During a recent Casa shift, I found myself in the middle of an argument between two residents. They were speaking (well, one was yelling) in Spanish, and while I can get by conversationally, I wasn’t quite able to understand what was happening other than that it involved one person taking out another person’s laundry from the washing machine. I couldn’t seem to get a word in to ask clarifying questions, and one of the residents whipped out their phone camera to “document” what was happening. Gratefully, a fellow staff member arrived a few minutes later (someone who speaks Spanish fluently) and was able to de-escalate the situation. And life at Casa returned to a state of relative calm.

Those of us on staff at Casa often speak about the amazing work that is done at our shelter and about the inspiration for our work that comes from the residents themselves, people who have experienced incredible trauma and persevered and arrived here in this new country seeking security and a better life. We speak of these truths, though they are only part of the truth. Casa’s amazing work and inspirational residents are held in tension with the discord that sometimes arises as we all try to navigate the experience of occupying the same space with all our cultural differences. Residents living six or more people to a room are often not familiar with one another’s languages or behaviors or life practices. It’s not uncommon for staff members to have to intervene in an argument between residents or support one another when a resident gets angry with a staff member. 

Yet this is Casa’s remarkable reality. It is a place where at any given time fifty or more people from around the world, who have experienced trauma in some capacity, are trying to navigate this new country while also fighting to stay here for fear of being sent home to persecution or death. It is a place where complete strangers are crammed together into a few small houses and forced to become a sort of family, with all the joys and complications that come along with being a family.

And I am beyond grateful for the opportunity to be a part of this family for a time. I am grateful to have been present in a space where the full spectrum of human experience is alive and well, where the raw and painful exists alongside the resilient and beautiful. Where the full truth is that amid clashes and arguments, people are rising from the ashes of their old lives to build a new life in the states and new relationships along the way.

And so while we as staff are still dealing with a pandemic, while we’re now dealing with the effects of immigration policy change (yet again) made by a new administration, while it’s hard to keep track of who’s coming to and who’s going from the shelter, we have been granted these precious moments to bear witness to this pivotal time in our residents’ lives and walk alongside them in solidarity. They are moments of authenticity in which we see the very worst and the absolute best in ourselves and in our residents. They are moments that speak to the amazing and life-changing work being done in a few small houses tucked away on Gunter Street.

Thank you for being a part of this work through your gracious support. Casa would not be the same – our family would not be the same – without you.