By Rebekah Spicuglia
Dear readers,
One of the goals of Tangle is to expose you to a broad range of perspectives. Part of that work means being open-minded about views even (and especially) if they challenge your preconceptions or run against the mainstream consensus. So, you can imagine my interest when we got an email last week from a reader who said her son was killed by MS-13 — yet she was opposed to some of the deportations of MS-13 gang members.
Her argument was surprising and novel (at least to me) and we thought it was a fascinating read. On top of that, as you can imagine, it was an emotional and powerful plea from someone who has been finding a way to both grieve and make something positive come from her son’s death.
I know this essay is controversial. I know, also, that Rebekah’s view might be the minority among other parents in her situation. But I found it thought-provoking and challenging in the way Tangle should be, so I hope you enjoy it.
Best,
Isaac
On July 28, 2015, my 17-year-old son Oscar was walking through newly claimed MS-13 territory in a residential area of his hometown in Santa Maria, CA. Oscar was surrounded, attacked with a machete, and died of multiple gunshot wounds. His murder shocked our community and preceded a spike in gun violence. A year later, a grand jury indicted 17 MS-13 gang members for conspiracy and murder of 10 people and attempted murder of 14 others.
I had never heard of MS-13 prior to Oscar’s murder. I set up Google alerts and started reading everything published in the media to understand them, tracking murders in Long Island, NY, and Northern Virginia. I learned even more as a witness to two major MS-13 trials. I was there first as a mother, needing answers, searching for justice. I was also a concerned community member hoping to understand the recent spike in gun violence that had claimed the lives of so many young men. What motivated these killings? How was Oscar’s death connected? How had this happened in our small, peaceful, semi-rural community?
I was also a witness to the workings of our justice system. The trials were long, painstaking, and often retraumatizing. They included graphic forensic evidence and testimony from law enforcement, former gang members, and community witnesses. I listened to the recordings where the defendants used code words, including referring to their targets as “chicken” and calling the act of killing them turning chickens into soup. By the time pre-trial motions, plea deals, and other convictions had taken place Santa Maria jurors heard our victim impact statements in court and convicted the remaining eight defendants (Trial 1 and Trial 2) to multiple life sentences without the possibility of parole
As a witness to those trials, I felt justice had been carried out by honorable, dedicated public servants. As a grieving mother, I was glad that the men who so wantonly inflicted such violence had been held accountable and taken off the streets. But that doesn’t mean that I support any act of retribution our government might want to take in my son’s name.
Why I oppose Trump’s deportations.
One might think as a mother of a son killed by gang violence, I’d support Trump’s deportations of supposed “violent criminals.” But I know from personal experience that these actions do not keep us safe. Despite my personal tragedy — in fact, because of it — I do not believe the U.S. should wage war on immigrants, or deport people to prison in El Salvador without due process. It is a betrayal of our principles, our wellbeing, and common sense.
We have a choice to make about the future of this country, and plenty of people are writing smart things about why due process matters. I have a lot I could share from my professional perspective, with nearly two decades working on immigration, human rights, and directing a community-based organization in the wake of Oscar’s death dedicated to youth violence prevention, intervention, and aftercare. I worked directly with bereaved mothers who did not receive the care and support they needed, and whose sons’ deaths were scarcely acknowledged by political leaders.
I’m also just a person who sincerely cares about other people. I was raised to believe both in the preciousness of human life and to respect the responsibility of public service. My parents met in church, and I was brought up to care about those in need. My father, grandfather, and lots of extended family have served in the military around the world. I was born in Virginia, grew up in California, and lived for the last two decades in New York, Georgia, and elsewhere. I have devoted myself to making this world a more compassionate place through community action, storytelling, and research that raises awareness about important issues. I strive towards a holistic view of justice that is victim-centered, community-led and interrupts intergenerational cycles of violence. I believe due process is a human right and a foundational value of the United States of America that I was born into.
But as sensational stories about gang violence dominate headlines, the most impactful perspective I can offer is my experience as a bereaved mother who lost her son to MS-13 and witnessed the justice system at work. I hope my story brings nuance and can represent not just my experience but also the values that I tried to instill in my son.
Trump says he’s pursuing these deportations on behalf of MS-13 victims like Oscar, but I don’t think his policy is making our communities safer — ultimately, I think he’s serving his political agenda. Below, I share a few points to support this belief. Some of these points may not apply to other gangs, but the principles of justice, accountability, and human rights remain the same.
First off, these deportations hurt — not help — communities that have been victimized by gang violence. MS-13 infiltrates immigrant neighborhoods and often preys on other migrants, many of whom are undocumented and afraid to report crimes. In Santa Maria, MS-13 members worked in the fields and targeted fellow farm workers. While victims want their fears taken seriously (many might have fled gang violence in their country of origin), Trump’s policies retraumatize them and threaten their families, with ripple effects that spread to our broader communities.
