Dance Lest We All Fall Down - Margaret Willson [97]
“I don’t want any trouble with the police.”
“Were you married in the church?” No response. “Are you illegal?” The woman burst into sobs. “John said we would get a green card for me when I arrived. I thought I would then get work so I could be more independent. He was so kind in Brazil. It’s not at all like I thought it would be. It’s awful. I don’t have any friends or family. I’m so alone. And it’s so dark here. It rains all the time, and it’s cold.”
I talked with her some more, feeling increasing despair. What was I supposed to do? How could I help? Bahia Street was not a local social service agency, and the women who had been ringing would not go see anyone they considered connected to the United States government. Yet I couldn’t just leave this.
After some thought, I picked up the phone again and rang Silvia, a professional middle-class Brazilian who worked for Microsoft. I had found it interesting that most of the Brazilians I had met in the Seattle area were from southern Brazil, nearly all white and middle-class, and most had come here for professional jobs. Microsoft alone hired at least a hundred. Silvia had been in the States for more than ten years.
I told Silvia about the calls I’d been receiving, and about the implications.
“I can’t really do anything,” I told her. “They need Brazilians. That’s who they want. Brazilians who understand how the United States works, who can visit them and make sure they’re safe, who can help them get legal papers and get some equality in their relationships—or figure out how to leave.”
“Oh, how terrible!” Silvia said. “I would love to help. And I’m sure several other Brazilians at Microsoft would as well. We could even work with other new Brazilians, find furniture if they needed it. But mostly, we could just take them out, go for coffee, and give them support.” She hesitated. “But, Margaret, I’ve never put together a group like this. I don’t know what kind of regulations there are, what I should do. Could we do it as Bahia Street?”
“No. Bahia Street works in Bahia, but I would be happy to help you. I can come to your first meetings, and tell you how to register with the Secretary of State if you wish. It should be led by Brazilians anyway. That’s who these women want to find.”
“Oh, I’m so excited, Margaret. I’d love to do this. Maybe I can get my church to help.”
“Whatever you want. Why don’t I give you the phone numbers of the women who have called, and you can start calling them?” I felt so relieved when I put down the phone. It seemed that every part of every society needed something.
As it turned out, Silvia was efficient. She called a meeting at a friend’s house, and about fifteen Brazilians came. They’d been energized, wanting to start a small group to help new Brazilians, particularly women who came via ads on the Internet. I offered whatever help they might want and had gone home pleased. Who knew what might come of this?
Late afternoon, a few weeks later, as the gray of a rainy day was closing into the dark of a rainy night, the phone rang. “Hello?”
“Margaret? So, you’re trying to take over are you? After all the years I’ve been working with the Brazilian community here, and you just want to take all the credit.”
“Who is this?”
“You know who it is. It’s Alice.” Alice was a white Brazilian from the more European south of Brazil, who had lived in Seattle about thirty years. I had only met her a few times, but she had been helpful to Bahia Street. She was a respected community activist, and I had thought I had her good will. “You’re stealing what I do. I’ve been helping the Brazilians here for years, translating forms, helping them in jail. And you think you can just take over.”
“Alice, what are you talking about?”
“Don’t act so stupid. I thought Bahia Street was supposed to be for girls in Brazil. You feel so big doing that, now you want to take over what I’m doing, too!”
“Alice, are you talking about the Microsoft group? I’m not doing it. I just offered to help. And it isn’t about jails or anything.