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SAN DIEGO: Guadalupe Art Program offers healing, transformation for young trafficking victims
When Magdalena (whose identity was withheld for her protection) was able to connect with Our Lady of Guadalupe, a central spiritual image in Latino culture, she was able to view herself as lovable and could begin to reclaim her life, said Richardson, the cathedral canon for Hispanic ministries.
"Through art, the girls use the image of Guadalupe as their model and paint themselves into her corona, placing themselves within her loving aura. In doing this, they regain the ability to see their own beauty again," said Richardson, whose bright yellow San Diego office overflows with self-portraits of young-women-as-Guadalupe, art supplies and musical instruments.
She met Magdalena at one of two San Diego area detention centers where she counsels undocumented youth and offers education and arts workshops. The youth are held at the centers until authorities determine a disposition -- legalization, deportation, or reuniting them with their families.
While working at the detention centers, which typically house about 20 youth, Richardson has encountered undocumented children as young as five, many from Central and South America but some from as far away as Somalia. Some were separated from family while crossing the desert; others are runaways seeking reunification with family members living in this country.
"They come from all over, from different situations. They average a six-month stay and in that time authorities try to find their parents or determine if they can legalize them. Their stories are amazing. They come with the idea that 'I'm going to get to Los Angeles and get a job and it's going to be great.' They have no idea what it will be like when they're crossing the border," Richardson said.
For many, like Magdalena, the experience is horrific.
She left her native Guatemala with human smugglers or coyotes and promises of a reunion with a sister living in Florida. "But when they reached Tijuana, Mexico, the smugglers separated her from the group, kidnapped and held her against her will at a Tijuana residence where they forced her into prostitution.
"She is so amazing," Richardson said recently. After enduring months of abuse, "she escaped when the traffickers all left the house one Sunday. They told her not to even try to leave while they were gone because the house was fenced in and guarded by dozens of dogs.
"'If you try to escape the dogs will bite you,' they told her. But she realized that if she stayed, they would continue to abuse her. She got to the door, turned the knob and heard the dogs growling. She prayed, 'God, just be with me.' She opened the door; the dogs growled, but she walked right past them. She managed to get across the border but was detained when she got here and brought to the detention center."
Richardson, the first Latina priest ordained in the San Diego diocese, was born in Guanajuato, Mexico and moved to Santa Clara, California at the age of three. Prior to arriving in San Diego, she served as senior Episcopal chaplain at the Central Juvenile Detention Facility in the Diocese of Los Angeles, where she created the Guadalupe program as well as a religious support group for gay minors.
She currently leads a weekly Spanish-language service at San Diego's St. Paul's Cathedral. An estimated 70 percent of the congregation is undocumented, she said.
Her love of music and the arts translated easily into ministry and spiritual empowerment, even including karaoke. "I have a karaoke machine with about 2,000 songs in Spanish that I gave to the detention center," she said laughingly, acknowledging the healing power of enabling youth to belt out familiar songs.
"You hear detention center and you think gangs, but really, these are the nicest kids," she said.
Recently, she met with a new group of young men at a male detention center in El Cajon, California, where the average stay is about six months. Most were from Central and South America, but the center has housed children from all over the world, including China, the Middle East, the Ukraine, and Africa, said Erica Mesa, 25, the center's executive assistant.
Social worker and case manager Violet Flores said the center works to reconnect youth with their families, reunifying between 60-80 youth yearly. "Some children have no parents, they have been abandoned or trafficked and they have no family. They qualify for legal relief or asylum," she said.
"It's interesting, working with kids so young. They teach you much more than you can teach them and each one has a different story," Flores said. "They've been through so much but they are very resilient. Some have undertaken a long journey, have been kidnapped, beaten, abused but somehow they still have hope in a future. It's incredible."
Many of the youth arrive at the center with little, if any elementary education, and speak only the indigenous languages of their countries, said Mesa. They attend classes, are tutored and are taught computer, gardening and a variety of life skills.
"There is such a passion here from the staff for what we do, especially when you realize the impact you can make, and you see the change in their lives," Mesa said. "That includes doing the art project with Rev. Mary," she added.
Incorporating Our Lady of Guadalupe is a central focus of Richardson's bilingual workshops -- even with young males -- where topics range from machismo, abuse to other relationship issues.
Our Lady of Guadalupe is "not just this sweet little handmaiden," Richardson said. "She's an incredibly strong woman who stood at the foot of the cross and the challenge is how can we learn through her courage."
Through group and individual counseling sessions, she hears amazing stories of survival and resilience, she said.
She recalled one 14-year-old, "Freddie" from Guatemala, who was detained during a cathedral service and eventually sent to the detention center.
"After Hurricane Mitch, the whole barrio where he lived was destroyed. He was the oldest boy left and so the villagers worked to send him north. He was their hope. He said he couldn't fail them. He couldn't be sent back, he couldn't do that to them. So he ran away from the detention center," she said.
The sessions are like a "peeling away, layer by layer. No one has hugged these kids in the longest time," Richardson said.
"Part of what I do is to help them understand that God is with them on this journey. They've been beaten up so much, abused during the journey, called names. I tell them, you're like these sacred activists who come to teach us how to love and that's such an amazing job on this earth."
Still, myths and stereotypes abound, about undocumented youth as well as victims of human trafficking, she said.
For example, "the first three victims of human trafficking that I worked with here in San Diego were blonde surfer girls from Oceanside," not undocumented youth or Latinos, Richardson said.
"One, was nine years old and walking to school, when traffickers drove by and pulled her off the street and kidnapped her. She was rescued at the age of 16."
Statistics about the numbers of trafficking victims are difficult to compile, she added. There are gangs that focus exclusively on human trafficking, while others, including drug cartels, are also involved "because of the opportunity to make money," she said.
"With drugs, you sell them and the drugs are gone. But, with human lives, you can sell them over and over again, all day long. And you still have them to make a profit the next day," she said.
Still, there are some happy endings. She received a text recently from Magdalena, who was eventually placed with a foster family in Florida after spending several months in the detention center, Richardson said.
"At first, the foster family called me and asked what they should do," Richardson recalled. "They said she just kept crying and crying. I told them to let her cry, that she just needed to get all her crying done."
Richardson sent a big box of art supplies to Magdalena to remind her of the art project and her connection to Our Lady of Guadalupe.
"Finally, she's safe," Richardson said. "She has her papers. She still texts me about once a week with updates on how she's doing. The other week, she texted and said, 'I just wanted to let you know I'm at Disney World.'
"I just lost it," she recalled. "I texted her back, and said 'that's where you belong, with all the other little princesses.'"
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