The Sting of Message in a Bottle

I used to do a lot of work with immigrants and on the immigration issue. As long-time readers of this blog might know, I have been to the Arizona/Mexico border six times and deep into Mexico once (where we drank tequila out of Pope shot glasses with a Catholic priest). My old social justice group from church had immigration reform as one of our top priorities and we volunteered in detention centers and in various immigrant support organizations throughout the Denver area. 

That work has receded from my working memory, buried by COVID and the post-pandemic anxiety over the mental health of my children and my friend's children. I got busy working with young people through coaching, and though we still give to the organizations I formed relationships with back in the 20 aughts and 2010's, I had in large part buried those experiences under the busy-ness of the present.

The musical production "Message in a Bottle" brought the memories back on Friday night. Rob and I went to see this brilliant dance performance (choreographed and directed by Kate Prince), sponsored by the music of Sting, with his co-worker and her husband. Seated next to the co-worker, I didn't want to burst into the tears that threatened throughout the first act but instead clasped my hands together until the knuckles glowed ivory.

In the words of Lolita Chakrabarti's synopsis, "we live in a world where one person is forcibly displaced every two seconds as a result of conflict or persecution. In 2022 statistics show that over 100 million people around the globe had been forced from their homes." She goes on to summarize the story of "Message in a Bottle": "We follow the fortunes of a father, mother and their three teenage children who face this brutal reality (of civil war) together."

The dancers' moves were magical, the versions of Sting's songs poetic and moving. The first act showed trauma of war, separation, abuse, abduction. As I watched and clenched my hands I kept thinking "this is happening, this is happening now."  In Ukraine, in Gaza, in Lebanon, Syria, Venezuela, in so many places around the world families are being broken by forces outside of their control and it's just dumb luck that my family and I are safe and together.

Why did I stop my work? Is it a post-pandemic selfishness that cares only for myself, my own family, the children of my community? The only interactions I have now with the immigrant community are postings on social media and twice-yearly donations. Nearly forgotten are the days of teaching English in the Aurora detention center behind bars with men and women from around the world, the days of washing feet at the border and of pushing for reform.

The issue of immigration will only get more pressing, as we can see in the news everyday. We currently have no good answers for the issues that come with climate change and global destabilization that will surely contribute more and more people on the move, desperate for someplace safe to raise their families. I think I need to go back, to do something more, and I owe this discomfort and sorrow to Kate Prince, the dancers, and Sting.