Christian?

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