6 February 29 - March 6, 2024 dallasobserver.com DALLAS OBSERVER Classified | MusiC | dish | Culture | unfair Park | Contents Y oiber swayed gently in his seat as the bus crept into the church parking lot. His only belonging was a Bible his mom had given him ahead of the grueling journey. Cotton candy clouds streaked a pale blue sky that chilly February morning in Dallas. When the vehi- cle sputtered to a stop, Yoiber and the other passengers stood, stretched their legs and stepped out into the dawn. It had been four months since Yoiber had last seen his family in Venezuela, a country with a human-rights record of extrajudicial executions. Two of his brothers were vic- tims of homicide. So, at 17, Yoiber fled amid threats he’d end up being the third member of his family to be killed. Yoiber celebrated his 18th birthday alone while trying to reach the United States to seek asylum. He knew where he was headed — New York — but much of his future re- mained hazy. The person he’d be staying with in Brooklyn couldn’t afford a plane ticket, so Yoiber would have to trust in God that he’d make it somehow, safe and sound. “I just want to be with someone who will take me in, but I don’t even know how to get there or where to buy shoes,” Yoiber said in Spanish. “Being an 18-year-old kid in Dallas without anybody is horrible.” Like Yoiber, the two dozen or so migrants who filed into the building that morning had parted ways with their countries of origin. They’d reached the Oak Lawn United Meth- odist Church after their time at a Texas de- tention center. Some seemed lost and confused, others appeared excited. All were exhausted. The immigrants had entered a contradic- tory liminal space. They stood, uncertain, in a country built by immigrants but in a state where top officials openly express disdain for foreigners. When the migrants were led into a large room, Yoiber sank into a metallic gray seat. Another weary traveler used a plastic bag of clothing as a pillow. Two orange juice jugs, a coffee dispenser and a large bowl of bananas lined a table. Comforting messages in color- ful scrawl greeted them: “Bienvenidos.” “Love yourself.” “You belong.” Associate Pastor Isabel Marquez strode to the front of the room, flashed a smile and introduced herself. “We work like a welcoming center,” she said in Spanish. (Few, if any, asylum seekers there that day spoke English.) “We do not work with immigration, or are a part of im- migration.” This announcement punctured the tired tension hanging in the air. Yoiber threw back his head and laughed: a relief. Dallas Responds, the church’s outreach program, hosts the welcoming center, where migrants can rest, refuel and receive travel assistance. Those who weren’t picked up by loved ones could hitch a ride to the airport or Greyhound station, Marquez said. They could connect to Wi-Fi and charge their phones, and the room soon filled with chimes and trills. While the Texas governor’s controversial busing effort dumps migrants unexpectedly in liberal-led locales, Dallas Responds takes a different approach: collaborating with families with the aim of reunification. Yoiber sat quietly, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He had much on his mind and lots to look forward to in New York, which he de- scribed as a “pretty city full of opportuni- ties.” Maybe he’d study architecture. But his time in the U.S. so far had been harsh. Authorities in El Paso disrespected the migrants — at times even acting as though they were subhuman. “I wasn’t used to being around all offi- cers, [who] treated me like a delinquent with handcuffs,” Yoiber said. “And I wanted to cry, but like my mom said: ‘If you fall, pick yourself up.’” Yoiber and the other asylum seekers have a legal right to be here while their cases wind through the immigration courts. Many expats are running from persecution and real threats of violence, but the climate sur- rounding the southern border has turned in- creasingly stormy in recent years. From former President Donald Trump’s family separation policy to Texas Gov. Greg Abbott’s perilous buoy barrier, there’s little love shown for the immigrant. M arquez’s morning was buzzing with activity. She’d parked at the church just after 7 a.m. to greet the migrants as they arrived in the big white bus. Dressed in her clergy collar, Marquez shepherded the new arrivals inside. Numbered badges are assigned to each asylum seeker, and they wait to get called for check-in at a folding table. | UNFAIR PARK | Carly Gravley New Neighbors After a long, uncertain journey, migrants starting a new life find a welcoming presence at a Dallas church. BY SIMONE CARTER >> p8 Associate Pastor Isabel Marquez embraces one of the migrants being assisted at Oak Lawn United Methodist Church.
