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Authors: Laura Tillman
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Venezuela, a city with one of the highest murder rates in the world, I remember the visceral chill that went through me when I realized the sun had gone down and I would have to walk the half mile back to the apartment where I was staying. It was tragic to see the orange blush of the sky and feel the cool mountain air and find yourself filled with dread. Iâve never felt this kind of fear in Brownsville. The violence here is mainly shuttered inside homes or waiting on the banks of the Rio Grande when drug loads are dropped. The police logs are filled with intimate crimes, and while random theft and acts of violence do occur, domestic abuse and drug-related crime is far more common. When someone is killed seemingly at random, most people assume he or she knew the wrong people, was involved in the wrong thing. If you kept to yourself, to people you trusted, youâd be safe.
As I drove around looking for the remains of Johnâs childhood, it felt both accessible and cordoned off. True comprehension was a moving target. New details invited new questions, some impossible to answer. What does it feel like to have your own mother say that prostitution is a viable option? What would compel a person to voluntarily and repeatedly take a drug that others use to facilitate the rape of unsuspecting victims?
Iâd gone looking for Hilda several times, once with Manuel, the nephew of Minerva Perez, one of the buildingâs neighbors. They both knew Hilda and had many friends in the neighborhood. Conversations with residents across Barrio Buena Vida led us to her little apartment on a street corner. After several attempts we found her at home, and she told Manuel she would talk with me another day. But when I followed up, she didnât answer the door, and eventually I found a note written in large letters on a piece of cardboardâa declaration to leave her alone. I obeyed. Johnâs brothers refused to speak with me, saying through a relative that the experience was still too painful. I left them notes at every address and business I could find in Brownsville that was linked to them and contacted them online, but when I continued to be refused, I left it alone. So much had been said during the trials, a history of abuse, sorrow, regret. Theyâd endured cameras, the rejection of their community, in addition to living through the death of their nieces and nephew. I knew I would never understand what theyâd endured. The sadness here was suffocating, a tidal wave that threatened to crush all in its path, then pull the wreckage out to sea.
CHAPTER 5
----
The Long Shadow of Small Ghosts
I miss them dearly. I need them so much.
â ANGELA SALDIVAR, GRANDMOTHER
I n the court file are copies of the childrenâs medical records. At two years and three months, Julissa was taken to the Brownsville Kiddie Health Center and found to be dirty, her feet black, clothes smelly, and her skin covered with scars from insect bites. She was anemic and prescribed iron. The assessment read âchild neglect.â At four months old, John Stephan was also found to be filthy, his skin crusty and oily, his clothes smelling of mildew. His eyes were mildly sunken and he was in the third percentile for height, fifth for weight. The same month, a report had been filed with Child Protective Services alleging that the children were malnourished, anemic, covered in mosquito bites, and that John was likely using drugs. John recalled that the family had been homeless, often sleeping on a mattress in an alley or an abandoned building during that period. A CPS worker would testify that the family was found to be staying in a one-bedroom apartment with no electricity or runningwater, and no food. Though the children were anemic and had not received immunizations, they were not found to be malnourished.
A CPS caseworker came to visit the family and observed men who were visibly intoxicated around the children, though Angela was not
As I drove around looking for the remains of Johnâs childhood, it felt both accessible and cordoned off. True comprehension was a moving target. New details invited new questions, some impossible to answer. What does it feel like to have your own mother say that prostitution is a viable option? What would compel a person to voluntarily and repeatedly take a drug that others use to facilitate the rape of unsuspecting victims?
Iâd gone looking for Hilda several times, once with Manuel, the nephew of Minerva Perez, one of the buildingâs neighbors. They both knew Hilda and had many friends in the neighborhood. Conversations with residents across Barrio Buena Vida led us to her little apartment on a street corner. After several attempts we found her at home, and she told Manuel she would talk with me another day. But when I followed up, she didnât answer the door, and eventually I found a note written in large letters on a piece of cardboardâa declaration to leave her alone. I obeyed. Johnâs brothers refused to speak with me, saying through a relative that the experience was still too painful. I left them notes at every address and business I could find in Brownsville that was linked to them and contacted them online, but when I continued to be refused, I left it alone. So much had been said during the trials, a history of abuse, sorrow, regret. Theyâd endured cameras, the rejection of their community, in addition to living through the death of their nieces and nephew. I knew I would never understand what theyâd endured. The sadness here was suffocating, a tidal wave that threatened to crush all in its path, then pull the wreckage out to sea.
CHAPTER 5
----
The Long Shadow of Small Ghosts
I miss them dearly. I need them so much.
â ANGELA SALDIVAR, GRANDMOTHER
I n the court file are copies of the childrenâs medical records. At two years and three months, Julissa was taken to the Brownsville Kiddie Health Center and found to be dirty, her feet black, clothes smelly, and her skin covered with scars from insect bites. She was anemic and prescribed iron. The assessment read âchild neglect.â At four months old, John Stephan was also found to be filthy, his skin crusty and oily, his clothes smelling of mildew. His eyes were mildly sunken and he was in the third percentile for height, fifth for weight. The same month, a report had been filed with Child Protective Services alleging that the children were malnourished, anemic, covered in mosquito bites, and that John was likely using drugs. John recalled that the family had been homeless, often sleeping on a mattress in an alley or an abandoned building during that period. A CPS worker would testify that the family was found to be staying in a one-bedroom apartment with no electricity or runningwater, and no food. Though the children were anemic and had not received immunizations, they were not found to be malnourished.
A CPS caseworker came to visit the family and observed men who were visibly intoxicated around the children, though Angela was not
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