*Why you should read this: Because as burdensome as this is, it’s better than being locked up in a detention center. VL
By Gus Bova, Texas Observer (2.5 minutes)
Gladys was sitting down to a plate of turkey, mashed potatoes and stuffing at her first Thanksgiving dinner in America when a loud masculine voice cried out, “La batería está descargada; cárgala por favor.” (“The battery is dead; charge it please.”)
Her three daughters averted their eyes in embarrassment. They’d gone through this before.
Gladys told her startled host, a U.S.-born Latina, that it was her cellphone. “That’s not a phone,” the host said, looking around for the source of the noise. Gladys, a 37-year-old Honduran woman with soft features and dark curly hair, muttered an excuse and left the house, tears rushing to her eyes.
For five months, ever since she threw herself on the mercy of the U.S. government, Gladys had been wearing a GPS-equipped ankle monitor. Wherever she went, it went with her. And sometimes it gave her orders. Back home that evening, she stared down at the short power cord that tethered her to the wall outlet, and wondered why the grillete, or shackle, was necessary.
In June, Gladys and her daughters had fled the city of San Pedro Sula, regularly ranked as the murder capital of the world, after the 18th Street gang threatened to kill her for reporting a car theft to the police. The gang, she said, was also scouting one of her daughters as a “girlfriend” for a leader. Gladys thought of staying in Mexico, but she knew the gang could easily reach them there. So the family carried on by bus to the international bridge that connects Ciudad Juarez and El Paso, where they turned themselves in to ask for asylum — an act protected under international law.
Gladys is one of thousands of immigrants, mostly Central American mothers, who are required to wear an ankle monitor. Given the choice between jail or the device, she chose to avoid the prison-like family detention center. Gladys is thankful to not be locked up, but at times she still feels incarcerated.
She told the Observer she’s looked for work, but hotels and restaurants won’t hire her because the customers will think she’s a criminal. And the hours she can work are limited, because she has to care for her kids, charge the monitor and be home for weekly check-ins. Then there’s the shame.
“It’s ugly to go around with this,” Gladys said, gesturing toward the monitor. “Especially for a woman. Emotionally, it affects you a lot … I feel like I can’t do anything.”
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