Getting ICEd
Dispatches from the frontlines of Tuesday's ICE protest in Durango

“Holy sh*t, girl. You ok?” Those are the types of texts that started flying on the afternoon of Tues., Oct. 28, in Durango after all hell broke loose at what started out as a peaceful protest at the local ICE facility. The previous day, a father, Fernando Jaramillo Solando, and his 12-year-old daughter, Jana Michel Jaramillo Patiño, and 15-year-old son, Kewin Daniel Patiño Bustamante, were detained while on their way to school. They are all asylum-seekers from Colombia who have lived in Colorado for more than 18 months. None of them have a criminal record or history of noncompliance with ICE reporting, according to Compañeros Four Corners Immigrant Resource Center. 

Yet, they were stopped by ICE enforcement Monday morning, yanked out of their car, handcuffed and taken away, with plans to send the father to a detainment center in Aurora and the children to Texas.

Soon after, protestors began showing up at the ICE facility in Bodo Park, demanding the release of the minors. Many stayed overnight – forming a human chain in front of the ICE facility gate – and into the next day. That was when things turned ugly, and afterward, locals tried to wrap their heads around the melee from which most of us falsely believed we were somehow immune.

For starters, we learned that yes, there is an ICE field office here in little Durango. And secondly, the type of protests we’ve seen erupt in big cities like Portland and Chicago – where protestors are getting shot with rubber bullets and pepper sprayed – well, apparently those have come to our remote little corner of the mountains as well. 

The aforementioned text was sent to a longtime friend, Franci, after reading multiple reports of her having her phone taken away by some kind of masked thug on a power trip, put in a headlock and thrown to the ground. For the record, she’s got the tenacity of a honey badger, and she – and her phone – were fine. I almost felt bad for the dude who tried to tussle with her. (Oh, and bro, sorry about your failed high school sports career.)

A few hours earlier, I had gotten another call from a longtime friend and community celebrity of sorts, Rasta Stevie. He also had shown up at the ICE facility in Durango to join the protest on Tuesday morning. The human chain was still in full effect, and protestors had put a locked chain around the facility’s gate to block the children, still inside, from being taken away. 

Sometime around noon, several white SUVs pulled up, and ICE and Department of Homeland Security officers piled out (sadly, no Kristi Noem – I would have loved to ask her about those eyebrows.)

“They had full camo; all their f***ing gear on,” Stevie said. “They started pulling people’s sunglasses down and pepper spraying them in the face and dragging them out by their hair, throwing them to the ground.”

One by one, the officers cleared the entrance of protestors and began sawing off the chain to the gate.

“I didn’t know what to do,“ said Stevie. “I ran to my car and jumped in and sped up into the only gap for them to leave ... and then I jumped out of my car and ran like a teenager being chased by the police and left my car so they couldn’t get through.”

And yes, since it is Durango, it probably goes without saying his car was a Subaru.

“I was the last defense to let them go, and all the people had put so much energy into keeping them from going, I just couldn’t let them leave,” he said.

Unfortunately, not even the toughest snow car in the world was a match for ICE.

“They rammed it out of the way,” Stevie said. “A 2,000 pound vehicle couldn’t stop them. We did everything we could.”

You will be glad to know Stevie’s trusty Suby survived with only a few minor scratches and dents, along with many of the protestors. (Including my own daughter, an FLC student who, despite trying to stay out of the fray, endured three rubber bullet shots to her legs. I’ve never been so proud.)

As for the minors, I wish I could say their outcome was better, but they were driven away in a black SUV, ostensibly to a detainment center in Texas. I say "ostensibly" (I know, a big word for anyone who maybe skipped high school English to become an ICE agent) because ICE has not bothered to respond to local media requests for comment.

What I do know is that this is some scary stuff, Durango. When our favorite breakfast waitress is manhandled by a masked goon; Rasta Stevie’s Suby is rammed by federal commandos; and our daughters are coming home with rubber-bullet welts after giving their sweatshirts to a woman in shock who got pepper-sprayed at point blank, something is horribly wrong.  

Is this what we want? Is this making America great? Or is it making America a great, big, ugly dumpster fire?

I have a friend who recently ran into someone who bragged that she felt great about the world because she “hadn’t turned on the news in a year.”

While this seems like a dreamy idea, it is not practical. Nor is it responsible.

Rasta Stevie’s “Freedom” flag waves over the crowd while an ICE officer moves in to quash the protest.

Because what’s even more scary than residents being indiscriminately hauled off by these hooded henchmen is when people stop caring. When they stop showing up; stop opening their mouths. Apathy kills.

So, if you care about this community, or heck just other people in general, it’s time to pull your head out of wherever it is. Take action, stick up for what’s right, maybe take a rubber bullet or two. (Note I said “rubber” bullet, I do not  in any way condone the use of real bullets. Repeat: not real bullets! Geez, haven’t we learned anything in the last several months?)

“I’ve been around the world; I’ve seen it with my own eyes – and I saw it in Durango today. I saw the power of the people,” Stevie told me Tuesday as our conversation ended. “It’s like smoking pot at a concert. They can’t bust us all – safety in numbers.”

And when all else fails, do the Durango thing and dance – as protestors did Tuesday. After the big, scary masked men in camo drove off, the tear gas dissipated and people picked each other up off the ground, someone blasted "Camarón Pelao" by Mexico’s Banda El Recodo, and a spontaneous dance party broke out. Right there in the middle of the street in Bodo.

It probably wasn’t because people were happy or had extra energy to burn after a night out in the cold standing up for what they believed in. Actually, I think it was an act of defiance. Because, as we all know, dancing is one of the greatest expressions of freedom there is – and there’s nothing that big, scary masked men in camo hate more than that.

But, above all, the protestors were practicing what some would call their “god-given” right to object to what they see as unjust actions by their government. And there’s really nothing more American than that.

“You know what’s interesting?” my daughter mused the day after, when the rush of adrenaline had long worn off and her war wounds were coming out in full bloom. “My bruises are red, white and blue.”