There is ice everywhere. For the past two weeks, we’ve been under a deep freeze here in the D.C. metro area and as I warmed the car yesterday morning, ice as metaphor for the state of the union hit me like a blast of arctic air.
We are frozen.
Those who commit grievous acts against the Constitution, the rule of law, the civil rights of all people who possess them—their hearts are cold. I am a shivering witness, watching the news on my phone, masked agents cracking glass windows and dragging people from their cars. In all my years of practicing criminal law, I’ve never heard of a police officer breaking a window when conducting a traffic stop. Why? Because cops know the Fourth Amendment protects, not just U.S. citizens, but all people from unreasonable searches and seizures. They also know that most judges will summarily dismiss cases for constitutional violations. So, they play by the rules ordinarily. Of course there will always be bad actors, but we have judicial precedent and a practice of public policy-making to protect against — not uplift — them.
I turned on the seat warmer and pulled out of the driveway. My Bad Bunny playlist has been on repeat for weeks. I’ve always appreciated his music, but lately I’ve become a superfan, which is not very like me. It’s just that his music feels like a lifeline, his lyrics on love are a sort of scaffolding I can hold onto. I watched him, head bowed with emotion, just before walking to the stage to accept the Grammy for best album. I later heard that he was wearing a bulletproof vest under his velvet tuxedo with the mariachi braid down the back. A suit of armor to accept an award for creating art that makes people want to sing and dance. It’s cold as ice out there.
I didn’t realize how deep-seated my worry was until Baile Inolvidable came on, and I started to cry at a red light. Wrongful deportations and civil rights violations are not new. What is new is the scale, the brazenness, the state-sanctioned systemic violence and indecency. I can’t help but think the next target could be my tío, my former law client, my friend.
I come from brown people, Spanish and indigenous. I come from white people, too, Northern Irish who had no choice but to sail across the Atlantic Ocean following partition and the violence and instability that ensued. I come from immigrants who were forced to cross borders in search of security for themselves and their children. This is personal.
I’ve struggled in recent weeks with how or whether to talk about my feelings publicly. I’ve never shied away before. Quite the opposite. But I’m a small business owner now, not a student or public servant. I bake pies for the masses and I like to think that in some small way, I’m promoting community and connection. It’s different from lawyering, which has at its core adversarial relationships, heartbreak, and loss. There is great honor in advocating for others, in testing the judicial system to ensure it’s working as it should. But it’s a fight.
Making love is the warmth we all need.
I know it. Bad Bunny knows it. So does everyone.
Ice out.
Dini McCullough Amozurrutia is a writer and attorney with deep family roots in Laredo. She currently runs a pie company in Maryland and publishes essays on Substack at The Quiet Kitchen.
