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Jasa Poricello grew up in Central Maine, picking blueberries under power lines, going to Mardens on Saturdays, staying quiet waiting for the salmon to bite, watching basketball tournaments in Bangor. She’s been a Portland resident since 2002.
Last Tuesday, I gathered with more than 30 faith leaders and people of conscience in the hallway and waiting room of Sen. Susan Collins’ Portland office. We held a prayerful witness to appeal to her humanity in the face of an inhumane situation. We asked her to do everything in her power as chair of the Senate Appropriations Committee to stop funding ICE and to call for a halt to ICE operations in Maine.
As I stood along with eight others, awaiting arrest, I was terrified.
I have never been arrested before. I was in tears the entire time. And yet I could not walk away. I had to stand rooted for my country, for Maine.
I was also praying. Praying that the ICE agents in Maine have a change of heart. Praying for our Constitution and the Bill of Rights — what makes America special in history and in the world.
Praying for the many innocent people living in Maine who have already been abducted — while they pick up their kids, while they get groceries.
I was praying for myself to find some courage.
As a fourth generation Mainer, I was holding close my mother’s and my grandparents’ value for people, for fairness. I was recalling my Catholic upbringing. As Jesus said: Whatever you do to the least of my brethren, you do to me. ( Matthew 25:40)
I also want to tell you: I met no bad guys that day.
I met no bad guys among Sen. Collins’ staff or among the property management staff. I met no bad guys among the Portland Police officers who arrested us, or the corrections officers who processed us at the Cumberland County Jail. My arresting officer treated me with respect. This could well be because I am a small white lady and was among clergy, but it felt like more than that.
Instead, it seemed to me that I was meeting individuals who, like me, are not prepared — who never thought they would have to be prepared — to grapple with how to function under this shadow — to grapple with how not to cooperate with an aspiring dictator and those who uphold him.
I am home now and safe. And yet I’m still trembling as I write this. My fellow Mainers: This is Maine. This is not how we do things.