God’s fields

OTHELLO – In Campo Amarillo, there’s no such thing as a single-family home.

As many as 10 people live together in the cramped quarters of each of these run-down trailers and dilapidated shacks – cooking and eating in the same space where they sleep and watch TV. Residents in this neighborhood known as the “Yellow Camp” have running water and electricity, but little else. When it rains, water drips from the ceiling. When it’s cold, they use plastic or plywood to cover the holes and broken windows.

“It’s not fair. It’s not right for a human being to live like this,” said the Rev. Miguel Mejia, recalling the first time he visited the farmworker dwellings in this small Eastern Washington town.

Along with his parishioners at Sacred Heart Catholic Church, the priest and others in the community called attention to the plight of these families – many who fled even worse conditions in Guerrrero, Michoacan and other provinces in Mexico. Two years ago, Catholic Charities of Spokane helped respond to the need by building La Morada en el Desierto, a modern, 27-unit housing complex for farmworkers and their families.

Regardless of a person’s legal status in this country, Catholics and other people of faith in the region have always provided assistance to immigrants, a population often considered among society’s most vulnerable. In fact, many see it as a moral imperative. “We serve people on the basis of need, not creed,” said Rob McCann, executive director of Catholic Charities. “We serve people based on the fact that they’re human beings, not if they’re documented or undocumented.”

The heated debate on immigration reform, however, has cast a shadow on the philanthropic work done by churches, faith groups and other charitable organizations. While a bill passed this week by the U.S. Senate would allow nearly two-thirds of the nation’s illegal workers to become permanent residents, it sharply contrasts with the House’s border-security bill. That proposal, approved in December, not only criminalizes undocumented workers but also those who offer them services and assistance. If the House’s version were to pass, offenders – who might include church pastors, social workers and people in the medical field – could face jail time.

Proponents of the legislation say it would discourage illegal immigration; Catholic clergy and other religious leaders argue that the bill would criminalize their call to serve God and their ministry to the poor and suffering.

“Our golden rule has always been to serve people in need – not to verify beforehand their immigration status,” Cardinal Roger Mahony, archbishop of Los Angeles, wrote in a recent letter to President Bush. “It is staggering for the federal government to stifle our spiritual and pastoral outreach to the poor, and to impose penalties for doing what our faith demands of us.”

On the issue of immigration, Bishop William Skylstad of Spokane, president of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, also has called for compassion.

“It is most important that we recognize that human beings are involved – people who have come to the United States to work and to live,” Skylstad wrote last month in the Inland Register, the diocese’s official newspaper. “They are brothers and sisters in Christ who deserve respect and support.”

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Before moving to La Morada or “Desert Haven,” Veneranda Barragan and Luis Gomez lived in nearby Royal City, in a weathered old trailer with shattered windows, a roof that had partially caved in and rats that scurried at night. The bacteria and unsanitary conditions eventually drove them over the edge – their two children kept getting sick and Aaliyah, now 10 months old, had to be hospitalized three times.

The couple didn’t think they could afford to move out until they learned about La Morada, Othello’s newest and most attractive housing project, but where tenants pay an average rent of only $423 a month.

Catholic Charities’ $2.8 million facility features two-, three- and four-bedroom duplex-style apartments surrounded by grass, trees and flowering plants. Residents in these one- and two-story units also share a common area, complete with park benches and a playground. Barragan and Gomez added their names to the long waiting list, which started out with more than 100 families when the complex opened in May 2004.

For months, the family would make the 20-minute drive from Royal City to Othello just to sit in their truck outside La Morada, fantasizing about what it would be like to live in a safe, clean and beautiful home.

In April, their dream came true. “My baby won’t get sick anymore,” Barragan said in Spanish last week as she played with her children on the carpeted floor of the living room. “I’m really happy. I’m relieved to be here.”

Like Gomez and Barragan, others at La Morada left decaying buildings infested with mice, roaches and other vermin. Some families were so poor that on moving day they brought little more than a couple plastic chairs, a folding table and boxes of old clothes.

And just like Gomez and Barragan, others who live at the Catholic Charities housing project also are in this country illegally.

Tenants at La Morada must be considered low-income and work in agriculture, explained Alan Hanks, executive director of the Othello Housing Authority, which manages the apartment complex on behalf of Catholic Charities. Nothing in the law states they have to be legal residents. “We do not know or ask if they are legal or illegal,” said Hanks.

There’s no way of really knowing how many undocumented workers receive services from Catholic Charities because the non-profit never asks for a green card or any proof of residency. That’s the case not only for farmworker housing, but also at the House of Charity, St. Margaret’s Shelter and its many other programs.

“If you’re hungry, I will give you a meal,” said McCann. “I don’t care if you have documentation. … Christianity is about justice and unconditional love.”

Luis Gomez says he thanks God every day for their new home at La Morada, which has indeed become a haven for his family.

Now 25, Gomez was 8 years old when he first crossed the border from Mexico with his grandfather and older brother. “I was raised here,” Gomez said in English. “This is my home.”

He has visited family members in Mexico several times, but in order to come back to his home in Washington state, Gomez has had to pay thousands of dollars to smugglers known as “coyotes.” His last border crossing took place 1½ years ago, when he and Barragan – three months pregnant at the time – returned from visiting family in Michoacan. The couple traveled for five days – walking through the desert at night and hiding from law enforcement during the day.

Gomez and several other farmworkers in Othello spoke quite openly about the fact that they’re here illegally. “It would be easy for them to deport us, they know where we live,” said Gomez. “They don’t do it because they wouldn’t have anyone to do the work.”

He and others want lawmakers to recognize their contribution to agriculture and the economy by giving them a chance to become U.S. citizens. “We’re here because we want a good life for our babies,” he said.

He hopes they won’t have to do the backbreaking work he endures each day just to feed the family.

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Residents at La Morada are perhaps the lucky ones in Othello, a city of about 6,000 located less than two hours from Spokane.

While the families who live at the Catholic Charities project have enough space for their children to have their own bedrooms, thousands of other farmworkers – many here illegally – have no choice but to crowd into the shacks and trailers of Campo Amarillo and other poor areas on the west end of town.

Mejia, pastor of the more than 1,200 families who attend Sacred Heart Catholic Church, often visits these neighborhoods. Many greet him with a smile and a “Buenas tardes, padre” as they welcome him into their ramshackle homes.

In their native Spanish, the young priest talks to the laborers about their long hours in the orchards and fields, their children’s future and the day-to-day challenges in their lives. On a recent visit, he met with Mario and Maria Cervantes, who are among the few migrant farmworkers left in Othello. For the last 15 years, the couple and their three daughters have made the three-day journey from their home in Mission, Texas, to pick asparagus, potatoes and other crops in Eastern Washington.

“It’s necessary that we come,” Mario Cervantes told the priest in Spanish as he attempted to fix a dent in his van with a mallet. “We don’t speak English. We have no education. The only thing we know how to do is work in the fields.”

Mejia, 32, often feels helpless in the face of all this desperation. He tries to offer whatever help he can give – food, perhaps a little money for gas, but mostly he just listens and offers spiritual support.

When people come to church or knock on the rectory door, Mejia asks only for their names – never where they’re from or even if they believe in God. “As Catholics, we are supposed to help everybody,” said Mejia, who grew up in Toluca near Mexico City. “It doesn’t matter who they are.”

It’s important for the church and the entire community to help immigrants as they grapple with all the hardships in their lives, said Mejia. “We need to help them feel at home and see this country as their own,” he said. “Once they feel at home, they do their part to give back to the community.”

Mejia and others in Eastern Washington pay careful attention to the immigration debate in Congress. Some anticipate a court battle if elements of the House bill become law.

People of faith and others would face a moral dilemma if the government makes it illegal to help undocumented workers, said the priest. “It would be difficult for us as a church to minister,” he said. “All of us would be breaking the law.”