Originally published in the Summer 2017 issue of the Torch

Year after year the cycle of violence continues. 

According to the New Mexico Interpersonal Violence Data Central Repository, a staggering 17,757 domestic violence cases were reported to law enforcement in 2015, and a report from the same year by the Violence Policy Center found that our state had the third highest rate of female homicides by male offenders in the nation. These sobering statistics do not even capture the countless additional incidents that go unreported each year. We must put an end to the domestic violence crises that deprives victims of their fundamental ability to live with dignity, but the solutions currently in place are not working.

The United States is addicted to punishment. Despite lip service to concepts like ‘rehabilitation’ and ‘correction,’ when you scratch the surface our criminal justice system is really just a machine for the administration of punishment. Insert a crime, the machine spits out a prison sentence. We’ve fallen prey to the insidious idea that if we can only punish harshly enough, people will stop hurting others. But if our criminal justice system only punishes the symptoms without ever tackling root causes of the problem, our communities will never be any safer.

The ACLU of New Mexico believes that our communities will be safer in the long run if we stop using outdated and ineffective tactics like mass incarceration, and move towards a more holistic, evidence based, and community-centered approach to fighting crime. That’s why we are working with a new coalition we helped launch last year called New Mexico SAFE, which is dedicated to reforming our criminal justice system so that it addresses the root causes of crime and violence. An important part of that work is partnering with formerly incarcerated people and survivors of violence to learn more about how we can provide lasting justice to those who are hurt by crime, as well as get offenders the treatment and rehabilitative services they need to break out of their destructive behavioral patterns.

We sat down with Tanya Romero who is Residential Shelter Services Director at Esperanza Shelter for Battered Families, to hear about her first-hand experiences with domestic violence as well as her thoughts on how we can make lasting transformative change.

Can you tell me about your personal experience with domestic violence?

The abuse started roughly about eight years ago. I’ve been married twice in my life. My second husband was my offender. After my first marriage of fifteen years ended, I reconnected with my eventual offender who I knew from high school. We reconnected on social media and at that point I was still vulnerable and new to being out of my marriage.

I started to see signs like him asking, “Why are you wearing that?” “Why are you trying to bring attention to yourself?” “How come you visit your family so often? “ “Don’t you love me?” And I took him as, “My gosh. This guy is really into me. He’s really protective of me.” And I’d never had that type of affection to that extreme. Then about four months into the relationship he said either I marry him or he would leave me. And at this point I had totally fallen for him so I said, “ok I’ll go ahead and marry you.” That’s when the violence started to escalate. The physical violence started. The threats started. My children were impacted by that as well, as far as being emotionally, verbally - and in the case of my youngest child - physically abused.

Knowing that I wasn’t ready to leave the relationship, I stayed with my offender and I put my daughters in care of my mother and my son with his father. It was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I knew they weren’t safe. I continued to stay in the relationship for another three and a half years. He had me right where he wanted. No kids, no friends. My job was suffering. I got a restraining order and then I would break that restraining order.

Then one day he physically assaulted me with a weapon. I managed to escape, go to a public location and call the police. It was the first time I’d ever called the police to report the violence. They asked, “Do you have a safe place to go?” and I didn’t. By this time I’d burned bridges with family and friends so the police said, “well how about Esperanza shelter?”

So I stayed in the shelter and it was really tough. I was scared, but I knew I had to be there to be safe. Esperanza is where I found my sisterhood among other survivors.

My offender is no longer here due to an overdose. He was an addict. There were also behavioral and mental health issues at play. They added fuel to the fire.

Is it how I wanted it to end? Absolutely not. I wanted him to get the help that he needed.

How did you end up working as an advocate for domestic violence survivors?

I worked on myself for two years after my offender passed away. After that, I got started volunteering at a crisis treatment center taking calls from sexual assault and domestic violence victims, and then I began my career in Rio Rancho working at a shelter. Now I’m here at Esperanza. It’s been about a total of almost eight years.

What are the stigmas around domestic violence?

There’s always the stigma that it’s your fault. Why didn’t you leave? Why did you stay? That’s probably the most common, and it’s so unfair. People have no idea what it takes for someone to share their story. Education is key. I teach in schools, and its powerful how education can prepare others to be safe and raise awareness about what domestic violence is. It needs to start at a young age because that’s where kids often learn the pattern because they see a parent being violent.

What do you think some of the leading causes of domestic violence are?

Lack of resources and lack of jobs are some of the causes I see. It’s also generational, it’s historical violence and it has to start somewhere. I have compassion for that, and many people don’t understand why I would have compassion for that after what I’ve been through. I’ve taken a lot of initiative to educate myself.  Domestic violence is a learned pattern, a learned behavior. These individuals are not born as evil or as monsters, it’s because they themselves have been hurt. How do we start to fix the cycle of violence?

You have an offenders program aimed helping those who have abused others to change their lives. Why is it important to offer that program rather enhancing the punitive measures already in place?

I feel putting more punitive measures in place would do more harm than good. These are quick solutions that don’t really focus on the individuals who need the help. After long-term incarceration, offenders come out even more violent. There’s no follow up within the legal system as to what programs are they going to for rehabilitation and recovery. Where are the programs after incarceration for offenders? We release them back to society without the tools that they need.

What are the barriers that undocumented immigrants are facing with domestic violence?

It’s the fear of being taken. It’s the fear of families being broken apart. We are a sanctuary city in Santa Fe so it feels safer for many to reach out here. But immigrants are still afraid. When you’re undocumented, that’s part of the cycle of abuse because offenders use their victims’ immigration status against them or threaten to report them or take away the kids. With our current administration it’s really scary.

How can we break the cycle of violence?

When it comes to court hearings, it would be beneficial to make it a state law to mandate offenders to the batter intervention program (BIP) and there should be oversight to ensure that offenders are actually attending the program. We’re here to help break the cycle, and that involves offenders. It doesn’t exclude them. The BIP program that we have here has been going strong for a number of years and we’ve seen positive results from that. I’m very proud to work for an agency that supports that because not many agencies are like that in this field.

I also feel that it would help if there was more support from the state with addiction and mental health issues in the community. We need more laws that support both victims and offenders and my vision of that involves more resources and education in the community.

Originally published in the Summer 2017 issue of The Torch

He kissed his wife of thirteen years gently. Then, Immigration and Customs Enforcement escorted him out the door. Though they told him they were just taking him in for questioning, Abbas Oda Manshad Al-Sokaini knew he wouldn’t be coming back.

The morning of June 20, when federal agents startled him out his sleep with loud banging on the windows and doors, was the last time Abbas woke up in his Albuquerque home. Since then, he’s seen his family only from the confines of a detention center in El Paso, Texas.

The morning of June 20, when federal agents startled him out his sleep with loud banging on the windows and doors, was the last time Abbas woke up in his Albuquerque home

Abbas came to the United States from Iraq as a political refugee in the 90’s after facing torture by Saddam Hussein’s regime. As an Iraqi soldier, he collaborated with American troops by providing information about the location of the government’s weapons and ammunition caches. 

He’s lived peacefully in Albuquerque with his wife, three stepchildren, eleven grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren, all of whom are U.S. citizens, for decades.  But under the new administration, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) decided that a non-violent drug conviction from seventeen years ago warranted his deportation. If sent back to Iraq, his family fears he will face persecution, torture, or worse.

“Abbas is the backbone of our family,” said Brenda Sisneros, Abbas’ wife. “He has deep roots here in Albuquerque, and we want him to come back home. He made a mistake many years ago, but everyone’s human. People in Iraq know he’s involved in my church, and he could face violence if they make him go back. I don’t want my family to lose him.”

Abbas is not alone. In early June, ICE agents conducted a series of mass raids rounding up more than one hundred Iraqis who had some sort of criminal conviction on their record, often only misdemeanors incurred decades ago. Although these past infractions made them removable under federal immigration law, the United States lacked a repatriation agreement with Iraq, which made deportation impossible. Instead, they maintained regular check-ins with ICE and the overwhelming majority lived peaceably in their communities with their families. Overnight all of that changed.

In March, Trump’s administration struck a deal in which Iraq agreed to accept Iraqi nationals with final orders of deportation back into the country. In exchange, Trump agreed to remove Iraq from his anti-Muslim travel ban list. Suddenly, more than 1,400 Iraqi nationals—most of whom came to the United States as refugees—were in danger of deportation. Due to religious minority status or prior collaboration with the U.S. armed forces, a return to Iraq would be tantamount to a death sentence for many.

Kadhim Albummohamed understands these consequences all too well. Like his friend Abbas, Kadhim is a longtime resident of Albuquerque and assisted the United States Military during the First Iraq War. After suffering torture and persecution at the hands of Saddam’s henchmen, he fled Iraq and settled in the United States as a refugee. When the U.S. invaded Iraq again in 2003, he worked several years for the U.S. Military training troops with crucial linguistic and cultural skills in preparation for deployment. Because of his service to the U.S. Military, he is certain he will face torture or death if he is deported to Iraq.

“If they send me back, I will be killed,” said Kadhim. “One hundred percent.”

“If they send me back, I will be killed,” said Kadhim. “One hundred percent.”

Because of two misdemeanor convictions twenty-one years ago, Kadhim, a chronically ill 61-year-old father of four U.S. citizen children, has suddenly jumped to the top of ICE’s list. ICE agents began tailing him, even to appointments with his immigration attorney, and Kadhim feared that any day his family could be frightened from their sleep by pounding at the door.

To spare his wife and daughter from seeing him dragged away by ICE, he took precautions. Kadhim packed his bags and sought refuge with a local faith community, living and sleeping in their sanctuary. Not long after, ICE sent him a letter ordering him to report to the local field office on June 26. His attorney advised him that at this appointment ICE would likely take him into custody and place him in immigration detention.

“I’m scared because if he does go, will I ever contact him, will I ever get to call him again,” asked his seventeen-year-old daughter, Courtney, as tears ran down her face. “It’s hard because what is the last thing you’re going to say to your dad when you know it’s going to be the last time you’re 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.”

Kadhim reported for his meeting with federal agents that morning—and so did more than a hundred protesters. Word had spread about Kadhim’s plight, and outraged community members, religious leaders, and TV cameras clogged the streets outside the local ICE field office. ICE, shaken by this overwhelming public show of support, cancelled all appointments for the day providing Kadhim and his family a brief reprieve.

At the press conference outside the ICE field office that day, the ACLU of New Mexico announced that it was representing Abbas as part of a class action lawsuit filed by the ACLU of Michigan and the ACLU’s Immigrants’ Rights Project to block the deportation of more than 1,400 Iraqi nationals, including Abbas and Kadhim. On July 24, Detroit Federal Judge Mark Goldsmith granted our request for a preliminary injunction, halting the deportation of all Iraqi nationals in the United States while they argue their cases before an immigration judge and have the opportunity to demonstrate the danger they would face if deported. For now, they are able to stay in the country where they have raised families, paid taxes, and built careers. They now at least have a fighting chance of escaping the persecution, torture, and death that awaits many of them in Iraq.

This extraordinary victory gives us hope that our Albuquerque neighbors will soon be able to return to their homes and to their families. Kadhim, now considered an ICE fugitive after not reporting for final removal in July as directed, is currently living 24 hours a day in a local church that offered him sanctuary while he pursues his immigration case. Though the ACLU of New Mexico has helped Abbas find an immigration attorney to fight his removal, he remains in detention in El Paso, hundreds of miles away from his family.

Despite our recent victory in court, we still have our work cut out for us. Trump is ordering federal law enforcement to move ever more aggressively to deport undocumented immigrants all across the country. A veteran Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent, who spoke under the condition of anonymity, recently told the New Yorker that an unsettling “new order” was taking root at ICE. The agent told the magazine that since Trump took power they “seem to be targeting the most vulnerable people, not the worst.” 

A veteran Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent, who spoke under the condition of anonymity, recently told the New Yorker that an unsettling “new order” was taking root at ICE. The agent told the magazine that since Trump took power they “seem to be targeting the most vulnerable people, not the worst.” 

The agent expressed concern that his colleagues were increasingly targeting children and teens and locking people up just because they could. The agent’s superior even boasted that it was the “the most exciting time to be a part of ICE.”

“We used to look at things through the totality of the circumstances when it came to a removal order — that’s out the window,” the agent said.

This “new order” is all the more disturbing in light of Trump’s ongoing efforts to push congress to approve funds for an additional 10,000 ICE agents and 5,000 Customs and Border Protection (CBP) agents.

The last time Customs and Border Protection raced to hire thousands of agents in a short period of time, the results were disastrous. Under former President George W. Bush, the hiring of about 17,000 agents over six years resulted in substantial allegations of corruption and excessive use of force. 

Despite concerns from the Department of Homeland Security’s Office of Inspector General, that the data does not support the operational need for such a substantial increase in personnel and that both ICE and CBP may not be able to find enough qualified applicants to fill the positions, Trump remains single minded in his quest to further militarize our border communities.

He is not alone in his assault on the country’s most vulnerable.

Trump’s attorney general, Jeff Sessions, remains so determined to make misery in the lives of immigrant families that he recently threatened to withhold federal funds from cities with high-crime rates if they didn’t assist federal immigration enforcement efforts.

At the beginning of August, Sessions sent letters to Albuquerque, Baltimore, Stockton, and San Bernardino, putting them on notice that they would not be eligible for federal funds to combat drug trafficking and gang crime unless they gave federal immigration authorities access to jails and  agreed to notify agents in advance of releasing inmates with immigration violations.

The ACLU of New Mexico and other immigrant advocacy organizations quickly mobilized their members, flooding the mayor’s office with calls and packing the city council meeting to demand that Albuquerque’s leaders take a stand against Sessions’ bullying tactics. When Bernalillo County Commissioner Wayne Johnson introduced a measure a few days later that would require the county jail to cooperate with ICE in enforcing federal immigration law, the ACLU and its network of grassroots activists stood with community allies to lobby the council to block the measure by an overwhelming majority, ensuring that the largest metro area in the state will remain an immigrant friendly community.

To keep our communities safe in the face of this administration’s ongoing efforts to vilify and uproot our immigrant neighbors, we have to stand strong together. We must continue showing support for our immigrant neighbors each and every time they come under attack. 

Abbas and Kadhim are fathers, husbands, patriots, and they are our fellow Americans. They are two people among thousands in New Mexico who live every day in fear that their families will be torn apart and their lives shattered. 

Abbas and Kadhim are fathers, husbands, patriots, and they are our fellow Americans. They are two people among thousands in New Mexico who live every day in fear that their families will be torn apart and their lives shattered. They deserve better than languishing in detention far away from family or hiding out in constant fear of being arrested. The United States should be a place of refuge for people who have fled persecution, not a country that breaks up families and sends long-time residents and people who have served alongside our country’s troops into certain danger.

We’ve strayed so very far from the ideals that make our country great, but it’s not too late to restore basic fairness, compassion, and decentness to our country’s immigration enforcement practices. It will be a long, hard fight—but it’s one worth fighting—and it’s a fight we will continue every single day until people like Abbas, Kadhim, and countless others can live safe and free with their loved ones.