John Martin makes a living soliciting donations for bottles of water on the side of the street. Every day he swallows his pride, puts on a smile, and offers the best service he can right now. Not too long ago he was homeless, but thanks to the generosity of strangers and strangers-turned-friends, he and his wife now have a roof over their heads – something he is beyond grateful for as the cold weather moves in. John knows all too well that those donations are all that’s standing between him and the cold hard floor of a tent or a shelter.

“The people who have gotten to know me watched me start out with a shopping cart out there dirty as can be trying to make it. And they watched me go from there to a motel room to getting an apartment,” said John.  “Every single day that I wake up, I am grateful for that.”

But lately, John, 49, is more scared than ever of losing his home.  The police often harass, intimidate and cite him for bogus violations. According to John, one officer even threatened, “If I weren’t an APD officer, I would kill you.” Another boasted, “See these stripes right here?  That means I can do whatever I want.”

A recent ordinance that went into effect on December 6 drastically increases John’s chances of being cited and harassed by the police. Before, officers had to craft disingenuous reasons for citing people like John for exercising their free speech rights from a median or a highway off-ramp.  The new ordinance now makes it illegal for anyone to solicit money from motorists at medians or ramps, and for motorists, in turn, to interact with anyone seeking donations in these places. This has the potential to criminalize not just the homeless and the poor, but also anyone raising money for a kids’ football team or firefighters running a “fill the boot” campaign.

John wants a job more than anything, but past non-violent convictions, including time served for drug possession, still loom over his head.  Every time he fills out a job application and comes across the question asking if he’s ever been convicted of crime, a sinking feeling sets in. He knows if he checks the box, the phone will never ring.

Despite being jobless and suffering from PTSD and addiction, John never stops fighting to make a better life for himself and his family.

“I go to treatment. I go every day. It’s a lifetime struggle, said John. “I have to find a way to function in this society and I’m having a hard time right now.  I want to go back to work.”

Until then, John packs up his water every morning and hits the streets, hoping the police won’t cite him.  He can’t afford to pay the tickets and he worries that if they continue to mount, he’ll wind up behind bars again.

Like John, Rhonda Brewer depends on the generosity of Albuquerque residents to get by.  She had a home just two and a half years ago, but after her partner physically abused her, she landed on the streets.  When she needed the police most, they questioned her claims, saying “I don’t see any marks on you,” and “What did you do to make him do that?”

Now that she’s homeless at sixty-six years old, she panhandles to buy food and to stay a night or two at a motel in between visits to Joy Junction and Road Runner Food Bank. 

Though many Albuquerque residents have shown Rhonda kindness, others have treated her with outright cruelty.  One man gave her what appeared to be a nicely wrapped sandwich that she was grateful to receive, until she opened it up to discover human feces in-between two slices of bread. Because of callous and inhumane acts like these, Rhonda now prefers to receive either pre-packaged foods or money when possible, so that she can buy her meals food from trusted sources.

While out asking for money, she’s caught the ire of police, who she says have thrown her face-down, handcuffed her, and taken her to jail for panhandling.

“My ex is still stalking me and I can do nothing about it. But if I hold a piece of card board, I’ll get handcuffed, publicly humiliated, and taken to jail or given a ticket,” said Rhonda.

She now suffers from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and would give anything to get into public housing, where she could safely use the nebulizer she needs, but she knows people who have been on the waiting list for three years. For now, she’s’ making the best out of a dire situation that she worries will be made worse by the new city ordinance.

Mary O’Grady also knows what it’s like to feel scared and ashamed.  She wound up living in her car in Austin at just 19, in 1975.

“My family was in great chaos.  There was a lot of substance abuse. There was a lot of brutality. And I found myself homeless,” said Mary.

She now holds a master’s degree in Zoology, and has had a successful career in radio and print journalism, but she still remembers the experience of homelessness well, including the struggle to stay clean and find food. That’s why she carries water bottles and pre-packaged string cheese in her car with her every day and hands them out to Albuquerque residents in need. When she visits hotels, she packs up the complimentary toiletries and makes baggies equipped with a disposable razor and wash cloth for homeless people.

“They’re always glad to get them and sometimes if there’s time I tell them at the intersection that I was homeless as a teenager and I wish them good luck and a better life,” said Mary.

Even though it’s been decades since Mary was homeless, she still counts her blessings every time she gets in the bathtub.  She hopes that when people see a homeless person, “no matter what kind of physical condition they’re in, they would see a person with potential rather than a disposable person.”

Under the new ordinance, Mary could be cited and arrested for helping people who are just struggling to survive, as she once did.

Though the City insists the new ordinance is intended to protect pedestrians, bicyclists, and motorists, this measure isn’t about public safety; it’s about trying to push poor people out of public spaces.  We’re currently planning a legal challenge to the order, just as we successfully challenged a 2003 ordinance that similarly targeted the poor and violated their free speech rights.

The City’s attempt to justify the law based on ‘pedestrian safety’ fools no one,” said María Mártinez Sánchez, Staff Attorney at the ACLU of New Mexico. “This is, undeniably, an ordinance targeted at the poorest in our community. Aside from being unconstitutional the law is simply cruel. It goes into effect right as winter falls upon Albuquerque and smack dab in the middle of the holiday season. It is, quite frankly, a stain on the conscience of our city.”

The ordinance is not only cruel, it does nothing to address the root causes of homelessness and poverty.  What Albuquerque needs is more behavioral and social services, not laws that criminalize the poor and send them spiraling further into instability.

At the time of this writing, John has three days to make the remaining $250 for his rent.  Recently, he’s had to move from intersections where people know him and support him to evade the cops, weakening his profits.  He knows no matter where he goes, they may still find and fine him.  If that happens, he’ll have to choose between paying tickets to stay out of jail and paying his rent to stay off the streets.  But if he chooses the former, he may well wind up homeless again anyway.

“It took me forever to get from the street to having a roof over my head.  I don’t want to lose that. And I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m terrified,” said John. “I feel like my hands are tied.  What do I do now?”

The City says it has a vested interest in adopting laws that promote public safety for all, but the panhandling ordinance only exposes the city’s most vulnerable people to greater harm.  We’ll keep fighting until Albuquerque upholds the free speech rights and dignity of everyone in our city.

Early in December, the staff and I gathered to prepare a presentation on our efforts to resist Trump’s policies in New Mexico during 2017. Part of the presentation included a video we produced this summer about Kadhim Albumohammed and his family, describing how their lives would be rocked by Kadhim’s impending deportation to Iraq.

Teary-eyed, Kadhim’s teenage daughter described her fears. “Will I ever get to see him again? And it’s hard because, like, what is the last thing you are ever going to say to your dad when you know that’s the last time you are ever going to see him? I don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t want to have to think about that because he’s my best friend. And I don’t want him to leave.”

At that point, she bows her head and breaks into tears. And, in that moment, I couldn’t help but cry a little too.

But, my emotions weren’t just a response to the pain and anguish I saw in Kadhim’s family. I was also overcome with pride. This summer, the ACLU of New Mexico, the ACLU of Michigan and the National ACLU Immigrants’ Rights Project filed a nationwide lawsuit that successfully blocked Trump’s scheme to deport more than 1,400 Iraqi refugees. Our lawsuit gave Kadhim and hundreds of others a fighting chance to avoid removal to a country where they would face persecution, torture, or death.

It struck me at that moment how the ACLU can be such a powerful force for basic decency and human dignity, and how critical that really is during times such as these. At its heart, that’s what the Constitution is really about. Protecting our ability to live lives of dignity free from fear.

When I reflect on our work, it strikes me how central these values are to everything we do. Protecting families from being torn apart by inhumane immigration policies, defending a woman’s basic right to make decisions about her body, advocating against police brutality, guarding the rights of religious minorities, standing up to laws that unfairly target people of color and people in poverty—the list goes on. All of this critical work has a real impact on millions of real people like Kadhim and his family.

As you read this newsletter, I hope you share in the sense of pride I feel when I reflect on the ways we continually safeguard the basic dignity of all Americans. After all, the ACLU isn’t just lawyers and policy wonks—it’s the card-carrying members like you who power this organization. Because of the work we do together, Trump and his acolytes are having a lot tougher time stripping us of the dignity and security that is our birthright.

And that’s something worth feeling proud about.

“There’s something in my chest that pounds with the thump, thump of desperate college dorm rooms and the thump, thump of rum soaked nights. It is the beating of my fists against a strange man – thump, thump – with his hand down my shirt and his tongue in my mouth, whenever I try to speak about the problems of wearing a dress. There are eyes on my body, old or young, but always hungry and they stare at my quivering form underneath a veil of “I’s,” as in I should not have drank so much, or I should not have teased.” Danielle Ho, Thump Thump

On November 14, together with coalition partners in Respect NM Women, the ACLU of New Mexico co-hosted the second annual “Respect 140” event, a night of storytelling, performance, and poetry featuring 20 speakers who each had 140 seconds to raise their voices in support of reproductive health and justice and against gendered violence in all its forms.

UNM student Danielle Ho, read Thump Thump, a poem she wrote while grappling with her two close friends’ experiences of sexual assault.  In writing Thump Thump, Danielle’s own memories of assault, buried deep within, bubbled to the surface.

“There are so many people stronger than me who have found the courage to speak out about their own assaults, and I knew that I had to ride their momentum before I lost my own,” said Danielle. “This event is only the third time that I told other people that I have been assaulted. It was hard enough to say it out loud the first time, and it damn nearly ruined me the second. Sharing the details are still difficult to share, and it was the hardest to tell my mother—but this event marks a step forward in the right direction, I think. I was so young when I was assaulted. It took me all these years to find the resilience to say that out loud.”

Danielle is one of countless women across the country who have had enough. They’ve had enough of the constant threat of sexual assault and harassment. They’ve had enough of the feelings of shame and powerlessness that silence them. They’ve had enough of smiling men in fitted suits passing laws that exert control over their bodies, while a growing number of these same men stand accused of heinous crimes against women.

And is it any wonder? Donald Trump gloated about sexually assaulting women and still won the presidency. Harvey Weinstein pretended to be an ally to women while he preyed on them for decades, shielded by money, power, and the complicity of the entertainment industry. Alabama Senate candidate Roy Moore stands accused of multiple incidents of pedophilia and sexual assault and as of this writing is still the frontrunner in Alabama’s special election.

We’re in a unique moment here in our country. Gender-based violence, sexual assault, and attempts to control women’s reproductive lives are nothing new in our society. But this past year has been a tipping point, and women are speaking out and fighting back in numbers we haven’t seen before.

An estimated five million women and allies took to the streets the day after Trump’s inauguration. Millions worldwide have used the #metoo hashtag to share their personal stories of harassment and assault. Survivors of sexual harassment and assault have been coming forward in historic numbers to expose abuse in entertainment, media, finance, and politics, creating what the media has called a “watershed moment.”  

Like so many rain drops, released in mass from swollen clouds into an aging dam, women have begun to breach an enduring, but crumbling system of oppression.

Like so many rain drops, released in mass from swollen clouds into an aging dam, women have begun to breach an enduring, but crumbling system of oppression.

New Mexico communities have been on the front lines of this mass movement. Like women across the country, New Mexico women have experienced sexual harassment, assault, and rape. They have been shamed, violated, and silenced. Every year, New Mexico politicians try to pass laws that would strip women of the ability to make decisions about their own reproductive health. But New Mexico women are fighting back and demanding the respect they deserve. They’re not only calling out sexual harassment and violence, but they’re calling out the onslaught of attempts to exert control over their bodies.

Try as some people may to separate these two issues, they can never be torn apart. Every executive order, every bill, and every administrative tweak to reproductive health access that threatens women’s autonomy is an act of violence, often cloaked in misleading language of fear and protection. 

For women and families to live safe and healthy lives, they need access to the full range of family planning and pregnancy-related services, including abortion.  If these services become unavailable, women who are not ready or do not want to be pregnant may undergo unsafe procedures, risking their lives like they did for so many decades before Roe V. Wade.  Pregnant women who are eager to be mothers, but who experience complications, may suffer life-threatening barriers to service.  Women who are already mothers will be stripped of the ability to make their own personal decisions about what is best for the families they love and care for. These realities will fall hardest on women of color and low-income women who lack the resources to overcome legal obstacles safely. For all people to live in dignity, we must continue to call out gendered violence in all of its forms so that it can be stopped.

To proactively build a platform for women’s voices and power in New Mexico, the ACLU of New Mexico works with Respect New Mexico Women, a movement of women, families, faith leaders, medical providers, and community-based organizations that is fighting every day to keep deeply personal decisions about abortion and reproductive health between a woman and her medical provider.  We’re pushing back against bad legislation and advancing proactive bills, but we’re also speaking out and encouraging women and their allies to share stories about abortion, pregnancy, fertility, miscarriage, and sexual assault to end the stigma and shame that surround reproductive choices and experiences.

Respect 140 packed the auditorium at the National Hispanic Cultural Center and featured compelling presenters from diverse communities and walks of life.

Hadley Brown, a New Mexico public defender, spoke to a public audience for the first time about an emotional experience - - an abortion she had when she was just 16 years old and the turmoil that followed.

“Many of us have abortions.  It is a common experience. But we feel our shame in isolation. The isolation allows shame to swell in our throats and bellies and it deadens our voices,” said Hadley.  “The shame and fear that follows abortion and sexuality is manufactured in our culture.  The whole time I felt unworthy of my life I did not realize the shame belonged to others.” 

Others, like UNM student Isabella Baker, called out the catch-22 women face.  If they decide to have children when young, they’re sneered at for being “teen moms.”  But if they decide to have an abortion, they’re shamed. As the child of young parents, she knows the scorn all too well.

“Women are reprimanded every day for exercising their rights to make their own choices about their own bodies and it’s no one else’s business,” said Isabella. “It’s hypocrisy to bash women’s rights to abortion and then turn around and reprimand women who have a baby very young.”

Nikki Archuleta read a powerful letter aloud addressed to those that trample on women’s rights, violate their bodies, and shame them for their decisions and experiences. 

“We are all taught that our bodies are not our own. That our rapist’s college experience is more important than the womb in which life blossoms. That we as women are not allowed self-expression because when men violate our bodies it becomes a conversation of ‘she was asking for it’ and not ‘he will be held responsible.’ That our ovaries don’t belong to us, but to the men who constantly infringe upon our rights,” said Nikki. 

“We are all taught that our bodies are not our own. That our rapist’s college experience is more important than the womb in which life blossoms.” said Nikki. 

Whether women spoke about miscarriage, birth, abortion, inequality, or assault, in each case they courageously owned their voices and their experiences.  Events like Respect 140 take shape within the context of a large and powerful movement that is demanding an end to violence against women in all its forms, including the violence that results from trampling on their decision-making power and the violence of assault, sexual or otherwise. 

We are deeply grateful to all of the brave women and survivors across the world, country, and New Mexico who are sharing their stories and turning the tides of injustice, for their words weigh heavy on the foundations of oppression.