Four year old girl dies of cardiac arrest in bp custody

How the hell can a four year old die of cardiac arrest?

How about somehow traversing from Honduras thru Guatemala, maybe Belize into Mexico, crossing the border maybe by herself, with or without her mother or father, put into a juvenile 'detention' center in fuckin Michigan???

That's how.

From Russia With ... Intrigue....

The next group of refugees I speak with are from Russia. The man with the blue wrist ban I approach appears to be maybe in his early 30's, very tall, fit, white skinned with a shaved head. He begins talking in passable english, really openly with me, telling me he and his wife are here, plus his friend and neighbor.

I ask him how he learned English and he tells me his mother used to be an English teacher in Russia and taught him when he was little but he's forgotten a lot. So who knew Russians were being taught english while we were being taught hate and fear. Even though he shyly explains he hasn't spoken english in a long time, he only stumbles a little and speaks much better English than I do Spanish. I can see him figuring out the english in his head as he speaks.

I ask him how long he has been traveling for and at first he says 2 or 3 years, but then shakes his head trying to free up the words and says instead he waited for two weeks in Turkey for his wife to join him. She stayed behind in Russia to sell their home but he had to leave immediately. I'm not sure if I understood but I got the impression his rush had to do with his army status and the war.

He confides in me that he has been in the Russian army, confirming (I think) this is why he has to leave the country. He announces the leader of Russia is crazy, to fight a people who are the same people. He refuses to do this. I tell him the leader of our country is crazy also and when he frowns and looks at me querulously, I say 34 BILLION dollars to engage in war in Ukraine. He nods in understanding and tells me "but it is an artificial war". Then he hastens to declare he is not a fascist or a nazi.

We've been talking several minutes, me asking questions, he answering promptly and openly, before he suddenly hesitates, looks at me and asks me if I'm a Russian agent. I've been accused of many things but being an agent of Russia has never (that I remember - a communist, yes, but not an agent) been something I've been previously charged with. I can’t help laughing but just say "no" and he seems to immediately accept my non-existent ties with Russia, not that I could have proven I have no ties to Russia.

It will occur to me later that maybe he is the one who is some kind of agent, he's so smooth and forth-coming about his almost preposterous journey here. And it is definitely unlike any other refugee, Russian or not, story I've heard thus far. But he is entitled to create or divulge any narrative that suits him, based in reality or spy-dome. One thing is for certain, he has definitely left Russian to become a refugee.

I ask him if he flew to Istanbul but he immediately says no, that he had to sneak out of Russia on a boat. He said the Russian authorities didn't know he was leaving for good, but if he were to go the ‘legal’ route, they would question why he was traveling, detain him, probably discover his true motivation and send him back. He couldn’t risk this so he decided to escape clandestinely by water. For two nights and two days he and a friend maybe stowed upon a 'yacht' (he hesitates, stumbling to find this word) or maybe rowed a boat, navigating the Black Sea to land on the coast of Turkey. It is not clear to me whether the boat is really a yacht or fishing vessel, but as he speaks, he shifts his eyes and rushes on to the next part of his story. From the coast he makes his way to Istanbul where he rented an apartment to wait for his wife. She is able to come through the Russian check points, as she is not military and word of his escape has not yet reached the Russian authorities.

He continues his story that now really does sound like a spy movie. I think he says he travels to Ankara where he seeks out the amerikkan consulate. Or he might have done this in Istanbul – his English gets a little challenging here but I don’t want to interrupt the flow of his story he is giving to me. When I ask him if they helped him come here, he grins like a 5 year old hiding a cookie in his pocket, and says they did not but he was the one who helped them. From this point in for the next few moments of our conversation, he keeps eluding to the fact that he stole something from Russia and turned it over to the u.s. embassy. He speaks mysteriously yet with a devilish pride. And I have a feeling what he has done he wants to brag about yet knows he's probably in deep shit with his homeboys.

He tells me while he and his wife were waiting to arrange travel to Mexico City, they have to go into hiding because the Russians have discovered his betrayal as well as his apartment and came after him. He motions to himself to demonstrate his fitness and ability to fight, assuring me he could handle the fight and come out the victor. but he says his wife is unable to do this, therefore they hide. Several times he alludes to his wife's fragility and she is very tiny, short and slender but I'm not so sure about fragile - yet I merely look skeptical and he continues his story.

I ask him if he went to Spain next which is the pathway I’ve heard from previous Russians, but he says no. He explains that Russians can fly directly to Mexico City, just filling out a visa application on line - it's very easy, much easier, by the way he states emphatically, than the cbp one application.

From Mexico City, they went to Laredo and three weeks later, they had their appointment to cross into the u.s. today from Matamoros so they left Laredo and came to wait another couple weeks in Matamoros. He points out the white tented building whose roof is just visible from the plaza and indicates that is where they were housed until this morning. Their appointment was at 6a.m. - along with many other people - and they went to the line at 5:30 as he was not going to miss his allotted time, although it was much later when they were finally processed.

When I asked how they got chosen to stay in the tented sheltered building and not forced to join the other refugees waiting along the river in the mud and elements, he struggled to understand what I meant. Then it dawned on him and he explained a little guiltily that the building was for people who had appointments scheduled already. He said it was very nice with cots for everyone - they didn't have to sleep on the ground - and they were protected from the rain and sun, unlike most of the other children, womyn and men refugees.

I thank him for sharing his story with me, while his wife who speaks no or little english, approaches us and says something in Russian that he interprets as her request to take a picture of me. She likes my shirt which today says “Death To Racism” because it is nothing but racism that is fueling the terror our country is inflicting on darker skinned refugees. But she actually wants to take a picture of me and her husband together – and so we do!

And then the Russians are on their way feeling confident that their escape from Putin and communism will provide an easy entrance into the u.s. and their white skin and her very blond hair will provide easy transition to the amerikkkan nitemare, which will mostly be true I'm sure.

What's wrong with Florida

I have noticed there are some people milling about the plaza with very obvious blue wrist bands similar to those you might get for entrance to a fair or a concert.

I approach one family group of a womon and two men, tell them “bienvenido” and then ask them if they speak Spanish. One of the men smile broadly as he says in English “yes”. I ask if he speaks English. No, not really.

I push forward and ask “de que pais son” to blank stares. I try in English: “What country are you from?”

“Haiti” is the answer and again I smile broadly, tell them welcome and shake each person’s proffered hand. I ask if they speak French or Creole and it’s Creole.

Now I get to talk with them as I summon up google on my phone and ask her to translate into Creole which she happily does.

They tell me they’ve been traveling for 5 months and living at the border in a camp for four months. They said it was very hard to get the cbp one app to work. After three tries, they finally able to schedule an appointment.

Their intention is to go to Florida and when they see my face, they ask me if there’s anything wrong with Florida. Instead of counting all the ways, I suggest they might want to go to New York but the three of them laugh in unison, shake their heads and say they must be as close to Haiti as possible.

I ask if they want to return to Haiti one day and sadness envelops their already drawn faces. After looking at each other, the womon takes my phone and has google translate: there is so much violence and starvation, there is no hope for a better day but she will never give up hope.

Why???

I return today to the plaza across from the bridge where refugees will pass, if they make it.

The very first thing I notice is that there is only one police car - Texas highway patrol - and the usual preponderance of bp.

As I am waiting trying to figure out what is happening, a young man, whose parents crossed the river in the early 80’s, begins a conversation with me, asking me if I’m waiting for family as he is.

When I tell him kinda, I’m waiting for refugees crossing over he looks me directly into my eyes and guardedly asks me if I will give him my opinion about what is happening – and of course I do. He relaxes and then concurs with me about the atrocities that we are inflicting upon these people seeking asylum.

He tells me he was born here so he can pass freely across the border – as could his parents and older brother in the beginning but no longer.

He explains that only 60 people will be allowed to cross the border today, 60 people who have completed the cbp one mobil application: 30 in the morning and then 30 in the late afternoon.

It’s 90 degrees by this time around noon. His eyes so sad, he tells me this past December he bought 200 toys for the children stuck in the camp across the bridge and it wasn’t enuff. It wasn't 90 degrees then but more like 29 degrees.

This morning he saw lots of children sleeping on the ground, in line or still in the camp, in the intense sun, heat and humidity. I’ve only been standing here about 20 minutes and my clothes are totally wet.

His face reflects deep sorrow as well as utter disbelief.

He tells me his brother is here to pick him up, shakes my hand, and over his shrugging shoulders he asks me "Why?"