I know, I know. I said I wasn’t going to blog anymore, but here I am with a new post. What prompted me to write? Simply put, ICE. Not the kind you slip on and then maybe take a spill, but rather the organization — Immigration and Customs Enforcement — that rounds up people and detains them. Maybe these folks have papers, maybe they don’t. The prime sorting process seems to be based on skin color, brown and black.

For a while, the main action was taking place in Minnesota, where, among other brutalities, a young white mother was murdered, children were tear-gassed, and an elderly man in underwear was marched out of his house.

But now ICE has come to Lewiston, Maine, a small city about 15 miles away from where we live. Lewiston is home to a large Somali population that started seeking refuge here about 25 years ago. ICE has dubbed its Maine operation “Catch of the Day,” a sick reference to Maine’s coastal heritage and fishing industry, which prompted restaurants to offer “Catch of the Day” specials. And, as to be expected, people are being rounded up.

This has put me in mind of two stories, seemingly separate, but related.

The First Story

In October, we adopted two cats from the Lewiston Humane Society. I wrote about it on my blog, and readers might recall how I told of a mother and two little girls coming to look for a dog. The three were taken to a back room to meet a dog. Although I couldn’t see what happened, I could certainly hear the little girls exclaim, “Oh, you’re so cute! You’re so cute!” over and over again, and the dog’s happy barking in response. I smiled, the staff smiled, and a feeling of joy filled the shelter.

What I didn’t mention was that the mother and the little girls were black. The mother had an accent; the little girls didn’t.

What is happening to that family? Are they hiding in their home, too afraid to go to school or go grocery shopping or go to work? I wish them all the best, including the dog they adopted.

The Second Story

I am of Franco-American descent. My ancestors came from France, settled in Canada, and made their way down to the United States. On my mother’s side, I doubt all of them had papers. In Maine in the mid-1800s, it was very easy to slip over the border. Many of my ancestors came from Normandy, and in my younger days, my hair was almost black. Along with the dark hair came an olive complexion, and in the summer, the sun turned me brown. The same is true for my youngest daughter’s complexion, and one day, when she was little, while playing in my mother’s driveway, a neighbor came over and asked who my daughter was, using a racial slur.

My mother replied, “That’s my granddaughter.”

And that took care of that.

Except I wonder: what if ICE had come in the summer all those years ago? What if my daughter and I were walking down the street in Lewiston and ICE had driven by? Would they have rounded us up, locked us somewhere, and held us until we could prove we were citizens? We didn’t carry birth certificates. We didn’t have passports. As far as I was concerned, having to carry papers was something that happened in fascist regimes or Communist countries. In the United States, we could travel freely without papers.

My answer to the round-up question? Yes, it could have happened. In Minnesota, ICE has targeted off-duty cops. According to CBS News, every one of them was a person of color.

So here we are, at a nasty place teetering on something even nastier.

I hope we can  keep our balance and draw back from the edge.

Last week I was on jury duty, and what a week it was, both riveting and emotionally draining. The case involved a man in his late thirties who was accused of Gross Sexual Assault and Unlawful Sexual Contact with an eleven-year-old boy.

Right from the start, the evidence was against the defendant. On the first day of jury duty, we saw a video taken by a police officer—who was wearing a bodycam—when he went to the defendant’s home to collect his phone. As soon as the defendant, who was outside, saw the policeman get out of the cruiser, the defendant booked it inside. Then, the defendant made the police officer wait outside for five minutes before letting him in.  After which, the defendant proceeded to tell lie after lie about how he didn’t have his phone and couldn’t remember the number. When the police officer informed the defendant that his home would be torn apart if he didn’t produce the phone, the defendant finally took the police to where the phone was hidden, in a vent in the bedroom.

The second video we saw was filmed the day after the alleged assault when a councilor at a local sexual assault unit interviewed the boy. I will not go into any details except to say the boy looked as though he wished the floor would open up and swallow him. He wore sneakers with Velcro straps, and during a particularly tense part of the conversation, the boy ripped the straps back and forth, back and forth. I want to add that the councilor was very respectful and kind, using different approaches to put the boy at ease.

The third compelling piece of evidence came from DNA testing and the testimony of forensic experts. The morning after the alleged assault, the boy told his mother what had happened, and fortunately there had been no shower to wash the evidence away. The mother immediately brought the boy to the local sexual assault unit, where DNA swabs were taken, and the boy was interviewed. Only two DNA profiles were found under the clothes on the boy’s body, his own and the defendant’s.

The defense lawyer brought in his own forensic expert, who maintained that DNA could travel in many ways from person to person, with sneezing being a prime example. This would turn out to be the defense lawyer’s main argument, that his client’s DNA profile under the clothes on the boy’s body could have come from anywhere.

When all the evidence had been presented, when all the witnesses had been called, and the closing arguments made, the jurors went to the jury room, and it was the court’s turn to wait for us.

As it turned out, the court only had to wait for a little under an hour. We discussed all the evidence presented and the various testimonies, including what we had seen in the videos. It didn’t take us long to agree that the defendant’s DNA profile under the boy’s clothes didn’t get there by way of sneezing or through any other route that DNA might take. We found the defendant guilty of both Gross Sexual Assault and Unlawful Sexual Contact.

This, of course, is an abbreviated version of what happened in court. Out of respect for both the boy and my readers, I have avoided using the upsetting language that I heard. I expect you will be able to read between the lines.

In conclusion: I was so impressed with the judge, who was cool and even during the whole trial;  with the passionate prosecuting lawyer, whom one juror described as a pit bull; with the defense lawyer, who had a thankless job; and with my fellow jurors, who listened intently  and closely to both sides. We took our job seriously. Finally, I was also impressed with the way that technology was used as evidence by the prosecution. The DNA profiles and the videos made the picture much clearer.

Next week, I will return to more pleasant subjects—Clif’s birthday, fall coming to Maine. But as my jury duty indicated, life is not always rosy in the hinterlands, where people commit serious crimes, just the way they do anywhere else.