One Human Family

A community effort to keep our hearts open.

One Human Family

There were maybe forty of us crammed into folding chairs in the Queer Keys Community Center. We were young and old, queer and not, mostly white, all there to see what we could do to help our immigrant neighbors and friends who were being snatched up by ICE agents circling our streets like sharks following a blood trail.

A pixie woman with choppy white hair and crazy-cool glasses stood up and began the meeting. As post it notes were sent around, she asked us to write down what we would be willing to fight for here in Key West.

For her, it was the line of patrons waiting in the street at Five Brothers, a Cuban Coffee shop. For young woman on my left, it was family. For me, it was the whimsical public art on our houses and streets. The young woman to my right, owner of a local art gallery, simply said, “One Human Family.”

I felt humbled. Of course. This was it, the thing that brought me here to this room. To this island. To the community we proudly belonged to: One Human Family.

Back in 2010, when I returned to Key West after a ten-year hiatus, I saw a simple black and white sticker tacked on surfaces all over town that read: All People are created equal members of One Human Family. Above it, in small type were the words: Everyone in the world can share the “Official Philosophy of Key West, Florida.”

You know that feeling when someone you’ve had a crush on finally looks in your eyes and sparks fly? That’s how I felt reading this. If thought I was in love with Key West before, this bumper sticker brought it home to me. I could hear my heart beating, Yes, Yes, Yes.

Later, I discovered this was more than just a saying. It was Key West’s official philosophy, codified by the City Commission in 2000 as a standing commitment to the city’s diversity and acceptance.

One Human Family was why so many of us made this place home. Weirdos, outsiders, rebels and outcasts, all affirming its fine to be who you are. Welcome.

But lately, it had become apparent that while Key West welcomed all people, the leaders of this country did not.

But in June, as the tourists and snowbirds left for the summer, we began seeing a very different kind of visitor in Key West - black-clothed, masked men cruising slowly in black and white SUV’s with tinted windows.

We knew they were ICE agents on the prowl. What we didn’t know was that in March, the Police Chief had signed a Memorandum of Agreement with ICE, a tactic that was being pushed on local law enforcement throughout the country to have them aid ICE with certain duties.

Once the alliance with our police was in force, the effect was felt by everyone in town, especially anyone black or brown from Haiti or Central America.

Three blocks from my house, a Latina woman and her child were confronted by seven vehicles with twelve armed, masked men and three dogs. The woman and her daughter were taken away in separate vehicles. A Cuban grandmother was picked up and detained by ICE when she did not put her two feet down when her bike came to a stop sign. Landscape crews were being pulled from their job sites.

It was creepy. And horrifying.

Residents pressed City Hall to hold a special meeting on the escalated ICE enforcement and at the end of June they did, to a packed chamber and a three-page long roster of those signed up for public comments. As one woman said to the Commission, “We’re supposed to be One Human Family, but it’s hard to feel human when you’re scared. And what’s happening to our community is really scary.”

To our surprise, our usual passive and majority conservative Commission voted 6 to void the agreement with ICE.

Within hours, the State Attorney general posted a response saying his office would be in touch with Key West. The next day, they indicated that if the agreement wasn’t signed the State had the power to replace local leaders.

Less than one week later, the Commission announced another special meeting on the subject, but the mayor has already indicated she will probably sign the agreement.

I’ve been thinking about a poem someone shared with me from a sixth century Buddhist monk:

Who could believe the hearts of men could be so cold?

I don’t where to live anymore.

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Our small meeting at the Community Center was part of a group effort to mobilize getting help to those in need: Delivering groceries to those hiding in their houses. Manning a hotline. Doing the front-line work of supporting not only our immigrant friends and neighbors, but each other.

While mulling over my own next steps, I drove over to Winn-Dixie to get a few things for dinner. This happened to be the grocery where most immigrants shop. It was noticeably less busy than usual.

As I walked to the exit, I almost ran into another cart. The woman turned and smiled at me, a smile so genuine and sweet, it made me feel lightheaded and happy.

In the parking lot, I moved over for a Kia making its way down the row. The driver stopped, smiled and waved me and my cart on. And of course, as is the custom here, I waved back and thanked them.

That’s when it hit me. Such little things. Kindness. Courtesy. Exchanging good will to strangers. That’s what I imagine what one human family might look like.

Hell, that’s what it does look like it. Here.