by Anne Leyden
June 2025 marked the escalation of violence by ICE against the immigrants of Los Angeles and across the country. I could not sit on my hands. I searched and trained and tried out various resistance efforts looking for a fit. I read about CLUE. I was drawn to their mission statement. I was eager to work with both “clergy and lay leaders of all faiths….” Being reared with all manner of clergy in my family, I leaned into what was familiar. It felt safe to be among those who walk the talk, whose actions support what I believe: the teachings of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., the humanity of Father Gregory Boyle and the power of compassion. I wanted to join and support those who make a difference, so I joined CLUE. I trained to become a court observer with Jennifer Coria. After my first week supporting the immigrants at their hearings, Jennifer invited me to join her at The Godmothers of the Disappeared Vigil.
I am a fan of ritual. I was brought up with it and it feeds me and I think it allows me to feed others. The Godmother’s vigil’s ritual is both powerful and calming in its heartfelt inclusion of all religions and belief systems. I believe this to be vital in these times.
At the vigil on Tuesday May 19 I was asked to give testimony. The original speaker being ill, this was a last minute request. I only had a few minutes to gather my thoughts and to choose what I wanted to talk about.
I could speak about my work as a court observer. I could tell a story about accompanying a terrified woman and her daughter to the Intensive Supervision Appearance Program (ISAP) and then to the Metropolitan Detention Center (MDC) to see her husband who was just taken.
I could talk about the happy and lengthy work of posting a bond.
I think of the morning at an immigration masters hearing: A Ukrainian man is seated next to a Russian man and his young daughter (I know their nationality due to the interpreters in the room). The gallery is packed and the little girl is bored with the long wait. The Ukrainian man starts making faces at the little Russian girl. She covers her mouth as she giggles. Both men look at one another and smile. The Ukrainian man stays in the seats with the little girl as her father moves to the table in front of the judge as his hearing begins.
I remember the tall, stern, armed court security guard who acted as a host outside the courtrooms before and during the immigration hearings. He shows the immigrants where the restrooms are and how to check in with the clerk and the legal assistant. He guides them to a seat in the gallery and cautions them to step back into the lobby to use their cell phones. These gestures of generosity are not in his job description.
I recall the afternoon after The Godmother’s Vigil when we found a woman weeping outside the MDC. Her husband had been picked up and was detained inside. She was undocumented and afraid to go in to seek information. A group of clergy offered to find out what was happening to her husband while another CLUE member and I sat with the wife.
An off duty ICE agent approached us. My spine stiffened and I plastered a smile on my face.
He asked, “Is she OK,” gesturing to the woman sitting between us.
I replied, “She is fine.”
The ICE agent paused before he said, “You know I went into this effort to catch bad guys, rapists, drug dealers. I believe most of us did.”
I said, “Maybe you could talk to your fellow officers? Because that is not what we are witnessing right now.”
His eyes were so sad.
He shook each of our hands and told us to have a nice day.
I sat there. Surprised. I was not expecting the unsolicited humanity.
When it was time, I chose to speak about what was in my heart at that moment.
One tenet of The Godmother’s Vigil is:
“We reject the us-versus-them narrative. We remind everyone—immigrants, citizens, and even soldiers—that we are all someone’s child and that our lives are deeply interconnected.”
I have wrestled with these words each vigil for the last year. I hear the words. I believe the words and the meaning behind them. And yet the words “we reject the us-versus-them narrative” haunted me during the week following our gathering.
I am angry.
I am sad.
I am frustrated.
The situation our immigrants are having to deal with and live through is untenable. It is dangerous and it is wrong.
I want someone to blame.
Someone or thing must be at fault.
If I truly believe the challenge of rejecting the “us-vs-them narrative,” then my finger-pointing can’t be true.
I spoke about the examples of humanity I listed above. I spoke about my continued struggle with the words we use as the basis of our vigil. I spoke about the fact that I dig deep for grace to find truth and make the content resonate within me.
I am a native Angeleno. I love my city and its people. I am reminded again and again how important community is. How we really are all interconnected. How we rely upon one another for help, humor and hugs. For perspective, love and humanity. How we cannot let ourselves become separated from one another.
I still struggle, but less so. As I spoke to nodding heads and eyes filled with tears, I now know I am not alone when I encounter and wrestle with the beautiful words: “We reject the us-versus-them narrative. We remind everyone—immigrants, citizens, and even soldiers —that we are all someone’s child and our lives are deeply interconnected.”
Anne Leyden is a writer, singer, actor, wife, mother and friend. Not necessarily in that order. You can find more of her writings on Substack.
